Back when I first went off to college I also had my first significant exposure to a female who was definitely a departure from the naive highschool girls I was used to. Sasha manifested in my sophomore year and I have never forgotten her. This is a brief excerpt from a sort of memoir I have (perhaps foolishly) been toiling on. I hope you enjoy.
She wore her jet-black hair severely pulled back in a kind of bun; had cheekbones lesser popsies would die for; a large-lipped and sensual mouth; huge dark eyes with an Oriental cast to them; wore leotards and skirts and black, always black, turtleneck pullovers which accented her strikingly trussed tits. I was very much and instantly in love with her. She also scared the crap out of me. She was a person who shouted intimidating sophistication from her every pore and was also an avowed communist. Or so she said.
Sasha (I’ve changed the name here and that’s not really her in the photo but it’s not a bad facsimile if memory serves) was kind of a proto hippie. Or actually more of a retro-beatnik who was also intensely political. She intimidated me because she seemed so sophisticated. In retrospect I think she was likely a poseur, but for a naive Burnaby boy she seemed like the real goods. And while she intimidated me she also attracted me. Her manner was aloof as she sat sucking on Export A cigarettes – in the days when you could do such an outrageous thing in a classroom – and looking like a character from a novel – a Salinger novel and the sort of female who would have made a Holden Caulfield cream his undies. I was Holden in a few ways back then.
Anyway, as Sasha shared her odd cryptic (and always unsmiling) drolleries with me and made supreme judgments on our prof (whom I rather liked) I never thought for a moment she actually noticed me as a male personage sitting next to her who was idly wondering what sort of underwear (if any) a beatnik girl wore. Then one day, and utterly unexpectedly she hit me with:
“We’re going to Victoria on the weekend for a demonstration and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”
Well, blow me down with a bolt from the blue in an unacceptably mixed metaphor, but so flabbergasted was I by this that I verbally seized up and wondered if I had heard her correctly. Accompany her? Did that mean stay with her? Like overnight? I was, at that consideration, gripped by an awful terror.
I sputtered out a negative response, muttering that I had a commitment and maybe some other time and whatever other platitude I could muster. In response Sasha merely shrugged and didn’t look disappointed at all. I mean maybe she was utterly crestfallen but her face revealed no such thing.
She was that kind of girl.
I, unfortunately, was the kind of boy I was. Just a little less worldy than I thought.
I wonder what she’s doing these days.