Keats and Bagels and Botflies – By Wanda Morrow-Clevenger
“When it comes to relationships there’s no cosmic algebra to decipher, no God is nature is science is kismet is Ralph Waldo Emerson.” Darrell spoke in riddles, but Laurel liked his intensity. Geeks were in, she maintained. And a big bang was worth a boatload of idiosyncratic hypothesizing. “Sex is lust and ligaments and Keats rolled into an onion bagel,” he insisted, holding her hand to his hard-on. “Destiny is physics and physiology playing patty-cake.”
The votes were in: her prissy sorority sisters balked, eye-rolls all around. “Do you understand anything he says?” After ruminations came sarcastic acceptance, “Whatever, have fun walking on the wild side.”
No, she hadn’t lost a bet. Darrell was product of trial and error, false advertisement and acronyms, a lost soul knelt before Shelley salvation. A Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 500 Days of Summer. She’d lost her virginity to a meathead footballer freshman year–he yelled “touchdown” after. Following the jock were jerks and jokers. Finding Darrell was positively poetic.
Everything was universally clear now. Darrell was right, life was a hornet nest pulsating in botfly bowels. And rainy days were for dorm-room fucking.
Laurel squirmed against the ballpoint tickling her lower back. “Voltaire who?”