Adrian Pearson - Cow Country

“Room 2-C?”

“Yes, you see, there is much trepidation and misinformation that is circulating nowadays. And I admit that I myself am guilty. But where would our society be without intellectual inquisitiveness? Where would we be without the courage that inspires an intrepid researcher to venture into the darkest reaches of pleasure and pain? To cast aside all fear and to test a fearless hypothesis? And so in room 2-C there will be candles and champagne plunged in buckets of ice. There will be pictures of fruits and Venetian gondoliers. Greek goddesses and reclining nymphs. Copulating ancients and elephants bearing grapes. But, significantly, there will also be vats of lubricant and multi-colored anal beads….”

“Oh my!”

“Right. And meanwhile the formal program will be moving on as planned. Alan Long River has agreed to deliver the keynote address. The Esperanto Club will sing a second set of Christmas carols. The Drama Club will act out the nativity — complete with real-live Caganer. All of this has been meticulously planned and will surely happen without a hitch at the long-awaited Christmas party that is now taking place in our cafeteria. All of it is now taking place as we speak, and it should last several more hours — or at least until our Oldsmobile arrives at the cafeteria.”

Raul nodded respectfully.

“It looks like you’ve done your due diligence, Charlie. It sounds like they’re having a wonderful time right now. Which is not to imply that I am not — please don’t get me wrong. I love the interior of this Starfire as much as anyone. The vinyl upholstery. The hump on the floor in between Bessie’s ankles. The sun streaming in through this windshield. It’s all been quite a revelation. But now I just hope we can make it to the cafeteria in time to catch at least some of the party….”

“We will!” I said. “You just need to have faith…!”

Raul nodded.

I drove on.

“But Charlie,” Bessie said, “There’s one thing you didn’t mention….There’s one important thing that you forgot to include in your envisioning of the Christmas party….”

“What’s that?”

“In your account you didn’t mention the food . What are you serving the attendees? As it is already getting late, surely the food line has opened up by now! So what are you serving them? Which is to say….what are our colleagues eating at the Christmas party that you have spent so much time and creative energy planning?”

“Ah, yes, the food!” I said. “It’s a fair question. And an important one. You are very observant, Bessie. You are very observant and for this reason I am sure that everything will work out for you someday. Someday you will move beyond gravel. Someday you will be loved unequivocally. To answer your excellent question, Bess, yes, I did make elaborate plans for the food. And it will be truly fantastic. It was not easy given the constrictions that were imposed. But I am convinced that I have come up with the perfect solution to the conundrum.”

“The conundrum being that you promised to serve both meat and no meat? That you’ve committed to both vegetables and no vegetables? That you’ve promised to be both of those world views entirely?”

“Right. And I think I’ve come up with the perfect solution. But I can’t reveal it just yet. It will be a special surprise that only I am privy to. And so I will need to be there in person to unsheathe the mystery myself.”

“You mean, there’s no food yet?”

“Right.”

“Our hungry faculty and staff have been sitting there in the cramped cafeteria for several hours with alcohol and barbiturates and forced professional interactions….but no food ?! And you won’t be serving it until we get there?!”

“Right.”

“Even though we’re going to be several hours late?”

“Yes. So let’s not talk about any of that yet. Let’s just focus on this road in front of us — the one bringing us closer and closer to the celebration of humanity that is now several hours old….”

*

To say that the drive to Cow Eye Junction by day differs considerably from the drive we’d taken at night….is to say that the sun differs from the moon, or the light of day from the totality of darkness. As we drove, we felt the sun enveloping our car and the glare from the black asphalt slicing into our eyes. Without any sleep at all, I felt myself growing even more weary, the warmth and the glare offering an irresistible sedative.

“Wake up!” Bessie yelled and punched my shoulder several times along the way. And each time I straightened up.

With time the miles flew by, and from the city we made our way headlong through a countryside that was greenish at first and then — closer to Cow Eye Junction — browner and more brittle. The landscape had changed yet again, and now as we crossed back into the cattle country of our beginnings we saw the changes that had taken place. The Cow Eye Ranch that once stood as an emblem for the region but had since fallen into neglect and decay. The former ranchlands where cattle once grazed but where strip malls now stood like shining theorems long since proved. Along the way we felt the heat of drought and the warmth of forgotten emanations. Then the pleasant feel of incarnation on our skin. And then finally the crisp coolness of the day’s dissolution. At seven the sun had mostly set and only a dull glow of light was still visible. At seven-thirty it descended beyond the horizon entirely. At eight it was night once again. By eight-thirty we had pulled into the desiccated landscape of the Diahwa Valley Basin. And by eight-forty-five we were driving by the mayor’s house and the Cow Eye museum and the health food store where the Champs d’Elysees used to be. At exactly nine we hopped over the railroad tracks and a minute later we pulled up to the entrance where Timmy had left the gate open for the night.

“The campus is so dark,” said Raul.

“And empty,” said Bessie.

“Do you think the party is still going?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I suppose we’ll find out shortly….”

From the guard shack I directed the Starfire toward the cafeteria where to our relief we saw a parking lot full of cars. In the distance the lit-up cafeteria shone like an island of light amid a sea of impenetrable darkness.

“They’re still here!” said Raul. “The party’s still happening!”

I parked the Starfire in the handicapped stall nearest the cafeteria entrance. Stepping out of the car at last, I stretched my legs and reached for the night sky.

“That was a long ride,” said Bessie.

“It certainly was,” I said. “But a necessary one.”

My friends agreed.

“Look,” said Raul. “It’s absolutely dark again.”

He was smiling.

“But the rain has stopped,” said Bessie.

She was not.

I nodded at them both.

It was nine-fifteen. Ahead of me at the entrance to the cafeteria a lone figure was feeling its way through the darkness toward the front door.

“Who’s that?” said Bessie.

“I don’t know,” said Raul. “It looks like an Indian chiefess….”

I recognized the figure immediately:

“It’s Gwen! She’s here! She must have just stepped out for a bit of fresh air….” Grateful, I called out to her through the darkness: “Hey, Gwen! Wait for me…!”

The figure looked up and squinted into the darkness.

Grabbing my duffel bag, I ran toward the entrance and reaching Gwen just before the double doors, I opened one of them wide to let her in. As the door swung open the sudden sounds of gay revelry and the warmth of overheated bodies washed over us.

“Please….” I said.

“You first…” she insisted.