(by Edward Zeusgany, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

It was the summer sun that woke Prof. Heston on Saturday morning. Most mornings, he would have his coffee and watch the Today Show, before dressing. Since there was nothing on TV, he brushed his teeth, shaved, and showered right away. He took his pills with a large glass of orange juice. There was the little orange one, a diuretic; a big orange one, to prevent gout: an aspirin, to make molecules of cholesterol too slippery to stick to the walls of his arteries; one half of a blue one, a beta blocker, whatever betas are; and a red and white capsule, to reduce the number of cholesterol molecules floating around in the first place. He made himself a cup of instant decaffeinated coffee.

The modern kitchen was located in the ell of the house. Taking his mug with him, he walked through the keep room, to the dining room, opened the French doors and went to sit in a white, wicker, arm chair on the small screened porch. It was one of his favorite places. He could look out on the sun shining through the border of old maple trees onto the green grass of the large side lawn, that was about half the size of a football field, but broken by small informal gardens, shrubs and fruit trees.

Prof. Heston had bought the property in the mid-seventies, right after he had obtained tenure at the University. He had wanted a colonial house; although only the ell was really colonial, that is, of the time when Massachusetts was a colony. The ell, then a small Quabbin cottage with an attached barn, was purchased by a prominent attorney in the early 1800’s. He was serving the people as a state senator, and wanted a fitting residence. So he had a federal style house built in such a way that it incorporated the old cottage into the fine new building.

The professor drank a second cup of coffee, allowing his mind to wander. It insisted on reviewing the various troubles that he had lately faced. His father had died. He and his sister became estranged in a disagreement over the estate. He had tried to give her some extra money, but she accused him of stealing from her. She sued and ended up having to return $14,000 to him. Then, upset by health problems, she had committed suicide by hanging herself.

After a unanimous positive recommendation of his department personnel committee for promotion to full professor, it was denied by the School of Education. He filed and won a grievance, that called for a second review. This was performed in an off-hand manner that humiliated and offended him. It was almost as though intended to demonstrate his powerlessness as compared to them, to punish him, he who had the temerity to challenge their authority.

His lover of fifteen years, turned fifty and left him for a younger man. He was, in a way, relieved at this turn of events, because he had been supporting the fellow, in whole or in part, for all of this time. The physical side of their relationship had been over for five years. All of this travail had occurred within a two year period.

When Prof. Heston came out if his reverie, he saw that there was just time enough to get the mail before his favorite Saturday TV show, Candlepin Bowling. He had been watching it since the fifties, when he and his father would eat their Italian sandwiches from Sam’s in Lynn while the bowlers performed their magic. He had seen, live, the great 186 single string of Nunzio DeMacha, that stood for over twenty years as the single string record.

After the show was over, he planned the rest of his day. First he would go into Amherst and have a cup of coffee at Bonducci’s Café, then he might take a walk around the town. If he got bored, he would go on to Northampton. By six p.m. he would drive to Brattleboro, have dinner at Wilson’s Restaurant before arriving at Colors, a small pleasant gay club. Since it would be out of the way to go back home. He dressed for the evening. He put on a pair of black slacks and a bright green tank top with a maroon short sleeved shirt over that. Satisfied with his appearance he left.

Bonducci’s Café is a hang out for the scruffy crowd, mostly but not exclusively young. On each side wall, there are booths: to the right for groups of up to four and on the left, tiny ones for parties of two. The color of the wood, the shape and the little stylized rose carving on the sides of the benches remind Prof. Heston of pews. They probably once were, now cut down for this different service. In the center there are two rows of small rectangular tables with three imitation bent wood chairs around each. The absence of a forth chair provides an aisle for the entering customers to reach the serving counter. Behind that, young people pass out coffee, croissants, pastries, bagels, and at lunch time, containers of soup and light sandwiches.

It is crowded on this day, the booths are all occupied and a few of the center tables have one or more people, bent over newspapers or books, or staring off into space. Prof. Heston notices one fresh faced, pink cheeked young man wearing gray jeans, a gray T-shirt, and black sneakers. He has black wavy hair and is probably about nineteen, 5’ 9” tall, the upper end of Prof. Heston’s preferred range for height.

Once settled into his chair, with a decaf cappuccino in front of him, Prof. Heston’s wandering mind, on this occasion, demanded a review of his financial situation, a happier topic. He had never married, had fathered no children, and had made purchases with the idea of preserving value. He offered cash for his car, a Pontiac Astre, and took care of it. He had paid off the mortgage on his house, and it had greatly appreciated in worth. His credit card charges were settled in full at the end of each month. He wore his clothes until they were worn out; for him, that meant holes in the sleeves or knees.

He had put a considerable sum of money into municipal bonds, when interest rates went very high. For ten years before retirement he had lived on the money that his investments earned and saved his entire salary, putting some into a wage deferment program and investing the rest himself. He had raised his standard of living only as his investment income grew; going out to restaurants, for example. Now, he wasn’t even spending all of that. Those extra funds he kept in a money market account, so that they were available to him, if he wanted anything.

Having retired at the early age of fifty-five, his pension was quite small, less than forty percent of his previous salary. But this only meant that he had less new money to invest. If he sold his home and purchased something smaller, he would have even more. He had thought about moving to Provincetown. Even a small house there would be expensive. But if he got one small enough, and he really wanted less to take care of, he should have about a hundred thousand left for his portfolio. That would yield another seven thousand a year in tax free income.

He came to, when the young man he had noticed before, made ready to leave. Prof. Heston decided to see where the youth would go. Anyway, he wanted to take a walk. The young man pushed open the door and turned left. Prof. Heston waited two beats before rising from his seat. He did not wish to appear to be following. Of course, if you want to get someone’s attention, following them in an obvious way is an option. The subject might be offended, but at no real cost to Prof. Heston. The loss would occur, if an advance, that would have been accepted, were never made.

But, Prof. Heston did not want to give offense, to be an offensive person. He only wanted to have a pleasant day. Looking at the young fellow, even without much chance of any other contact, would give aesthetic pleasure, satisfaction sufficient for the moment. If lightning should strike, if the person, who had attracted his interest, should notice him and be pleased, if they should make each other’s acquaintance; well, that would be a nice surprise.

Prof. Heston got to the street in time to see the young man go into a bookstore only one door up. He was pleased. Bookstores were good places to browse. There might be other attractive young men to look at, and books, too. It could be possible to get very close to someone, to observe them from different angles, to obtain a sense of their personalities, to touch “accidentally,” to acknowledge each other’s existence with a nod or a smile, to exchange a brief word or more. Somehow, this was more possible in a bookstore than in Bonducci’s Café, where any of these things might be taken for unwelcome attentions. It is a strange world, Prof. Heston thought.

While looking around for a book he might like, he managed to obtain all four views of his young man: front, back and both profiles. He was unable to catch the eye of his subject in a natural way, one that would not seem to be importuning; but he did find a volume that he had been looking for in paperback. While he was paying for his purchase, the young man left the store. Prof. Heston would not have followed him further. It would be too obvious, too crude for a man of his sensibilities.

After completing the transaction, Prof. Heston crossed the street to the town common. He found a seat on a wooden bench that ringed a great old oak. There, he opened his book and began to read. It did not absorb him though. He wold start to get into it and then become distracted, not by anything going on around him, but because of the piece itself. It did not sustain in him a consistent level of interest. He was drawn to some parts, but repelled by others.

There was little else happening in the common to watch, a few squirrels and birds, a few people, no really striking men. After a while, he went to Northampton. He parked on Center Street and took a stroll. A quiet day in town, there were not many people about. He watched a few skateboarders, who were too young and too grubby to interest him much. An hour later, he returned to Center Street and went into the Iron Horse Coffee House where he had a bottomless cup of coffee and read, until it was time to drive to Brattleboro.

On the drive, Prof. Heston’s mind decided to dwell upon his social prospects. They seemed not to be very promising. After his lover left, the professor went on a diet, cut back on his drinking, and resumed going out to the gay bars. Although he did not look his age; he could not pass for thirty either. He was largely ignored.

He spent a few weekends in Provincetown, where there was an older crowd. If he could meet people with some intellect, he felt that it would be possible to form a relationship where he and another could get to know each other. That was the problem, no one seemed to be attracted to him.

Although Prof. Heston was drawn to the appearance of the young, he did not intend or expect a relationship to develop with one. If he were lucky, every year or two, a pleasant night might be given him. Anything else was too improbable. Many of the young can hardly bear older people in their presence. Of those who are civil, few would be open to intimacy. Of these, many would expect to be paid, one way or another. Most of the boys who were not hustling would not be interesting enough for him to want to live with them anyway. And most would, quite reasonably, prefer and find someone closer to their own age.

Many years ago, Prof. Heston had noticed that he could let his mind wander and still drive safely. How he did this, he did not know, but he had come to rely upon it. He came to his senses, or seemed to, in time for his exit off the interstate. He stopped for gas on the way to the restaurant, then looked for a place to park in the municipal lot in the center of town. The restaurant had a back door from this area and the bar was on the side street. He was fortunate to arrive as someone was about to leave.

In the restaurant he had his one drink for the week, Old Granddad on the rocks. This was followed by a small green salad with the house dressing, a creamy dill. He resisted eating the roll until he had nothing else and his entrée; sea scallops in a butter, cream, havarti cheese sauce; had not come. The meal was completed with yet another cappuccino.

It was but a short walk to the bar, located in the basement of a converted church. A clothing store occupied the rest of the building. The large doors opened upon a hallway and from there Prof. Heston descended the old wooden staircase. At the landing, he paid the two dollar cover charge to two youths, a girl and a boy, who sat on steps going up in the opposite direction. He continued his descent to the next level. To the right and the left, underneath the hallway above, were respectively, a men’s and a women’s room. Ahead, and to the left, was a room with a couple of tables with chairs, a video game, and off this room a coat check window, not open at this time of year. Ahead, and to the right, was the small dance floor, and off it, a booth for the disk jockey. Further on and down a short set of steps, a bar was situated along the left hand wall; and behind that a kitchen, from whence a few people would order up sandwiches. The open area in front of the bar was quite small. Around this was a raised deck, furnished with small tables, each with three or four chairs. A second staircase went up to the deck and from there, there was a second and larger entrance to the dance floor.

The place would seem full with forty customers, packed with eighty. About midnight on a Saturday, it was difficult to move from place to place. The two bartenders, a woman and a man, in a flurry of activity, would be trying to keep up with the patrons wanting drinks. They were about equally female and male. These two were pleasant attractive people, who knew most of the customers by name or at least by face. On breaks, they might go and dance a little. There usually were one or two boys, who picked up empty glasses and bear bottles and emptied the ash trays. These youths tended to change about very year. One of the two male owners was generally present for the latter part of the evening. The atmosphere, over all, was comfortable and friendly, a pop and pop sort of establishment.

There were not many people present at that early hour. Prof. Heston had an orange juice and then went up on the dance floor. He liked to dance when it was not crowded, when he could feel more free, rather than just hopping up and down and hoping not to be bumped about and having his foot crunched. Twenty minutes later, he was at the bar for a second orange juice.

Moving to the far end of the bar area, he leaned against the wall. From there, he could observe the entire space around and most of the dance floor. A group of young people took over a table for four just to the left of the entrance to the dance area. He was immediately attracted by the boyish good looks of one of the kids. The lad was about 5” 8,” had short black hair with a slight wave to it; and a good, not quite husky build. He was wearing dark green pants and a yellow-orange pullover with black trim and a big number twelve, also in black, on the back.

Throughout the evening, from time to time, Prof. Heston looked up at the boy. The youth became aware of this attention and smiled at him. Prof. Heston was too surprised to smile back, as he should have done. This must have made him seem weird to the young man. He would not go and ask the youth to dance. The most likely response would be a flat, no. If the kid were kind, he would say that he did not feel like dancing right then. This would mean that the older man should not feel hurt, if the kid danced with someone else later. He wished to be kind, but the middle aged man should not ask him again. If the youngster would dance with him; later, when he tried to talk to the youth, he would most likely encounter an uneducated mind, mainly interested in the most trivial aspects of life. He stopped looking at the boy.

At two o’clock, the bar would stop serving drinks. It would be mostly men there at that hour, the women having departed. More light would be put on; the music would stop, but people would not leave. This was the time of choosing a bed partner for those who had not already made a connection. Now was when, if you went up to someone, they were most likely to say, yes. The alternative was to be alone. Those who could count on multiple offers had already made a selection and were gone. If anyone asked, it would probably be the only opportunity you would have.

Under these circumstances, it was too late to converse a while, to become acquainted. The person you ask or who asks you, might turn out to be peculiar, to have unusual sexual tastes or psychological or emotional problems. If you go to his place, it might be to a slum or to his mother’s house.

This manner of meeting people was distasteful to Prof. Heston, and that is why he usually left at the hour of one. There were some kids hanging around on the street, but they did not bother him. Once, someone had yelled, “Faggot!” at him from a passing pickup truck. Although he had never heard of violence in Brattleboro, he knew that it could happen. That was why he parked as close to the bar as possible and in a place busy with other people. He walked without haste, but purposefully to his car.

On the drive back home, he reviewed his academic career, his failed academic career. He was supposed to be an outstanding teacher, but teaching was treated by the School of Education, by the University and by society in general as a nearly worthless activity. He was thought to have been excellent in service, having been on numerous important School and University committees. But service was of little value either. In the last fifteen years, he had received less than normal merit raises, as well as having been denied promotion. Although it was in the third area; research, scholarship, or creative activity; that Prof. Heston felt he had made his finest contributions, it was in this regard that he was deemed to be least worthy.

Prof. Heston believed that he had created some outstanding works, an order of magnitude more important than what was being published in his field. These were contributions that should have important effects on all of the social sciences. But his work had been shunned. He could get very little of it published. Even those, who felt that it had some merit, failed to see what he saw.

Prof. Heston held that his efforts could lead to substantially greater productivity, in all aspects of social policy. He thought that people’s needs would be more adequately assessed and addressed, that programs could be better monitored and improved, that people could be more successful at accomplishing their human purposes. There was no doubt that his work could have a major beneficial impact on the general welfare of his country and in the world, he and he alone believed.

That his colleagues could not see it, was a great discouragement, a weight he had borne for a long time. Now he felt he must put it down. He could have given up this particular effort and devoted himself to other, less ambitious, more traditional, work. He knew that getting published was not difficult, if one wrote what was wanted. But he could not abandon his beliefs. That would be too painful, too depressing. The only satisfactory course open to him was to leave the field altogether, to remove himself from the situation. It was essential to his survival, at least psychologically.

Suddenly, so it seemed to him, he was back home, first at the entrance to his driveway, then inside the house itself. It was in one of the small bedrooms on the first floor, off the keep room, where he slept. He turned on the little stereo radio that was already set to the classical music station. Once in bed, he adjusted the volume to low.

Systematically, he relaxed his body, while he concentrated on the music. Prof. Heston had found that this prevented his conscious mind from bothering him, and would usually allow sleep to come. When he woke during the night, the music would remind him to listen to it, rather than to thoughts incompatible with rest. Some nights, he heard many pieces.