Mad diary of malcolm mal.., p.11
Mad Diary of Malcolm Malarkey, page 11
But I could suffer from hot flashes or vaginal discharge or muscle spasms not to mention increased sweating. That would be so embarrassing.
Please, Osphena, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s all good to know, but let’s just take our chances.
Yes, let’s just take our chances, but truth is best.
Thanks for telling me.
Once again they began to kiss, passionately, but when Osphena reached for Phil’s penis, he stopped abruptly.
What’s wrong? Osphena asked. Did I do something wrong?
No, but I have something to tell you.
What is it?
He hesitated.
My urologist recommended that I pre-medicate.
For what?
He hesitated.
Erectile dysfunction.
I see. And so?
So, there might be some side effects.
Like what?
Well, serious ones could be hives or maybe difficulty in breathing. My face or my lips or tongue or throat even might swell.
I see, but that’s a worst-case scenario and they always have to say that in order to protect themselves legally.
Yes, you’re right.
And they began intensely kissing again, but no sooner had they started than Phil stopped.
But there may be others.
Others? Really? Like what?
During sex, I might get dizzy or nauseated, or have pain, or numbness or tingling in my chest, arms, neck, or jaw as if I were having a heart attack.
Certainly, those things could be disarming, but we can monitor them. You know, just watch for them.
Yes, you’re right.
And they initiated the kissing once again, but it wasn’t long before Phil curtailed the lovemaking.
If that happens, I’d have to stop and call my doctor right away. And that would be so embarrassing.
Please, Phil, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I understand and, if that happens, we’ll call immediately.
Seemingly relaxed, they started what they had started numerous times before, but, once again, no sooner had they started when Phil abruptly quit.
But I could suddenly go blind or deaf not to mention vomiting and sweating along with an irregular heartbeat. I just had to tell you everything. Truth is best.
Thank you. That’s all good to know, said Osphena, but let’s take our chances. Try to relax.
And they endeavored to begin again, but no sooner had they started when Phil stopped one last time.
But, and this is the worst of all, I could have a painful erection or that might last for four hours. Maybe longer.
She hesitated.
And that would be the worst of all? She asked quizzically.
I just can’t imagine having an erection for four hours, can you?
Osphena raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
And I couldn’t imagine having a dry vagina for four hours, can you?
Phil raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
For the next twenty minutes the two potential lovers lie in bed, fingers folded on their respective chests, staring at the ceiling or gazing at the super moon beyond the French doors when Osphena turned to Phil and Phil turned to Osphena and together they said, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Yes, you’re probably right, they responded in unison and after the two of them got dressed, they shared a cognac, and kissed goodnight. Phil drove home to Villa Park. They never met again, and what could have perhaps become a relationship for the ages, merely ended as it had begun: an online date pre-medicated for Osphena Ospemifene and Phil Sildena.
Just why Malarkey included this short story isn’t very clear. Perhaps, in a way, it was a way of avoiding baby talk, but that, like the length of time sildenafil works, won’t last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GRAY
Later that day, Malarkey and Liliana walk along Carmel Beach, holding hands. Now, for those Readers who have not walked Carmel Beach holding hands or not, then nothing Malarkey can write would be good enough to describe it. Comprehend it. Neither an Ansel Adams photo nor an R. L. Stevenson narrative passage could do justice to walks on the seashell white sands of Carmel Beach, as the Pacific fog passively creeps in before seducing the shoreline. It’s December, the water’s cold, but they walk barefoot anyway, holding their shoes in their hands. Malarkey walks Liliana toward a sand dune and they sit beneath a cypress overlooking the soon to be sequestered shore. Malarkey has no intention of writing about cypress trees and how, in classical antiquity, they were a symbol of mourning and so he leaves it at that. Malarkey leans back against the tree as Liliana sits between his legs. He wraps his arms around her as they both look out to sea.
“One day, twenty-five years ago, I came here to get away from academics. From grading papers and attending meetings and dealing with the bureaucracy, with the onslaught of memos and meaningless messages about minutiae. From students pleading for direction their parents avoided giving them.”
“Did it help?”
“I wasn’t here but for a day when my mother called to tell me my father died of cancer. And I remember I came to this tree, sat down and wept.”
Liliana says nothing, just holds his hands closer to her stomach.
“He was a self-learner. Never finished high school. When I was accepted to Oxford, there wasn’t a soul he didn’t tell. And when he died, a copy of my first novel was on his nightstand. The day before my father died, the attending physician saw the book, showed it to him and asked him if he recognized the author. According to my mother, my father merely scowled at him as if in some small, defiant measure he was politely telling the physician to fuck off. It was his last scowl, but I can imagine what it looked like and six weeks later, almost to the day, my mother died.”
Malarkey pauses for a moment and gathers his thoughts.
“When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
“Yeats.”
“Yeats.”
“How did she die?”
“Doc said it was an aneurysm, but I’m convinced it was from reading my last unpublished novel.”
Liliana turns to look at Malarkey, at Malarkey with the bittersweet smile.
“I love you, Malarkey.”
Malarkey looks at her, there’s a pause.
“When I die I want your name to be the last name on my lips.”
She kisses him on the lips and as they walk hand in hand through Carmel listening to the senescent sounds of the sea from somewhere in that cloudless sunset they faintly hear the song “The Folks Who Live On The Hill” which fittingly ends as they approach the Café Carmel.
Things seem to be getting a bit too maudlin here what with death and dying and Yeats and weeping, so Malarkey thinks it best to move on with the plot and after they leave the beach, they go to the Café Carmel. This is the inside of the Café Carmel:
They order two cappuccinos.
“Have you decided what you want to do after finals?”
Liliana asks.
“Probably stay home and make a futile attempt at finishing a futile novel. The futility of it all. I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: that piece cannot be moved and if you move it wherever you move it you’re checked.”
“That’s not Yeats.”
“Kierkegaard.”
“How’s Italy sound to you?”
“As a culture or an investment?”
“I’m going home for the holidays and I want you to come with me.”
“To meet the Fockers?”
“In a way.”
“How do you think that’ll work out?”
“Trust me. It’ll work out fine.”
“Based on what you’ve told me about them, especially about your mother, I’m not so sure.”
“They’re my parents and I’ll deal with them.”
She looks at her engagement ring.
“What do I do in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, try to pack as if you were going for more than a weekend. Or do you want me to do it?”
“No, I can do it. Just need to buy some new blue work shirts.”
“Precisely.”
“Not sure I want to leave Carmel.”
“Why not?”
“Because …”
“Because you’ll have to finish grading final exams from nineteen-ninety?”
“You know me so well.”
“You have no idea how well. No idea.”
They kiss. End of chapter.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A FORMULA IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
After Malarkey and Liliana return from Carmel, she spends the night at his place. What happens that night is irrelevant. What happens the following morning is. Liliana sits on the toilet and as she does, she notices a small, white, freestanding medicine cabinet with glass panes. She opens the doors of the cabinet and discovers a prescription bottle of sildenafil in front of an unused plastic specimen bottle. The specimen bottle has the name, MALCOLM MALARKEY and beneath it, SEMEN ANALYSIS, DR. BAKO and beneath that the date of OCTOBER 15. Liliana thoughtfully closes the cabinet doors; however, the expression on her face registers disappointment. If the Reader cannot understand her disappointment, then, in some ways, the Reader is very much like Malarkey. In that case, there is not much hope for either of you.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE STATE OF EDUCATION AS IT SOMETIMES IS
It’s a few days later. There are Christmas decorations and lights on the façade of Morbittity Hall. Inside, Malarkey sits at a desk at the front of the classroom as students finish their final exam. He looks up at the clock. The clock reads noon.
“Time’s up. Stack your finals here,” he says.
One by one, the students pass his desk and pile their blue books one on top of another. Wilson is no exception.
“Nailed it, prof.”
“Brilliant. Couldn’t be happier.”
Later that afternoon, as Malarkey attempts to grade those finals, a chore that only reminds him of the fact that reading anything longer than a tweet has become tantamount to translating Tolstoy into Aramaic, there’s a knock at his door. Malarkey reluctantly gets out of his chair and opens the door. It’s a student he doesn’t recognize holding a blue book in his hands. At first, Malarkey squints, thinking to himself, “Who is this unknown fellow with a blue book in his hands? And why is he here standing with a blue book in his hands?”
“Professor Malarkey?”
Malarkey opens the door and traces his finger across his nameplate.
“My name is Randle McMurphy.”
Malarkey clearly knows who Randle McMurphy is; he wrinkles his brow, but doesn’t let on. Sometimes, students believe professors only have one life to live and that one life is in the classroom after which they climb into a cardboard box and await the next time they have to teach, climb out of the box, and begin the exercise once again. The use of the name Randle McMurphy is a testimony to that ignorant perception.
“Not the Randle McMurphy?”
“Uh, yes.”
“I see. So, what can I do for you … Randle McMurphy?”
“I just finished taking a final exam in Morbittity Hall and found this blue book on the floor.” Malarkey looks at the name on the blue book. “Wade Wilson must have dropped it by accident,” McMurphy offers.
“Of course, by accident. Well, thank you, Randle. I’m extremely appreciative. This will make all the difference in the world to Wilson’s grade.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Well, thank you, professor.”
“No, thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Malarkey takes the blue book, closes the door and walks to his desk.
“Randle fucking McMurphy. Must have dropped it by accident. McMurphy my ass.”
He rummages through the pile of finals looking for Wilson’s other blue book, finds it and smiles. After Malarkey reads the final exam, he emails Wilson and asks him to come to his office where the latter appears to be somewhat nervous, fidgeting in his seat.
“Let’s talk final exams,” Malarkey begins.
“I nailed it, sir.”
“You certainly did, Wilson, you certainly did. It seems you dropped one of your blue books when you turned in the final exam and another student, a Mr. McMurphy, was kind enough to bring it to me.”
“Phew! Thanks for letting me know. I’m glad he found it. That could have been a disaster, sir. Is that why I’m here?”
“No, Wilson, actually the reason you’re here is because, well, you cheated.”
“Cheated?”
“Yes, Wilson, cheated. You see, I know your itty bitty scam.”
“Scam? What scam?”
“Wilson, do you know how some pickpockets work in teams?”
“Not really.”
“Let me enlighten you, in case you want to take up pick-pocketing as a profession after being dismissed from university. You see, your friend, Randle McMurphy, is part of your team.”
“What do you mean?”
Malarkey gets annoyed.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Wilson. You wrote the last sentence of your answer to the last question in blue book number two, went home, copied the answers to all the questions into blue book number one and then had your McMurphy goon deliver it, didn’t you?”
“No, I, uh, have no idea what you’re talking about. I expected to do well.”
“Yes, well, expectation is the mother of all sorrow.”
“I studied hard for the final.”
“No, Wilson, you studied hard to figure out how to cheat, which will get you an ‘F’ on the exam and an ‘F’ in the course. You can appeal my decision if you want, but right now we’re finished.”
“But …”
“No buts, Wilson. Please leave. I’ll report this to the Chancellor’s office.”
Wilson starts to leave.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Wilson turns.
“When you see McMurphy, tell him I loved him in Five Easy Pieces.”
Wilson nods and leaves the office. Malarkey turns to the Reader.
“Now, you might think Wilson was expelled for flagrant cheating. An egregious act beyond egregious acts. But, you see, Wilson’s father is a major donor to the university and, well, the sons of major donors may one day become major donors themselves, so Wilson was merely put on probation for one semester and could retake the course to eliminate the “F.” Life in the academy. So it goes.”
At that point, Malarkey gets a text message from Liliana:
Lunch?
Who’s paying?
You are?
I’ll meet you at the trolley stop.
Malarkey and Liliana stop next to the Citrus City College Trolley. It’s not a trolley per se, but it’s in the style of a San Francisco trolley with the difference being the trolley doesn’t run on rails, but on tires. On the front and sides of the fire engine red trolley, the name CITRUS CITY COLLEGE TROLLEY appears in gold, Italianate letters. People climb on.
“Let’s take this to the café for lunch,” Malarkey says.
“It’s only a few blocks. We can walk.”
“C’mon. Never rode this before.”
So, Malarkey and Liliana climb on. There are students seated next to them and a few faculty members.
“Would everyone please buckle up?” the driver asks.
The riders put on their seat belts, as does Liliana, but Malarkey doesn’t.
“Sir, would you kindly put on your seat belt?”
“Why?”
“College policy.”
“That’s okay, I’ll take my chances.”
“Please, just buckle up.”
“You’re kidding, right? This bloody thing travels at ten miles an hour for four blocks. Who needs a seat belt?”
The Reader has to imagine what transpires due to Malarkey’s obstinacy since the trolley driver has no option but to call the police and before Malarkey knows it, there’s a half-dozen Citrus City campus and city police cars surrounding the trolley. A swat team stands on top of the trolley, masked and in armor, with assault rifles drawn. One can hear a police helicopter whirling above with Malarkey on the ground, hands behind his back, cuffed as Marvin Gaye sings, “What’s Going On.” Malarkey looks at the Reader straining to lift his head and barely mumbles …
“Can I get a witness?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE CHANCELLOR SPEAKS
“Malcolm, you can’t do that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
IF THOUGHTS WERE THINGS, THEN MALARKEY WOULD HAVE BEEN SACKED & AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
Starbucks has a café located on the Citrus City campus and Malarkey stands in line to buy a Caramel Brulée Latte. It’s Christmas time, but in Citrus City the weather never changes so it would be hard to tell without the Christmas baubles. Global warming doesn’t exist in a globally warm climate, so denial is a way of life. Standing behind him is a lovely young woman about twenty years old, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, who’s wearing very short cutoff jeans and a flimsy halter-top that exposes most of her nubile breasts. Malarkey moves up a bit more in line, but the line is somewhat long so he’s not at the register yet. In the meantime, he turns and looks behind him and pretends he’s looking for someone when, in fact, he just wants to get a better look at the co-ed’s fulsome breasts. Malarkey turns back toward the register, but the line still isn’t moving very fast. He turns again toward the co-ed who’s so absorbed in scrolling through her cell phone that she has no clue as to what Malarkey is doing. Then, suddenly, without notice, Malarkey turns, pulls the halter top down and cups both hands around her breasts to see what kind of reaction he gets. The co-ed, absorbed as she is in scrolling through her cell phone, doesn’t react at all, but if thoughts were things then Malarkey would have been sacked on the spot.
