Page 1 Page 2
John started to talk in a solemn low voice. “I will get right to the point. When I was in high school everything was simple and straightforward. Everyone, boys and girls, knew the rules. Like there was a playbook for everything. Wear blue jeans to school and you get suspended for a week. Grow a mustache – suspended for a week. Same with dating. Go out on a first date — always to the movies — you get a quick good night kiss on the lips if she wants to see you again. That’s it. Go out on a second date – you get a long French kiss. Go out on a third date, it’s parking and full make-out. If things keep going good, you might eventually get to third base and then possibly even a home run. But no matter what, there always was an understanding between the boy and girl about what was OK and what was not OK.”
John took a swig of Gansett and continued, “Then I get to college, and there are no rules, no rules at all. Girls live on my dorm floor. We even share a bathroom. It’s weird being around them when you’re not on a date. Some girls just want to be friends – no dating, no sex, which is weird to me. Other girls shack up with a guy all the time. One day I heard one girl proudly announce ‘I can get laid any night I want!’ This shook me up. Some guys are comfortable with all this, but I’m not. Anything and everything is ok: loose-e-goosey sex, women’s lib, homosexuality, civil rights, protest marches — you name it, and it’s ok. Free love, turn on-drop out, do your own thing. And this is for both guys and girls! Plus drugs and booze are everywhere. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only normal person in the entire college.”
The Colonel, choking on his beer, blurted, “Coreliss, wat da ‘ell is da world coming to, eh?”
“The world is changing fast; maybe not in Maine, but it is happening,” said John. “The hardest part for me is girls. I kinda got them in high school but they confuse the hell out of me in college. I have dated quite a few college girls, even got to second base a couple times on the first date. Then there was one girl I really liked. After a few dates, I got to third base. It was great! I was hopin’ for a home run someday, but I did not pressure her. Then one day I overheard a guy in the lunchroom bragging that he slept with her. Boy, was I pissed. When I confronted her about what I heard, she told me she had homerun sex with that guy, because she wasn’t getting it from me. She also said she likes sex with girls, too. She told me to ‘get over it’ and either we move in together or our relationship is over. It’s so complicated and crazy, I don’t know what to do.”
The Colonel cleared his throat, “Umm, let’s change the subject for a minute. I saw you took Communion at Christmas mass, so dat means you went to Confession before. With all the sex you been havin’, just curious, ‘ow did you do in Confession?”
Blushing, John quietly said, ”All premarital sex is a mortal sin, so I always have a guilty conscience. I learned how to get around the rules in high school once the priest started questioning me about impure thoughts and actions. It was just too embarrassing and personal for me to discuss with anyone, let alone with a priest. Then one of my buddies told me his secret. So I did what he did. I looked at the nameplate over the Confessional and only went to Father St. Armand from that time on, because he didn’t speak any English. You just tell him your sins, he does the sign of the cross, tells you to do five ‘Our Farders’ for penance, and you’re out of the Confessional — sins forgiven. Painless.”
The Colonel laughed and responded, “It was the same for me… eh, only different. When I was dating, I did my Confession in French to a priest who only spoke English. Let’s speed it up. Lawrence Welk is on TV pretty soon. Now back to women.”
As John grinned and wondered if he would be dancing to Lawrence Welk on Saturday night when he finished college and moved back to Maine. He said to himself, “Jesus, I hope not. There’s got to be more to life.” He didn’t know what, but he just knew there had to be more.
The Colonel rose and started to pace back and forth. His voice grew deep. “You have problems. When I was young, it was the same for me… only different, eh. Ginette, my first wife, God rest her soul, and I started dating when we were sixteen.” The Colonel paused to do a sign of the cross. “She was pregnant by seventeen. Abortion was not possible for Cat-lics, eh: so we got married. I quit school and went right to work in da mill. Half da kids in my class quit ‘igh school to get married. But Ginette lost da baby. She blamed herself – she wasn’t ‘oly enough to receive the gift from God. So every Saturday night after mass and supper of les bins, we would have a glass of wine then take off our clothes. Always in silence, in the dark. Always da same ting. It was over in a few minutes. After sex, she would always get on her knees praying dat dis time she would get pregnant. But she never did. In time we stopped ‘avin sex. We never discussed it. She started praying more and more, attending mass every day before work. Almost stopped eating too. Den she died, from sadness, I tink.” The Colonel did another sign of the cross. “Very sad. I stayed with her — divorce for a Cat-lic is impossible… no.”
“That must have been horrible,” John blurted.
“Oui, it was. Women can bring a man such misery. A week after the funeral, women would come by da house with homemade bins, casseroles, cookies, or something. I started to date some of dem. Dis went on for about ten years. It was fun, and the sex was great. Women can bring a man such pleasure, eh? But I felt incomplete, sometimes even empty. Den one winter ‘oliday I went back to Quebec for a family reveyon, and met Ginette’s younger sister, Delice. Dere was someting special about ‘er right away. She had left the convent and came back to Quebec to live with ‘er parents. We got married tree months after we met, when I was forty-two and she was thirty-six. We were never blessed with children, but we have nineteen nieces and nephews, a big family.”
The Colonel continued, “For da first couple years with Delice, sex was great, but it ‘as slowed. Dey say that you should put a quarter in a five gallon drywall bucket every time you have sex in the first tree years of marriage. After dat, you take out a quarter every time you have sex, and you will die with money in the bucket. So don’t pick a wife just because of sex. Uder tings are important, too.”
John adjusted his position and said, “So, with all those experiences, you must really know how women are. Help me, ’cause I still don’t get it.”
“Mon ami. Men and women are very different. Men look for connection in dis world. We want to feel something, but God did not give us the equipment to feel. Men want to do more dan just work and do tings. So we look to women to complete our lives. Our brains are simple tings, like a stop light, red or green. Stop or go and dere is not much more. Women are complex.”
The Colonel slowly leaned to the left then let out a bean fart, and smiled. He continued like nothing happened, “Women are like a World War II plane controlled by da cockpit with levers, wheels, dials, lights, buttons, bombs, big guns… eh. So you can see it’s not easy to drive da plane. Men never know wat da plane will do: go up, down, left, right. And den some days, mon Dieux, watch out, you tink da pilot is from another planet.”
“Men like shopping, talking on da phone, cleaning, cooking; you know stuff like dat. All women tink about is work, sports, and sex.” Puzzled, John lowered his eyebrows and squinted. The Colonel abruptly realized his mistake and blurted out. “Tabarnac, wait a second, dat’s not right. It’s backward; flop-flip dat. Excusez moi. Let me just say, men and women are very different. Women are a mystery to men and dat is wat makes them so interesting and attractive. I have been married for twenty years, and Delice still surprises me every day. Sure, she is short for ‘er weight, but she is still sexy to me. I love her. N’obulie pas – ‘appy wife, ‘appy life.”
John shook his head in disbelief, “Son of a bitch! So, let me get this straight, after saying ‘you know how women are’ for years, you really don’t know how women are, do you?”
The Colonel smiled, shook his head back and forth. “No, ’ell no. Never did. Never will. No one does. Some tings in life are meant to be not understood… no?”
John gasped in frustration, “So what I am I supposed to do with the girl at college?”
The Colonel looked skyward and solemnly said, “You, like everyone else, are given twenty-eight letters to write your own life story. Wat you do with dem letters is up to you. You’re in charge of your own life. You make your own decisions. Dat’s true for everyone. For all of us, it’s da same ting… only different, eh?”
“Of course. You are right. I’m such a dummy,” replied John, grinning from ear to ear. “I get it now. Merci beaucoup, mon ami. By the way, there are only twenty-six letters in the alphabet, not twenty-eight.”
Smiling, the Colonel said, “I know dat, just tryin’ to see if you were listening.”
Page 1 Page 2
Pages: 1 2
About William Parent
