That thump you just heard was me hitting the wall.

Though, I'll admit, a soft wall. Terri and I are sitting on our bed, per usual, studying. My eyes are bleary, and I can't focus. I read the same paragraph in my econ text over and over. And over. I have words and lines and images running through my head, and spilling out, apparently, because the room feels like it's filling up with them.

I look at babycakes, and say, "babycakes, let's get out of here."

"Can't do it, baby doll."

I know, I know, she has a philosophy paper to write, but, jeeze, an hour?

Her philosophy prof is something of a legend, known far and wide, or, known around the campus, for falling love with one of his students, and burning all his clothes except the ones he was wearing when he declared his, unrequited, love.

Which has nothing to do with anything. 

I have to get some air. 

"I'm going for a walk," and Terri says, "love you."

It's a perfect night for solitary walks and solitary thoughts. I put on my headphones and walk uphill toward the park, listening to Don Giovanni. 

I pretend I'm Zerlina and I'm going to meet Masetto:

"Giovinetre che fate all'amore,

Non lasciate che passi l'erà!

Se nel seno vi bulica il core,

Il rimedio vedetelo qua! Ah!

Ch piacer, che picer che sarà!

You girls who trifle with love,

Do not let the time pass you by!

If in your breasts your hearts are fluttering,

Here is the cure, as you can see! Ah!

What a joy, what a joy it will be!"

And the coro sings:

"Ah! Che piacer, che piacer che sarà!

La, la, la,

La, la, la . . . 

Ah! What a joy, what a joy it will be!

La, la, la, 

La, la, la . . . "

And Masetto sings:

"Giovinetti leggeri di testa,

Non andate girando di là e qua e là . . .

Poco dura de' matti la festa,

Ma per me cominciato non ha. Ah!

Che piacer, che piacer che serà!

You lightheaded young men,

Don't go wandering here and there.

A fool's holiday is very short,

But for me it has not yet begun. Ah!

What a joy, what joy it will be!"

Coro:

"Ah! Che piacer, che piacer che serà . . . "

And I say, "and how, la, la, la, 

la, la, la . . ."

And together we sing:

"Vieni, vieni, carion, godiamo,

E cantiamo e balliamo e saltiamo!

Che piacer, che piacer che serà!

Come, my dear, let's enjoy ourselves,

And sing and dance and play!

What a joy, what a joy it will be!"

Tutti:

"Che piacer, che piacer che serà!"

And I don't even notice the hill.

the books

are shoved off the bed

the light turned off

a candle lit

the day banished

the first brush of lips 

of breasts

the flush

and heat of coming together

aligned

the magical rhythm begins

what a joy, what a joy it will be . . . 

la, la, la,

la, la, la . . . 

I get to the park. There are a few others out, jogging, walking their dogs, strolling, couples, solitaries, almost all with headphones or ear buds. There's a p.t. with her class lifting and straining and performing Herculean tasks, and the Bay is far below, and the city looks clean, the way it does as night, if you don't look too closely, and I smile to myself as Don's scheme begins to unravel . . . . and because I know me, that once my thoughts turn this way, I get all warm and sexy and begin to imagine 

our breath mingling

that moment when abandon rears its head,

the reality of a small apartment fades away, 

the flickering candlelight twinkles in her eyes,

La, la, la . . . 

that magic moment when . . . 

la, la, la . . . 

Ah! What a joy, what joy . . . 

the rhythm

the hints

the first touches

breath mingling, mouths together, tongues darting

tastes

aromas

sensations!

Ah! La, la, la . . .

and even, "The law of demand states that, if all other factors remain equal, the higher the price of a good, the less people will demand that good."

begins to sound sexy, ah! my Terri, as we entwine our legs, the little rhythm, the little movement in our hips, coming together, the little pushes, the little hint of desperation, the first hint of ah!

I needed to get out of that room.

It's cool enough that I want to keep moving, and it feels good. I think of all the places I could be, and I'm glad I'm here. It hasn't always been this way.

I'm going to call my folks tomorrow, and my bro, and maybe go for a run . . . 

la, la, la . . . 

my mouth on her . . .

oh! the sweet, sweet taste of her!

the rhytm of her hips, the first little hint of an arching back . . . 

sigh.

I'd better do some laundry, too.

And pick up something for dinner if Antoinette and Nathaniel are coming over.

And we need some toilet paper, and I need a new razor . . . 

la, la, la . . . 

sweet our breath! sweet touches, here and there, and there, and there!

Ah! la, la, la . . . 

oh! the sweet, sweet taste of her!

. . . sweet, sweet kisses . . . and the rhythm quickens, it cannot help but . . . just a little, there is time, the glow of her skin under candlelight, there, that little secret place . . . touched . . . la, la, la . . . hips rising to meet . . . 

sigh.

Terri. 

Maybe we can go to the beach this weekend. Maybe we can all go, get away from campus. Antoinette is pale as a ghost, and I can't imagine when the last time Nathaniel was at the beach, and Colin, yeah, get him down there with his shirt off, and Marcy in short shorts in the waves, freezing waves, and the surfers out there in their wetsuits, and the freighters coming into the bay, under the bridge, and the fishing boats and tour boats, and we'll get some cheese and wine and apple juice for Nathaniel, and a kite! and maybe we can drive down to Half Moon Bay and spend the night at Terri's parents' condo, and life is good

sometimes . . . 

he burned all his clothes! What we do for love.

Philosophy 101: Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Bishop Berkely, Emanuel Kant, Occam's Razor: among competing hypotheses, choose the one with the fewest assumptions: burn your clothes and she will love you . . . 

build it and they will come . . . 

and when the night . . . 

when the night has come

and the land is dark

and the moon 

is the only light we'll see

no, I won't

be afraid

oh, I won't

be afraid

just as long

as you stand

stand by me . . . 

Sigh.

She's on top of me, holding herself up

On her arms, and she's gliding along my thigh,

Along my thigh, gliding, along my thigh, my thigh, oh my!

and the moon

is the

only

light we'll see

what a joy, what a joy it will be . . . it is . . . what a joy it is

and my hips rise to meet hers . . . 

the flickering candlelight . . . 

eyes close . . . 

and we have time . . . 

and we have time . . . 

for her 

to cry

and she cries . . . 

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

and Don Giovanni takes the hand of the Statue, and says:

"Che gelo è questo mai?

What is this deadly chill?”

The Statue:

"Pentiti! Cangia vita,

È l' ultimo momento!

Repent! Change your ways,

for this is your last hour!"

"No, no I will not repent!

Leave me!"

"Repent, scoundrel!"

"No, you old fool!"

"REPENT!"

"NO!"

"YES!"

"NO!"

"Ah . . . your time is up . . . "

"Now, what strange fear

assails my soul!

Where do these

flames of horror come from?"

la, la, la

"abandon all hope"

la, la, la

"this is the end

that befalls all evildoers . . . "

Bah!

Gliding, the heat, the flickering candlelight,

The JOY! The increasing rhythm,

Terri smiles her smile

and glides

down

down

down

and what is that warmth I feel?

and what is she doing?

and if she stops I will die,

oh please don’t stop baby, 

please don’t stop, don’t stop baby,

baby, please don’t stop, 

oh baby, please baby, please 

don’t . . . 

and we have 

time . . .

baby . . .

please!

don’t . . . 

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

And I won't 

be afraid

no, I won't be afraid . . . 

It's late. I should get back. Supply and demand beckons. 

. . . just as long

as you stand

stand by me . . . 

Sigh.

~~~

Mozart, "Don Giovanni"

Zerlina and Masetto’s duet: “Giovinette che fate all'amore”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MwXdFUNfs0

"Stand By Me" by Ben King, Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller.