Andrew Shaw - Campus Tramp

She felt like telling him that she knew Don Gibbs better after one night than she could know him if they went together for twenty years.

“Linda—” his voice was strained “—just tell me who it is, will you?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Just humor me,” she said, trying to make it sound light. “I think I’ve got a right to find out who beat my time.”

“All right,” she said. “It’s Don Gibbs.”

“You must be kidding!”

She assured him that she wasn’t.

“Linda, that guy’s poison! Why, he’ll try to... he’ll be trying to—”

“To what?”

He didn’t answer, and she decided that he was not only behaving like a child but making something of a pest out of himself. So she decided to get rid of him once and for all.

“To seduce me, Joe?”

He didn’t say anything.

“For your information,” she told him, “he already has. And it was wonderful!”

She put the receiver back on the hook before he could say a word.

Time seemed to fly by at the speed of light. For all practical purposes she moved in with Don at his apartment. Much as she would have liked to pack her clothes and move in completely and permanently, the administration of Clifton College would have looked askance at such an arrangement. Instead she had to be hypocritical about it, which was something he hated. She kept almost all her clothes and books at the room she had been sharing with Ruth and went to her dorm to change and to keep up appearances. But she spent her nights at Don’s place and spent her free time wherever he was.

Friday she had awakened just about the time that Don returned to the apartment with a copy of the newspaper in one hand. She oohed and ahhed over the paper, proud of it and proud of him for having gotten it out on time. Then she wanted to make love and cook breakfast — in that order — but Don turned out to be too tired for the first and not hungry enough for the second. Instead he went to sleep and she went back to her room to tell Ruth. Then for the next week it seemed as though Don was with her all the time. Over the weekend and on through the early part of the week he didn’t have much to do — the real work on the Record came Wednesday and Thursday and Friday, and until then all he had to do was his classwork, which he seemed to get through with his eyes closed. The rest of the time he would lounge around on campus or sit in the Record office or spend drinking innumerable cups of coffee at the Landmine.

Linda spent her time with him. She wanted to be with him every minute of every hour and she didn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t. They were in love, she told herself, and there was nothing more natural than that she should be with him as much as she possibly could.

He cut his classes; therefore so did she. He slept days and stayed up nights; to be with him she did the same. She missed the weekly quiz in Spanish Monday morning and cut an important English class Tuesday, but this didn’t seem to matter at all. Don got by without attending classes — he didn’t seem to study at all, either — and if she was going to be his woman she could manage to do the same.

“Kitten,” he told her, “you’re going to bust out if you don’t start getting to classes. Admittedly the academic standards aren’t sky-high around this emporium of learning, but they do flunk people out from time to time. Don’t you think you ought to get to bed now so you’ll be able to get up tomorrow morning?”

They were sitting over coffee at the Landmine. Linda picked up her cup and took a sip of it. Then she set it down in its saucer and grinned at him.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re awake.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“When you sleep, I sleep. When you stay awake, I stay awake.”

“Then how do you pass your courses?”

“Same way you pass yours.”

“I get lucky.”

“So I’ll get lucky.”

His face grew serious. “Linda,” he said, “I’m not going to act like an angry parent, and after I finish saying this I’m not going to bring the subject up again. What I want to say first is that you stand a good chance of getting the boot from Clifton if you don’t watch out. If they don’t boot you for academic failure they might boot you for shacking up with me. Whether or not you get booted is your business and not mine, but I want you to know the score.”

“I know.”

“You’re a big girl now,” he said. “You have a right to make your own decisions and I’m not going to try to make them for you. As long as you know how things stand, what you do is your own business.”

“Okay.”

He finished his coffee. “I’m sick of this place,” he said. “Want to get some air?”

“What time is it?”

He craned his neck and looked at the clock on the wall. “4:28 on the button,” he said. “If the birds hadn’t headed south for the winter they’d be chirping in a minute and a half. It might interest you to know that the birds at Clifton invariably begin chirping at 4:29_ in the morning.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s when the sun begins to think about shining. But this is all conjecture, you see, because there are no birds around right now. But we could go for a walk.”

“We could,” she said.

“Let’s.”

She got up and waited while he paid their checks. On the way out she slipped her hand into his and an automatic smile came to her face as his fingers tightened around her palm. She wanted to lean over and give him a quick kiss but she didn’t, knowing that he didn’t like her to display her affection in public.

They headed south on the main street of town. The air was crisp and cool and her legs were free and easy as she walked.

“Know what I feel like doing?”

“What?” she asked.

“Drinking,” he said.

“Drinking?”

He nodded. “There’s a whole quart of wine back at the apartment. The two of us ought to be able to empty it in a fairly short amount of time. It’s not the world’s greatest wine — in fact it tastes a little like goat-urine.”

“How do you know what goat-urine tastes like?”

“It undoubtedly tastes like this wine. But there’s enough there to get the two of us stoned.”

“At this hour?”

“At any hour. It’s powerful wine.”

“I mean... it’s kind of a nutty time to drink.”

“It’s a nutty time to be awake, for that matter. C’mon — let’s go get drunk.”

She let him lead her off in the direction of his apartment. Then he remembered that the car was parked in front of the Landmine and they turned back to get it. She held his hand tightly as they walked along.

When they got to the car she sat next to him on the seat while he turned the key in the ignition and got the car started. She wondered dizzily what it would be like to drink wine while they watched the sun come up.

“Don — do you know what I’d like to do?”

“What?”

“I’d like to make love.”

“Believe it or not,” he said, “it’s possible to drink wine and make love. Not simultaneously, of course. It gets a little sloppy. First you drink the wine and then you make love. And then you drink more wine and then you make more love. And then you drink more wine and then you make more love, and—”

“What happens when you get tired?”

“Then you go to sleep,” he said. “But I’m not tired yet.”

“Neither am I,” she said happily. “The way I feel now I could do it forever.”

“Drink wine and make love?”

“Not both of them forever,” she said. “After awhile I’d get tired of drinking all that wine.”