I wrote this for something else but . . .

There's some kind of toxic burning smell in here today and I don't wanna write under the influence of a disorienting poison. So, I'm posting a thing I was working on last week for another outlet (I don't think they're going to use it) that you'll hopefully find interesting.

If not, there's always tomorrow.

Andrew


The summer I was 13, I lived – alone – in a dorm room at a state university in Superior, Wisconsin. Others on my floor had to suffer with roommates -- f''rinstance, my mother roomed with my father and my sisters were forced to share a space. But I, the lone son, had solo digs.

The "married people" dorm. (I'm guessin' it referred to my parents and not to me.) I don't remember there even being one when I actually went to college. And life there wasn't representative of anybody's real collegiate experience.

But at 13 living there was like begin given (brightly colored, plastic) keys to a better world.

Early on, I saw in the lobby a vision; a gentile goddess – blonde, lean and shapely. Sheila Herod from Rensellear, Indiana. Only ten but in a few days she would be a socially acceptable eleven.

We sure didn't grow 'em like that in Brooklyn. My sister was the same age and she was just a kid.

I mean, this girl was beautiful. And smart. And funny. And fun.

We clicked immediately and she unhesitatingly accepted an invitation to my room, where we stoked our passion by watching "Popeye". And later, we played a midwestern, goyishe thing called croquet. (Whole worlds were opening to me.)

I met her family. Her father, who was a science teacher like mine. Her mother, about whom I remember nothing at all. Her 16-year old sister, Wilma, who smoked cigarettes and seemed kinda slutty. And her younger sister, who was deaf or something and wore an ungainly, and probably somewhat hilarious, apparatus.

We got close. We spent a lot of time together and I wasn't complaining.

There was, however, another player. Yes, this was – a triangle.

Enter Jaye Schoengold – 14 years old, from Peekskill, New York. She was (comparatively) dark, brainy, had a richness of character.

Her father was Hal Shoengold, another science teacher. He and my father became fast friends and our families became constant companions, often swimming together in Superior's frigid non-great lake. (It was a good lake, though. Pattison or Patteson or something like that. . . . No -- not Patterson. That's in New Jersey.)

At the lake, I would wrestle with Jaye, trying to push her down into the water. I think we both knew there was something sexual about it. (I did, anyway.) She was a great friend and attractive and I loved being near her.

But then there was Sheila, who was like sunshine itself.

The three of us started hanging together and a lot went unspoken. But, to be honest, I was never sure if Jaye was actually interested in me and that made my greater attraction to Sheila less of an issue. And one day, the words got said – Sheila told me she wanted me to be her boyfriend.

I mean, the burgeoning Jewesses at home considered me something of a dork but this classic figure of American appeal wanted me to be hers. Could life be better?

Well, it could be worse.

My parents wouldn't let me accept the mantle of boyfriend because Sheila wasn't Jewish. It's not like we were gonna do anything but they didn't want to even establish a precedent that this kind of thing was ok. I argued my case but to no avail.

So, in a dormitory stairwell, I told Sheila that our love would have to wait for another day.

She cried., which was upsetting, but also in a way, I guess, felt good.

The summer was a touch darker after that. My world was a smaller one. But no one could ever take away the fact that a regulation shikse had loved me.

I went back to Brooklyn that fall and was made fun of by lumpy-faced girls with braces. And the memory of summer did nothing to help.

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Originally posted December 13, 2006, 15:29 GMT @ http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer