Excerpt from Apology - Rolling In The Mud
The next day Sasha comes to State College to help me move. Actually "move" is not quite the right word for it. Perhaps vacate is more accurate as I have no place to move to. My belongings are stashed haphazardly with friends and family. Dave and Samantha have my couch, Papasan chair, and TV. Sasha will be taking my CDs and art collection.
It is a strange feeling to know I will be homeless. I am sure I will be able to find someplace to sleep and shower, but I am not one who feels comfortable as a guest and I need a space to call my own. I feel as if I'm stuck in a floating purgatory. From morning to night I wander the streets or work at the university computer labs. This writing fills my time and gives be a vague sense of purpose that helps keep me from sinking into deeper depression.
It is the first time I have seen Sasha since the incident with Ornelia and I have to try to explain why there are bite marks all over my body. I explain the situation to her and am surprised to see how understanding she is about it. Although I have learned with Sasha that things are likely to come out in unexpected ways.
It sometimes seems like we are in a contest to make each other jealous. And all that we really achieve is making the other more insecure and uncertain about the relationship. It is complicated by the free love issue. It complicated by the fact theat both Sasha and I see ourselves as writers collecting life experiences. This often becomes an excuse for debauchery in the name of art.
That evening we are planning to meet Ornelia and Mina to go to dinner at the Café 210. We arrive at Ornelia's house where Sasha decides to change clothes. As I sit on a bench in the hallway all three women are trying on clothes and debating with each other about what to wear. Sasha comes out the door of Ornelia's room wearing a short tight dress. It is a style of dress I've never seen her in and she looks just a tiny bit slutty, a fact that I am happy to embrace.
As the four of us walk out the door Sasha nonchalantly asks Ornelia, "So what's the deal with biting my boyfriend?"
Ornelia does not reply and the issue is dropped.
Soon all four of us are sitting at the outdoor café. The early evening sun lights the sky and the air is warm and pleasant. Everyone is cheerful and engaged in small talk. Everyone accept me.
On one level it is a perfect moment. Lovely weather, nice surroundings, and three beautiful women as my company, yet my mind gravitates towards the hypocrisy of the situation. The sexual tension that lies just below the surface is not spoken of. The women are masterful when it comes to putting the carnal truths out of mind. Everything is civilized. Everything is nice as peaches and cream.
I look at each of them. My emotions are so confused and confounded by these three sirens. Sasha is animated and seems happy, but I know her well enough to see there is a touch of anger simmering beneath her façade. She looks beautiful as ever. Her golden skin and sharp features glow as she holds her head high. Her energy seems condensed into her small form and gives her a presence that is too large to be ignored.
In contrast Ornelia is a tall strong looking woman. He fiery mane surrounds her face like the flames that surround the heads of the gods and goddesses on Tibetan religious paintings. I must admit that Ornelia's attack was one of the most erotic situations I have ever experienced. It has inflamed my mind.
Ornelia shares the same Polish/Irish blood as that which courses through my veins. We are the same. Sometime when we are alone and not speaking, I know her. I know her through and through. I can imagine her as my wife and leading a long life with her by my side. A life much as our ancestors must have lived throughout countless ages.
Mina seems the most unsure about the situation, but she is also the least ensnarled. Her appearance is similar to Sasha's except her skin is a bit lighter, and her features are a little softer, but her presence in not as bold.
Over recent weeks Mina and I have become closer and closer. As Sasha and I struggle through the complex problems in our relationship I have turned to Mina in hopes that another Indian woman could help me understand the cultural issues I am dealing with. But sharing such intimacies has led us to have a close emotional tie. I feel happy when I am with Mina. One characteristic that she has that Sasha lacks is a playful sense of humor. Mina is one of the few women I have ever met who came make me laugh, and humor and fun are an important thing to me.
As I watch the three of them chatting I have an urge to tear through the veil of civility and force the underlying reality into the open. I would rather have anger, tears, lust, pain, desire, all of it expressed and released rather than carry on with charade.
But the feminine power of mendacity holds sway. This trinity of witches, these three graces are more powerful than I. Although I may be the source of the tensions, I am weak, almost insignificant in their combined presence. And each moment of forced civility is their way of making that fact clear to me. In all directions men turn their heads to gaze at these shining sirens. Their unity, their sophistication is a reminder both to me, and to themselves that their feminine power trumps that of one lowly rogue, regardless of what romantic web he may have weaved around these three pure and virginal edifices of divine womanhood.
Throughout the evening a competition seems to arise as to just how much attention they can bring. Sasha and Ornelia both know everyone in the scene and as we move from bar to bar there is an endless parade of over-exuberant greetings from them half-drunken men that haunt these locales. Mina seems outside this competition and soon tires and leaves. By midnight Sasha looks weary of the game.
As for myself I am bored with the whole thing and couldn't care less. With the smoke, loud music, and endless babblings of college-aged drunks I just want to get out of the entire scene.
When the evening comes to an end Sasha and I walk back to my car that is at a parking lot on the edge of town. As we near the car we walk across a small field with a few scattered trees. As we walk under one of the trees Sasha's high-heeled shoes get stuck in the mud. When I go to help her she pulls me close and kisses me. It has been a long exhausting evening and I can taste the alcohol on her breath.
"Throw me down. I want you to take me in the mud," she instructs.
I lay her down on the ground which is covered in thick brown mud. Her new dress is immediately ruined. I pulled down the top of the dress and expose her breasts. The more passion with which I grasp her body the more she becomes covered with mud. Her face, her neck and shoulders, even her breasts become streaked with wet clay.
I pull off her underwear and drop them to be abandoned in the dirt. With my pants pulled down to my knees I enter her. I pin her arms above her head as I thrust with slow deep jabs. Her face, now caked with a mixture of dried and wet mud, reveals an expression of heavenly resignation. Her eyes are peaceful yet desperate. As if this degradation is the perfect release from all the emotions she felt throughout the evening. Her insecurities, her feelings of inadequacy and self-reproach are both proven and released by allowing herself to be debased in this dirty form of sexual ecstasy.
I flip her over and pull her to her knees with her back against my chest. Her hair is matted and heavy. I run my filthy hands down the curves of her neck and between her breasts as her heads falls back in submission against my shoulder. Then pushing her down on her hands and knees I lift the mud-caked material of her dress up onto her back so that her ass is exposed. I begin to pummel her from behind. The smacking sound magnified by the wet mud that coats her behind. Soon her moans give way to shaking. Her arms and legs quiver until she collapses with her face and breast in the thick wet earth. With orgasm I collapse atop her. Both of us weak and depleted, we lie still without speaking.
Finally we pull ourselves up and get into the car without concern for the mess we make of the seats. We ride home in silence. As we enter the house, Dave my roommate is walking into his bedroom. Although his eyes widen at the spectacle we present, he asks no questions and enters his room and closes the door tightly.
Still without speaking we peel off our mud covered cloths and step into the shower. The warm water slowly melts away the layers of clay. We wash each other's bodies with care. Her skin begins to emerge from behind the dirt and appears fresh and vital. Now clean we hold each other as the water rains down upon us. Still no words are spoken. Nothing needs to be said. We lay down to sleep feeling the first tastes of trust and unity that most couples begin to experience only after years of life together.
On Sunday afternoon Sasha and I are doing the last of the moving chores. At 3:00 she must leave for home and I am due to leave on a ten-day shoot, giving me time to think of someplace to stay when I return. The house is nearly empty. I am forced to abandon my clothes dryer and an oriental carpet for lack of anywhere to store them. We clean the house as much as time will allow and leave the rest for Dave. It is a gray, gloomy day and as I load my art collection into Sasha's car a burst of rain pours down. We say an extended good-bye and go our separate ways. Driving away from the house is loaded with meaning for me because I know I am driving away for the last time and moving forward into a future full of doubt and uncertainty.
"Homeless." It is hard to associate the word with myself. When life is secure it seems like an unimaginable possibility. But here I am. Reduced to zero.
Zero. "How did I come to this?" I wonder to myself as the plane lifts off the runway as we began our journey for the film shoot. Far below on the ground I view the rows of tiny houses and the toy-like cars and trucks. Human life appears like a game that I am no longer a part of. I am floating, propelled through space without a sense of belonging to anyplace or anyone. In the three decades of my life what do I have to show for myself? We pass through the clouds and the human world disappears through the soft blankets of white haze.
