An Eventful Time (Part Two)
It wasn't hard to get some contacts from the MSS to organise sponsors. Muriel may not be the most... emotionally stable friend of ours, however, that doesn't preclude her from being good at schmoozing drug reps on the phone. One should keep friends around who are useful.
Muriel is a girl of many talents, a fair few of which reside between her legs, in a quiet, dark place she calls "Molly". Molly is carefully washed, preened, her hair ripped out and generally kept in pristine condition. Muriel likes to say she's saving Molly for a man she really loves (Gabriel), but we estimate that no less than one-third of the seedy hairy grad students have eased their slimy ways into her nether regions, one way or another. She cries to us, the next week, lamenting their rough ways and refusal to call her while we roll our eyes. I do certainly believe that pity, to someone such as Muriel, is like greasing a stuck door hinge- its orifice moves a whole lot again and squeals as it does so. Penny usually maintains that anal sex is still sex, much to the dismay of our distraught friend. It always amazes me that someone as obsessive-compulsive about her cleanliness as our Muriel would let any man near the confines of her gastrointestinal tract. So I manage her with a firm, consistent approach: "No, Muriel, it's an 'out'-hole, not an 'in'-hole. You really should know better than to do something like that... if Gabe knew how many men had discovered your intimate charms, do you think he'd REALLY be interested? You really wouldn't want him to know, would you?"
Our campaign? Simple. Free lunch and interesting issues. That was enough to attract a large, goodly selection of clinical students from a variety of year levels as well some of the newbie medical students and even a couple of uncomfortable looking, shabbily dressed arts students who looked as though they fit into the crowd as well as the second-hand pants that they were, in fact, wearing.
While Muriel was having it off with the drug rep in an obscure storage cupboard in severe emotional pain about the fact that I hadn't picked her to speak at our first meeting, the debate began in earnest. The topic was quite a simple one... "should interns be subject to an increase in their base rate of pay". I'd decided to forgo the usual parliamentary style to concentrate on an informal style of debate between two hand-picked speakers, ones who I thought would bring a unique perspective to it. Penny, Dux of her posh private school, captain of the debating team and capitalist extraordinaire, I had placed on the side arguing for the base rate to stay the same; James, charming quiet young man with the devastating twists and flexible, intricate ways of turning the debate, I placed arguing for a pay rise. I was honestly intrigued to how this would play out.
Our audience, hungry and driven by the allure of free food, started as a grumbling sort of disquiet. Penny went through the typical argument, that doctors make a large amount of money, and that there was nothing intrinsically better about the work that we do, that we do not in fact need extra money, and other standard left-leaning arguments. I heard a few yawns at first. I saw, with a twinge of anxiety, one of the better fed students nod off slightly... Distracted, slightly disturbed, I squeezed Adeline's warm leg, and she looked at me quizzically as if to say "it'll be ok, don't worry about it".
"Isn't the fact that we pay our interns the same base rate as a slightly qualified worker at K-Mart a reflection of how little we value our healthcare system?"
Suddenly the room was roused. James had spoken. Bit by bit, he demolished the entirety of Penny's argument with a rather novel approach: that in fact, for a social welfare system to function effectively, we should be enlarging the healthcare sector and valuing our healthcare workers and looking after their mental, physical and financial well-being. For a fair chunk of medical students would soon have huge loans to pay back to a government which was steadily moving towards a privatisation of the university system. His approach was an interesting blend of conventional left-wing ideology with a different focus, a different means to the same ends. He succeeded by working from a similar base to Penny's, but to different conclusions.
Penny replied to his argument, agreeing that we should, in fact, value our healthcare sector... but that a system of financial incentives wasn't the same as creating "value". That our healthcare workers, are, in fact overworked, suicidal, depressed, disillusioned, but that a whole lot of money never made anyone any happier.
James, however, then outlined a radically different system of simple and logical financial incentives- arguing in fact, that the base rate of pay should be increased and that the overtime rate should be reduced, with financial incentives for doctors to visit health services (espeically mental health) if they needed it and for completing work such as charity work in underprivileged areas or for starting new projects.
The floor was then opened up for questions. The variety of questions was truly stunning- all the way from "do you really think that could work?", to asking about specific flaws in the arguments, to a certain amount of the questioning of the ideology of "valuing doctors" from the funkier looking medicals.
I placed my arm high in the air.
"A question to both of you... I find it interesting that you've both chosen viewpoints that basically revolve around a social welfare system. I was wondering whether you could justify your reasons for this? What's so good about a social welfare system, why not have a user-pays one? How would your ideas change if we were to have a user-pays system?" I heard a loud groan from one of the arts wankers. But I really was interested in their response.
James: "I suppose in a user-pays system, doctors may in fact face higher medical costs due to the fact that they're more likely to get sick. Thus they should really be paid more to cover those costs, otherwise there's no incentive to go into the healthcare field."
Penny: "User-pays... doesn't really have much to do with medical salaries. It's equally arguable that other people should earn more, or that drug companies should be forced to offer their drugs at a cheaper rate by the government, or that doctors should receive free healthcare, anything really. It doesn't really have a bearing on this issue."
And then, that moment. A quiet voice came from the back.
"Wouldn't the people who cost the healthcare system the most, those who are going to die of complicated causes anyway, be the ones losing out? And should we really be working so hard to provide people like that with a poor quality life which drags on when we should really be offering them a good quality of death?"
Penny and James just looked at each other.
"That's a good question," they said.
---
After the debate, I sought out that quiet voice, Adeline trailing me. It belonged to a 5th year called Patience. She was one of those small incisive introverted sorts of girls. A little like a churchmouse, with small trendy glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, precariously.
"How'd you like the debate?" I said.
"Very interesting, much higher standard than I'd expected. Though I was surprised that neither of them really went for the obvious approach of suggesting that the welfare system is at fault, as you said."
"Yeah. Liked what you said though, that was really quite interesting. And the debate that followed really made it for me." She smiled, then. It was a smile, that, to be honest, creeped me out a little. I imagined her smiling that way dissecting someone's abdomen. Placing a mousetrap. Eating someone's liver with a glass of Chianti.
"You should get an online thing going, get the names of some interested parties and get some really interesting debates going, you know."
"You know, I had just that thought." I was intrigued. Really, really intrigued. What an odd creature...
Adeline gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said she had to be off.
"Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm off to see a friend..."
"Whom?"
"Just a friend, I'll see you... tonight?"
"Do you want me to come along? Give me a moment, I'll come along."
"Ummm... ok. Aren't you busy with your... thing?"
"No, no it's ok, I'll come." She gave a quick smile.
I quickly took Patience's details and ran off, after Adeline. Adeline walked in front of me, almost running. I could almost see a string pulling me along after her, lifting the clothes off my chest, pulling me, pulling me. After the girl who entranced me.
I was just too far away to touch her.
---
She doesn't answer her phone, she's always late. I don't get it. The other day she said to me, she said to me "are we serious now?". And I said that I would very much like it to be that way, and she said good, that she liked that, and smiled that way she does, looking into my eyes. And yet. She is forever rushing off, forever "busy". Always with some "friend" to see.
"I don't buy it," said Gabe, "I don't trust her."
Gabe had a funny look in his eyes. Sort of this funny glare, with his pale blue eyes that never seem to focus on anything.
"You wouldn't do her? You must admit, she's a good catch, fucking hot. Almost good enough for you, Gabriel."
"That bitch isn't good enough for me."
"Ooh... she rejected you didn't she?" I winked at him and smiled. "It's ok, Gabe, not everyone is capable of falling for your charms..."
"That's NOT it. I don't want you being strung along by that... loser." Suddenly I snapped.
"Call my girlfriend a loser again and I will END you. I do NOT. Pick. Up. Losers. Repeat that after me, Gabriel." He looked scared. He fucking should have.
"Fine, fine. Look, she's not a loser, she's the... Perfect, the best."
"REPEAT IT. I DO NOT PICK UP LOSERS."
"You do not. Pick up losers."
"Good. Don't forget this. Don't EVER forget this."
Gabe spent the rest of his time grovelling to me. But I itched. I couldn't stay still. It was like I had some sort of tardive dyskinesia and just could not for the life of me stop moving. Nothing I did could get her off my mind. Not the debate going well, not Gabe's attempts at humour, not medicine, not the feeling of having aced my case presentation in front of a crowd, nothing.
After a little while I reached into my pocket and got my phone out and called her.
"Hey..." She sounded happy to hear from me, that was good.
"Hey, how are you? What are you up to?"
"I'm catching up with Phil for coffee, remember?"
"Phil is?"
"My friend. He'll be at my birthday party! I'm so excited! You have to help me organise it, it'll be so much fun!" And she sounded as if she was on the fucking moon.
"When are you coming over?"
"I shouldn't be too long... are you ok?"
"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok?"
"You just seem kind of angry is all... What have I done?"
"Nothing."
"Well, I'll be over as soon as I can, is that all right?
"Yep."
"Look, I'm sorry. I, I'll come over soon, ok? Are you sure you're ok? Have I done something?"
"No, it's fine."
"Ok, see you later I guess..."
"Bye."
I just wanted to punch a brick wall right then. I don't know why. But I just wanted to fucking punch a brick wall. I didn't know what was going on. I don't know what's going on.
---
I calmed myself down just enough that night. I was cooking something simple for us, pasta alla'matriciana. I had a glass of red wine as I chopped the vegetables, humming to myself. The garlic smashed beneath my cleaver, then the skin simply peeled away, then finely chopped. Onions washed, peeled, halved, then chopped quickly, precisely, one way, then the other. The smooth, round tomatoes, almost sensual, diced finely, chop, chop.
As I prepared the ingredients, then cooked, I thought about how good my life was, really. Here I was, accomplished, in control of my life (something that very few are), able to appreciate my good fortune. The smell of the spicy cooking rose from the pan. A good cook too, no less. I like to think of myself as the modern renaissance woman (so to speak). Everything I do I wish to do well. I think that's the way it should be. One should take pride in one's abilities and activities. The red wine was a fine vintage, a Shiraz Cabernet Merlot of the better kind from South Australia. Stereotypical but still good. I managed to get it at a bargain from a place that I know. It tasted to me, however, like a much more expensive wine. I fancied it was an underpriced wine in general, one that in some other universe would fetch the highest of prices. Of this I was sure. I smiled to myself at that conceit. Once again, I'd succeeded where another might've just gone for a more expensive wine, for no real reason.
A warm glow flowed down my throat and into my stomach. I felt lit up, almost. My horrendous housemates had left the place to me that evening. I watched the news on and off. The usual. War on terror, war on the populace. John Howard's pronouncements of evil, evil, evil. He seemed evil. There was this look in his eyes. It scared me, filled me with a nameless dread.
"I know that the... ah... usual Australian is a firm upstanding moral citizen but... there are those who are not welcome."
At that moment he looked me straight in the eyes. He was talking about me. The fear sunk into a pit in my stomach, like tar, like this great unswallowable mass of bituminous road surface. I couldn't help but stare. Soon he had disappeared, and the moment passed. I was lucky that the sauce hadn't burnt, I took it off the element then. I glanced at the TV again. Almost as if it had never happened. But I couldn't forget that look. It was almost ingrained into me.
Adeline rang the bell, came in. She looked tired, a glow to her, stray hairs escaping from her usually neat bun, gave me a smile. We sat down to dinner. An entrée of a cheese platter, bread, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Then the main, the pasta. I poured her a glass of wine. Slowly that feeling of quiet contentment came back to me. We talked about the debate, how it had went. The different perspectives. I told her how I felt, about how I just wasn't quite sure that there was much point in prolonging, as Patience had pointed out, the lives of those who would continue to try and plummet towards death and, essentially, take the bulk of the resources that could be used to improve the lives of those who were more, fixable, I suppose. She asked me, suspiciously, whether I meant that we should give up on people purely because they have multiple problems. Of course not, I said, but what point was there in needlessly prolonging a life when more likely than not, a good death was what these people needed, rather than repeated admissions before they succeeded in their final demise. And with a smile, she came round to my way of thinking.
"You know, I'd never thought of it like that. I sort of haven't had the chance to really sit down and think about my beliefs properly yet. This is... nice." And she smiled that warm smile at me, that smile that made my heart jump, the one that made me drown in her eyes, that made me so vulnerable and yet feel so strong for I knew she was also as vulnerable as I, like a wounded bird.
"Well, you are one of the smarter people in our year, even if you don't get the same marks as I do, so I shouldn't be surprised that you enjoy this kind of thing."
"The only other person I've been with who could even hold a conversation like this is maybe Vincent," I frowned, and she quickly added, "but nothing like this, nothing that really made me think..."
I pushed a stray hair away from that smooth, supple neck. I couldn't help it, I ran my fingertips over her ear, down her cheek, looked her in the eye. She really was so young, seemed so young. Beautiful. No matter what Gabe said, she was really very beautiful, like a swan, like a sculpture. I love her. I LOVE her. The words entered my head, unbidden. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss her slowly, bite her lip in passion, let her kiss me back, let her tongue meet mine, push against her...
"Is this Wolf Blass?"
"Oh. Yes, yes it is." I glanced at her glass. "You haven't drunk much, have some more, I can't finish it on my own."
"Oh, no, it's ok, thanks."
"Are you sure? You know, this is a fine quality wine, you shouldn't let it go to waste... and I know you like wine..."
"Ah, no, I'm just not in much of a wine drinking mood." I frowned.
"Is there a problem with the wine?"
"No, no! Of course not, I'm just... not used to Wolf Blass, I guess, I just tend to drink what we have at home which is a little different, you know, French family and all that."
"So, you can learn to appreciate some fine Australian wines, I suppose. And what better day to start than now. Why don't you try describing the delicate tones within it?"
"Look, you know I'm no good at that sort of thing, why don't you tell me." And she flushed and looked away.
"Well, let's see. There's a rich spicy aromatic flavour, with a hint of... say... plum, berries and maybe, a harsher note like, say, oak. Wouldn't you say?"
"Oh. Ummm, let me try." She took a quick sip. "Well, I suppose the harsher note, and the spicy sort of flavour, I can see that."
"Try a bit harder, surely you must be able to taste those fruity flavours coming through?"
"Well, I guess, ummm... I'm having trouble with this. Look, I think you're right."
"No, come on, I think you really should learn about wines." She took another sip, looked a bit unwell.
"Yep, yep, now that I've tasted it again, I can definitely, yep, I can taste that berry flavour, and that, what was it, prune taste."
"Did you really taste that, or are you just saying it?" I gave her a smile, I knew what people could be like, Muriel had tried this on me the last time I gave her some Jacob's Creek to try.
"Oh no, I can definitely taste it..."
"It's good isn't it?"
"Yes, yes it is, wonderful, fantastic." She narrowed her eyes and gave me a smile. "So, tell me about what you have planned for this society of yours..."
"I was wondering whether you'd like to be one of the regular debaters for it? You know, if you don't have too many commitments with your friends to do it that is..."
"Oh! Wow. I had no idea you thought... Yes. Yes, I'd love to do it." She beamed.
"We should definitely have a talk about the debates sometime and the topics, if you like."
"Of course, I'll definitely do my best!"
And that was that.
---
That night in bed, she went down on me expertly for what seemed like hours. Teased me almost to orgasm three times before that delicate tongue brought me to the shuddering brink and I, my self, spilled over into orgasm, a warm numbness filling my legs, rising into my chest. I arched my back almost involuntarily, a moan escaped from my mouth like a secret. She came up to kiss me and we kissed, intently, passionately. I was still stunned for minutes as she kissed me, stroked my face, looked into my eyes, kissed my ears. Once I'd recovered I kissed her back, hard. I rolled her onto her back, ran my hands up and down her body, kissed her neck, ran my fingertips over her hard nipples, hands cupped those perfect, small, round breasts. My hand found her buttery, wet vulva and I rubbed my fingers roughly over her clitoris. She moved under my touch, moaning softly, pulling me to her, arms around my back. I pushed one finger into her, testing, while I kept rubbing her. Pushed another, then another, till I was fucking her with 3 fingers and she was crying out in pleasure, over and over, unable to do anything but be pleasured by me. I was making her cry out, aroused, I was on top of her. Right then I knew what I wanted to do... I started to tease the area around her anus and she arched her back slightly. I ran a couple of circles around the rim and plunged one finger, two into her, while I kept fucking her with my other hand. Right then I felt her tighten around me and the waves of orgasm go through her, and she called out and pulled my hair lightly, her nails digging into my back, as she came...
I washed my hands, of course, after that, then, feeling quite satisfied with myself, crawled back into bed, beside her, arms wrapped around her.
"I love you. I LOVE you." I said to her.
"Do you really love me?" she said, quietly.
"Of course I do, I love you so much I want to jump up and down all the time and... do something stupid. All the time!"
"I'm glad." she paused for a moment. "I love you too."
I hugged her tightly, in that moment. I felt so... good. Warm, fantastic. So happy. I was the happiest person alive. I don't think I know anyone who could have felt any better right then. I was loved. LOVED.
I have everything I have ever wanted in the world. How many people can say that? I have everything. And I want nothing more.
---
The next couple of weeks happened without much import. I finished off my paediatrics term, with a leap and a bound, it seems. I was on top of the world. I'm still on top of the world. Life is good. Life is GOOD.
There is so much to do... so much to be done. And that, more than anything, feels the best.
Muriel is a girl of many talents, a fair few of which reside between her legs, in a quiet, dark place she calls "Molly". Molly is carefully washed, preened, her hair ripped out and generally kept in pristine condition. Muriel likes to say she's saving Molly for a man she really loves (Gabriel), but we estimate that no less than one-third of the seedy hairy grad students have eased their slimy ways into her nether regions, one way or another. She cries to us, the next week, lamenting their rough ways and refusal to call her while we roll our eyes. I do certainly believe that pity, to someone such as Muriel, is like greasing a stuck door hinge- its orifice moves a whole lot again and squeals as it does so. Penny usually maintains that anal sex is still sex, much to the dismay of our distraught friend. It always amazes me that someone as obsessive-compulsive about her cleanliness as our Muriel would let any man near the confines of her gastrointestinal tract. So I manage her with a firm, consistent approach: "No, Muriel, it's an 'out'-hole, not an 'in'-hole. You really should know better than to do something like that... if Gabe knew how many men had discovered your intimate charms, do you think he'd REALLY be interested? You really wouldn't want him to know, would you?"
Our campaign? Simple. Free lunch and interesting issues. That was enough to attract a large, goodly selection of clinical students from a variety of year levels as well some of the newbie medical students and even a couple of uncomfortable looking, shabbily dressed arts students who looked as though they fit into the crowd as well as the second-hand pants that they were, in fact, wearing.
While Muriel was having it off with the drug rep in an obscure storage cupboard in severe emotional pain about the fact that I hadn't picked her to speak at our first meeting, the debate began in earnest. The topic was quite a simple one... "should interns be subject to an increase in their base rate of pay". I'd decided to forgo the usual parliamentary style to concentrate on an informal style of debate between two hand-picked speakers, ones who I thought would bring a unique perspective to it. Penny, Dux of her posh private school, captain of the debating team and capitalist extraordinaire, I had placed on the side arguing for the base rate to stay the same; James, charming quiet young man with the devastating twists and flexible, intricate ways of turning the debate, I placed arguing for a pay rise. I was honestly intrigued to how this would play out.
Our audience, hungry and driven by the allure of free food, started as a grumbling sort of disquiet. Penny went through the typical argument, that doctors make a large amount of money, and that there was nothing intrinsically better about the work that we do, that we do not in fact need extra money, and other standard left-leaning arguments. I heard a few yawns at first. I saw, with a twinge of anxiety, one of the better fed students nod off slightly... Distracted, slightly disturbed, I squeezed Adeline's warm leg, and she looked at me quizzically as if to say "it'll be ok, don't worry about it".
"Isn't the fact that we pay our interns the same base rate as a slightly qualified worker at K-Mart a reflection of how little we value our healthcare system?"
Suddenly the room was roused. James had spoken. Bit by bit, he demolished the entirety of Penny's argument with a rather novel approach: that in fact, for a social welfare system to function effectively, we should be enlarging the healthcare sector and valuing our healthcare workers and looking after their mental, physical and financial well-being. For a fair chunk of medical students would soon have huge loans to pay back to a government which was steadily moving towards a privatisation of the university system. His approach was an interesting blend of conventional left-wing ideology with a different focus, a different means to the same ends. He succeeded by working from a similar base to Penny's, but to different conclusions.
Penny replied to his argument, agreeing that we should, in fact, value our healthcare sector... but that a system of financial incentives wasn't the same as creating "value". That our healthcare workers, are, in fact overworked, suicidal, depressed, disillusioned, but that a whole lot of money never made anyone any happier.
James, however, then outlined a radically different system of simple and logical financial incentives- arguing in fact, that the base rate of pay should be increased and that the overtime rate should be reduced, with financial incentives for doctors to visit health services (espeically mental health) if they needed it and for completing work such as charity work in underprivileged areas or for starting new projects.
The floor was then opened up for questions. The variety of questions was truly stunning- all the way from "do you really think that could work?", to asking about specific flaws in the arguments, to a certain amount of the questioning of the ideology of "valuing doctors" from the funkier looking medicals.
I placed my arm high in the air.
"A question to both of you... I find it interesting that you've both chosen viewpoints that basically revolve around a social welfare system. I was wondering whether you could justify your reasons for this? What's so good about a social welfare system, why not have a user-pays one? How would your ideas change if we were to have a user-pays system?" I heard a loud groan from one of the arts wankers. But I really was interested in their response.
James: "I suppose in a user-pays system, doctors may in fact face higher medical costs due to the fact that they're more likely to get sick. Thus they should really be paid more to cover those costs, otherwise there's no incentive to go into the healthcare field."
Penny: "User-pays... doesn't really have much to do with medical salaries. It's equally arguable that other people should earn more, or that drug companies should be forced to offer their drugs at a cheaper rate by the government, or that doctors should receive free healthcare, anything really. It doesn't really have a bearing on this issue."
And then, that moment. A quiet voice came from the back.
"Wouldn't the people who cost the healthcare system the most, those who are going to die of complicated causes anyway, be the ones losing out? And should we really be working so hard to provide people like that with a poor quality life which drags on when we should really be offering them a good quality of death?"
Penny and James just looked at each other.
"That's a good question," they said.
---
After the debate, I sought out that quiet voice, Adeline trailing me. It belonged to a 5th year called Patience. She was one of those small incisive introverted sorts of girls. A little like a churchmouse, with small trendy glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, precariously.
"How'd you like the debate?" I said.
"Very interesting, much higher standard than I'd expected. Though I was surprised that neither of them really went for the obvious approach of suggesting that the welfare system is at fault, as you said."
"Yeah. Liked what you said though, that was really quite interesting. And the debate that followed really made it for me." She smiled, then. It was a smile, that, to be honest, creeped me out a little. I imagined her smiling that way dissecting someone's abdomen. Placing a mousetrap. Eating someone's liver with a glass of Chianti.
"You should get an online thing going, get the names of some interested parties and get some really interesting debates going, you know."
"You know, I had just that thought." I was intrigued. Really, really intrigued. What an odd creature...
Adeline gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said she had to be off.
"Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm off to see a friend..."
"Whom?"
"Just a friend, I'll see you... tonight?"
"Do you want me to come along? Give me a moment, I'll come along."
"Ummm... ok. Aren't you busy with your... thing?"
"No, no it's ok, I'll come." She gave a quick smile.
I quickly took Patience's details and ran off, after Adeline. Adeline walked in front of me, almost running. I could almost see a string pulling me along after her, lifting the clothes off my chest, pulling me, pulling me. After the girl who entranced me.
I was just too far away to touch her.
---
She doesn't answer her phone, she's always late. I don't get it. The other day she said to me, she said to me "are we serious now?". And I said that I would very much like it to be that way, and she said good, that she liked that, and smiled that way she does, looking into my eyes. And yet. She is forever rushing off, forever "busy". Always with some "friend" to see.
"I don't buy it," said Gabe, "I don't trust her."
Gabe had a funny look in his eyes. Sort of this funny glare, with his pale blue eyes that never seem to focus on anything.
"You wouldn't do her? You must admit, she's a good catch, fucking hot. Almost good enough for you, Gabriel."
"That bitch isn't good enough for me."
"Ooh... she rejected you didn't she?" I winked at him and smiled. "It's ok, Gabe, not everyone is capable of falling for your charms..."
"That's NOT it. I don't want you being strung along by that... loser." Suddenly I snapped.
"Call my girlfriend a loser again and I will END you. I do NOT. Pick. Up. Losers. Repeat that after me, Gabriel." He looked scared. He fucking should have.
"Fine, fine. Look, she's not a loser, she's the... Perfect, the best."
"REPEAT IT. I DO NOT PICK UP LOSERS."
"You do not. Pick up losers."
"Good. Don't forget this. Don't EVER forget this."
Gabe spent the rest of his time grovelling to me. But I itched. I couldn't stay still. It was like I had some sort of tardive dyskinesia and just could not for the life of me stop moving. Nothing I did could get her off my mind. Not the debate going well, not Gabe's attempts at humour, not medicine, not the feeling of having aced my case presentation in front of a crowd, nothing.
After a little while I reached into my pocket and got my phone out and called her.
"Hey..." She sounded happy to hear from me, that was good.
"Hey, how are you? What are you up to?"
"I'm catching up with Phil for coffee, remember?"
"Phil is?"
"My friend. He'll be at my birthday party! I'm so excited! You have to help me organise it, it'll be so much fun!" And she sounded as if she was on the fucking moon.
"When are you coming over?"
"I shouldn't be too long... are you ok?"
"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok?"
"You just seem kind of angry is all... What have I done?"
"Nothing."
"Well, I'll be over as soon as I can, is that all right?
"Yep."
"Look, I'm sorry. I, I'll come over soon, ok? Are you sure you're ok? Have I done something?"
"No, it's fine."
"Ok, see you later I guess..."
"Bye."
I just wanted to punch a brick wall right then. I don't know why. But I just wanted to fucking punch a brick wall. I didn't know what was going on. I don't know what's going on.
---
I calmed myself down just enough that night. I was cooking something simple for us, pasta alla'matriciana. I had a glass of red wine as I chopped the vegetables, humming to myself. The garlic smashed beneath my cleaver, then the skin simply peeled away, then finely chopped. Onions washed, peeled, halved, then chopped quickly, precisely, one way, then the other. The smooth, round tomatoes, almost sensual, diced finely, chop, chop.
As I prepared the ingredients, then cooked, I thought about how good my life was, really. Here I was, accomplished, in control of my life (something that very few are), able to appreciate my good fortune. The smell of the spicy cooking rose from the pan. A good cook too, no less. I like to think of myself as the modern renaissance woman (so to speak). Everything I do I wish to do well. I think that's the way it should be. One should take pride in one's abilities and activities. The red wine was a fine vintage, a Shiraz Cabernet Merlot of the better kind from South Australia. Stereotypical but still good. I managed to get it at a bargain from a place that I know. It tasted to me, however, like a much more expensive wine. I fancied it was an underpriced wine in general, one that in some other universe would fetch the highest of prices. Of this I was sure. I smiled to myself at that conceit. Once again, I'd succeeded where another might've just gone for a more expensive wine, for no real reason.
A warm glow flowed down my throat and into my stomach. I felt lit up, almost. My horrendous housemates had left the place to me that evening. I watched the news on and off. The usual. War on terror, war on the populace. John Howard's pronouncements of evil, evil, evil. He seemed evil. There was this look in his eyes. It scared me, filled me with a nameless dread.
"I know that the... ah... usual Australian is a firm upstanding moral citizen but... there are those who are not welcome."
At that moment he looked me straight in the eyes. He was talking about me. The fear sunk into a pit in my stomach, like tar, like this great unswallowable mass of bituminous road surface. I couldn't help but stare. Soon he had disappeared, and the moment passed. I was lucky that the sauce hadn't burnt, I took it off the element then. I glanced at the TV again. Almost as if it had never happened. But I couldn't forget that look. It was almost ingrained into me.
Adeline rang the bell, came in. She looked tired, a glow to her, stray hairs escaping from her usually neat bun, gave me a smile. We sat down to dinner. An entrée of a cheese platter, bread, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Then the main, the pasta. I poured her a glass of wine. Slowly that feeling of quiet contentment came back to me. We talked about the debate, how it had went. The different perspectives. I told her how I felt, about how I just wasn't quite sure that there was much point in prolonging, as Patience had pointed out, the lives of those who would continue to try and plummet towards death and, essentially, take the bulk of the resources that could be used to improve the lives of those who were more, fixable, I suppose. She asked me, suspiciously, whether I meant that we should give up on people purely because they have multiple problems. Of course not, I said, but what point was there in needlessly prolonging a life when more likely than not, a good death was what these people needed, rather than repeated admissions before they succeeded in their final demise. And with a smile, she came round to my way of thinking.
"You know, I'd never thought of it like that. I sort of haven't had the chance to really sit down and think about my beliefs properly yet. This is... nice." And she smiled that warm smile at me, that smile that made my heart jump, the one that made me drown in her eyes, that made me so vulnerable and yet feel so strong for I knew she was also as vulnerable as I, like a wounded bird.
"Well, you are one of the smarter people in our year, even if you don't get the same marks as I do, so I shouldn't be surprised that you enjoy this kind of thing."
"The only other person I've been with who could even hold a conversation like this is maybe Vincent," I frowned, and she quickly added, "but nothing like this, nothing that really made me think..."
I pushed a stray hair away from that smooth, supple neck. I couldn't help it, I ran my fingertips over her ear, down her cheek, looked her in the eye. She really was so young, seemed so young. Beautiful. No matter what Gabe said, she was really very beautiful, like a swan, like a sculpture. I love her. I LOVE her. The words entered my head, unbidden. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss her slowly, bite her lip in passion, let her kiss me back, let her tongue meet mine, push against her...
"Is this Wolf Blass?"
"Oh. Yes, yes it is." I glanced at her glass. "You haven't drunk much, have some more, I can't finish it on my own."
"Oh, no, it's ok, thanks."
"Are you sure? You know, this is a fine quality wine, you shouldn't let it go to waste... and I know you like wine..."
"Ah, no, I'm just not in much of a wine drinking mood." I frowned.
"Is there a problem with the wine?"
"No, no! Of course not, I'm just... not used to Wolf Blass, I guess, I just tend to drink what we have at home which is a little different, you know, French family and all that."
"So, you can learn to appreciate some fine Australian wines, I suppose. And what better day to start than now. Why don't you try describing the delicate tones within it?"
"Look, you know I'm no good at that sort of thing, why don't you tell me." And she flushed and looked away.
"Well, let's see. There's a rich spicy aromatic flavour, with a hint of... say... plum, berries and maybe, a harsher note like, say, oak. Wouldn't you say?"
"Oh. Ummm, let me try." She took a quick sip. "Well, I suppose the harsher note, and the spicy sort of flavour, I can see that."
"Try a bit harder, surely you must be able to taste those fruity flavours coming through?"
"Well, I guess, ummm... I'm having trouble with this. Look, I think you're right."
"No, come on, I think you really should learn about wines." She took another sip, looked a bit unwell.
"Yep, yep, now that I've tasted it again, I can definitely, yep, I can taste that berry flavour, and that, what was it, prune taste."
"Did you really taste that, or are you just saying it?" I gave her a smile, I knew what people could be like, Muriel had tried this on me the last time I gave her some Jacob's Creek to try.
"Oh no, I can definitely taste it..."
"It's good isn't it?"
"Yes, yes it is, wonderful, fantastic." She narrowed her eyes and gave me a smile. "So, tell me about what you have planned for this society of yours..."
"I was wondering whether you'd like to be one of the regular debaters for it? You know, if you don't have too many commitments with your friends to do it that is..."
"Oh! Wow. I had no idea you thought... Yes. Yes, I'd love to do it." She beamed.
"We should definitely have a talk about the debates sometime and the topics, if you like."
"Of course, I'll definitely do my best!"
And that was that.
---
That night in bed, she went down on me expertly for what seemed like hours. Teased me almost to orgasm three times before that delicate tongue brought me to the shuddering brink and I, my self, spilled over into orgasm, a warm numbness filling my legs, rising into my chest. I arched my back almost involuntarily, a moan escaped from my mouth like a secret. She came up to kiss me and we kissed, intently, passionately. I was still stunned for minutes as she kissed me, stroked my face, looked into my eyes, kissed my ears. Once I'd recovered I kissed her back, hard. I rolled her onto her back, ran my hands up and down her body, kissed her neck, ran my fingertips over her hard nipples, hands cupped those perfect, small, round breasts. My hand found her buttery, wet vulva and I rubbed my fingers roughly over her clitoris. She moved under my touch, moaning softly, pulling me to her, arms around my back. I pushed one finger into her, testing, while I kept rubbing her. Pushed another, then another, till I was fucking her with 3 fingers and she was crying out in pleasure, over and over, unable to do anything but be pleasured by me. I was making her cry out, aroused, I was on top of her. Right then I knew what I wanted to do... I started to tease the area around her anus and she arched her back slightly. I ran a couple of circles around the rim and plunged one finger, two into her, while I kept fucking her with my other hand. Right then I felt her tighten around me and the waves of orgasm go through her, and she called out and pulled my hair lightly, her nails digging into my back, as she came...
I washed my hands, of course, after that, then, feeling quite satisfied with myself, crawled back into bed, beside her, arms wrapped around her.
"I love you. I LOVE you." I said to her.
"Do you really love me?" she said, quietly.
"Of course I do, I love you so much I want to jump up and down all the time and... do something stupid. All the time!"
"I'm glad." she paused for a moment. "I love you too."
I hugged her tightly, in that moment. I felt so... good. Warm, fantastic. So happy. I was the happiest person alive. I don't think I know anyone who could have felt any better right then. I was loved. LOVED.
I have everything I have ever wanted in the world. How many people can say that? I have everything. And I want nothing more.
---
The next couple of weeks happened without much import. I finished off my paediatrics term, with a leap and a bound, it seems. I was on top of the world. I'm still on top of the world. Life is good. Life is GOOD.
There is so much to do... so much to be done. And that, more than anything, feels the best.