(3)
—Originally publshed in The Roanoke Review, Fall 1996
Continued from page (2)
“You’re cheating, leaving out part of the story. You pick issues
apart and usually choose the worst possible interpretation—so you won’t get a nasty surprise.
You’re too careful for your own good.”
“We’ve always agreed about that,” Clarissa said, “but
my forecasts are right most of the time.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy?”
“That’s an untestable hypothesis.”
“Ah-ha!” Sam said. “You can’t get way with that.
You’re shifting from metaphysical to scientific reasoning.”
“And you’re an intellectual puke. I’m usually right. Case in
point: I always knew that someday history would get in the way.” She cocked her head. “Look
how good the separation has been for you. You’re leaner and duskier. The green bedroom eyes and the
amber skin and that smile . . . The girls will really go wild over you.”
“Sure.”
“You’ll see. I was right about history, wasn’t I? The Army
is good for you, isn’t it? Tell me about the Army.”
“It’s all practical and direct and kind of desolate. So different
from all this.” He glanced around the room. “I wasn’t prepared for it. I was used to
colors. Like Grace, you know, rich and full. The ugliness of the Army . . . and yet
there’s a kind of gutsiness, harsh, physical, rough, earthy. Masculine. I’ve discovered my
body and how good it can feel when it’s healthy and strong and being used.” He laughed.
“I’ll have to show you my muscles. Do you know what it’s like to have a strong right
arm? I mean, really strong?” Clarissa shook her head.
“God,” Sam said, “if I could make you see it.”
“You already have. The letters.”
“Not all of it. It’s like everything pushed to the extreme. All the
subtleties get lost, and all that’s left are the sharp edges.”
“Like Grace again,” Clarissa said. “Never mind my whining.
She’s as great as ever. Auntie Mame one minute and Mary, Queen of Scots the next.”
“I thought her lectures were driving you crazy.”
TOM'S TALES