THE WORST OF IT

THE WORST OF IT

 

While I was letting it all hang out for the whole of the WWWWC, Hal was going about his afternoon. Hal’s afternoons had taken on a routine quality that they’d never had before The Student’s arrival. Since his very public cuckolding (everything at a university is public, especially the private), Hal tried to comport himself with the quiet dignity befitting a man of his stature. He kept office hours and deadlines, he delivered classes of the same stellar quality, he spoke his opinion at department meeting, he kept up his social life. All of these things were easy for Hal to do, for it gave him comfort to behave as he thought he should. To behave like a grown up. To behave in a way that reflected his personal dignity.

 

Hal’s behavior wasn’t merely for show, either. At home, he more or less kept to the same standards as always: neat scotch in a proper glass, dishes in the dishwasher promptly, study slightly cluttered but never messy. It was if nothing had ever changed for Hal, like The Student had never existed.

 

But he had.

 

The worst of it, Hal thought, was not missing Felicity. How could he miss her? They were still on three committees together. She was over at least once week to pick up something or to return something else. Oh, Felicity was decent about things; she didn’t throw The Student in his face or give tortured, giddy confessions to her friends over late night glasses of Beaune. She handled the situation with dignity and grace (excepting the whole being caught in her marital bed with a mere child, of course). In this regard, she and Hal were perfectly matched: cool, calm, collected. Adult. Enviable.

 

So, of course Felicity was fine if Hal didn’t think about The Student. And so he didn’t; at least, he thought about the student as little as he could. But what else could he think about? The days were filled with his academic duties, but the nights were another matter entirely. Alone in the house, alone with his thoughts, alone in his life, Hal began to search. He turned to friends and tomes and texts and titillation. But quite frankly, none of those distractions did anything for him. He needed more—he needed something to take him out of his own head. After a little while of searching, he found what he needed on a little stone bench in a small grove of trees on Western Campus.

 

The little package was perfect: small, full, and pure. It was full of an elixir for Hal, a substance that he consumed greedily. Afterward, he yearned for more. No, he didn’t yearn for more. He needed more. But searched as he might, he had no idea how to find more. And when he realized this, he felt a bit desperate. He needed to guard this item carefully, greedily, even though it wasn’t his to keep. But he needed it, and he had no control over that need.

 

And that overwhelming, unquenchable need? It completely shook Hal. He’d not ever encountered a need like this one. He’d wanted things, certainly, but Hal’s wants were never without the charming confidence that assumed that he both deserved and would receive what he wanted. His education, his job, his life? Check, check, and check. It was like wanting a drink of water while at home. Sure, he thirsted and took steps to quench the thirst, but the steps were easy and the thirst was always quenched. For Hal, meetings his wants and need had been that simple.

 

But to meet his inability to meet this need that had sprung upon him unbidden and against which he seemingly had no recourse? That his life had taken such a turn and left him such a ridiculous place?

 

THAT was the worst of it.