Desire ...a lightning storm ignites a fire inside of me Part 1 of 2

“So, this happens every night?”

Brett Waters stares at me as if I’m insane, and frankly I’m beginning to agree.

We’re sitting in the Hart House dining room having lunch and I’m telling him about my dreams. We both teach courses in modern drama, but I specialize in Tennessee Williams, who’s preoccupied with desire.

So, I'm well acquainted with deep-seated passion, but still, I’m not just a drop of reason in an ocean of emotion—I hope.

I try to maintain some semblance of rationality, although I'm feeling very vulnerable at the moment

“I’m at a loss to explain it,” I tell him, “but somehow I get the impression this girl is someone I once knew and is now dead—and, face it, she’d have to be, because as you know, my love life is pathetic.”

“Any clues as to where your dream affair takes place?”

“I get the impression it’s the Deep South—I see white manses and smell magnolias.”

He rolls his eyes. “O my god, Bro—southern belles and mint juleps! Can’t your dreams at least be a little less conventional?”

I color a little—Okay, a lot. I need to explain—try to justify myself.

“Yeah, I thought of how lame that sounds too—but I do teach Tennessee Williams.”

“Well, if I were you, Pal, I’d just go with the flow. It seems harmless enough—but until we perfect 3-D holography, this is probably the closest you’re going to come to losing yourself in a romantic fantasy.”

He gets up to go to his 1:00 pm lecture. “I hate to say it,” he grins, “but Freud would have a field day with you.”

I smile ruefully as he walks away. He’s right, of course—it’s probably my long-suppressed libido, my Id, making a back-door assault on my Ego and speaking to me through the language of dreams.

But I also have a lecture to attend too, and as I think about it, the image of my Nemesis comes to mind in the person of Karine Williams, a beautiful, but challenging student.

From the first day of semester, Karine has been a persistent adversary, peppering me with incessant questions and smirking if she succeeds in catching me unprepared.

Her constant needling has worn me down and made me limit student questions.

Lately though I’ve decided to take a more proactive approach—not allowing her acres of time to hand in assignments, and cutting her off when she verges off track.

I’ve drawn a line in the sand so to speak, and if she crosses it today, I’ll make sure she pays.

I lean on the lectern watching the students file in and sure enough, the last one to enter is Karine. There will be no respite from needling today.

It’s the Friday before the long weekend and term assignments are due today. I wonder if Karine will make the deadline, and to forestall any arguments I begin by reiterating the rule I made—either get the assignment to me in class, or hand-deliver it to my home.

“You know the rules,” I remind them. “If your term paper is not in today, I won’t accept it—or, poor you, you’re going to have a long car ride to my Muskoka cottage.”

The class laughs and Matt Morton, a linebacker for the Varsity Blues calls out, “My paper’s ready, Prof—I even read the books for this one.”

I laugh along with the class, but notice Karine is not smiling—not a good sign. I decide to get right into the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof lecture and so I start in with Brick and Maggie’s confrontation in Act One.

I begin by stating that Maggie uses the excuse of poverty to justify why she always has ‘to suck up to people.’ She claims it’s turned her into a restless cat on a hot tin roof.

Karine’s hand immediately shoots up. The class groans—Matt Morton rolls his eyes, and I grimace inwardly.

“Yes, Ms. Williams?” I strain to say the words evenly, plastering a brittle smile on my face.

“I’ve noticed you’ve adopted a very biased attitude toward Maggie, Professor Enright—you’re seeing her through a male perspective.”

“Well, duh,” Matt Morton snickers, “He is a man, if you noticed.”

Karine’s eyes flash. “That is such a typical male response—taking sides against a woman.”

I decide it’s best to stifle this argument before it gets really heated.

“Let’s not get into a He Said—She Said, disagreement. I always believe that when there’s a difference in interpretation, you should let the text speak. Do you agree, Ms. Williams?”

She glares at me. “Yes, I do.”

“Good! Then bring your copy of the text up here and stand beside me.”

She hesitates a moment, looking uncertain. Matt Morton snickers, anticipating some kind of come-uppance in the works, but to her credit, Karine doesn’t back down.

“I want you to read Maggie’s part, and I’ll read Brick’s—and we’ll let the text decide.”

“I don’t do southern accents,” she hedges.

“Neither do I,” I counter.

She tosses her head defiantly allowing her long dark tresses to mesmerize me. But then, begins reading, falteringly at first, but gaining momentum and confidence as she goes.

>

Maggie’s part in Act One is demanding—she has to sound hysterical and out of breath as if she’s run up several flights of stairs yelling Fire! And she has to sustain that energy all the way to the end of the Act. A demanding role for Karine to play.

Serves her right, I chuckle inwardly.

As for me, my part is easy. I get to utter monosyllabic replies for most of the time, before things start getting heated between Brick and Maggie.

But as we get into the rhythm of the dialogue, a strange thing starts to happen. In the midst of acting out Maggie and Brick’s conflict, a storm blows up outside the lecture hall.

The tall, narrow windows are illumined by waves of blue lightning.

As Maggie lashes out at Brick, thunder rumbles ominously in the background. And as Karine gets into the cadence of Maggie’s voice, her speech begins to take on a southern accent. When I reply in Brick’s indifferent tone, my speech has a southern drawl.

Suddenly, a real rage exists between us. I feel myself grasping for Brick’s crutch so I can brain Karine—er, Maggie—do anything to make her stop.

The atmosphere turns electric and the room grows darker by the minute. Finally, it becomes so dark we both get scared and stop.

The lecture hall goes ominously silent—reminiscent of the pause between lightning and thunder—and then there is an enormous loud crash, and Karine screams in fright and falls into my arms.

The minute I feel her in my arms a dark network of hidden memories lights up inside me.

I’m dazed and shaken, and at the same time powerfully attracted to her. I stare at her lips wanting so badly to crush them beneath mine, but am aware of the students gaping at us as we cling together on the raised platform.

I come to my senses and pull abruptly away.

I manage to call out, “I think we’ll end early today because of the weather. Don’t forget to hand in your papers on the way out.”

Nobody moves or says anything.

Finally, Matt Morton gives a huge sigh and deadpans, “That was intense.”

His remark breaks the ice and the students laugh, and then begin to file out. It’s then I realize I’m standing alone on the platform, feeling bereft and desolate.

Karine has fled, leaving me feeling totally abandoned.

My hands are shaking as I clumsily gather up term papers and shove them into my briefcase.

I drive home in pouring rain, peering through the rain-splattered windshield and seeing superimposed over the splashing streets, a transparent image of Karine's face.

Image credits: https://goo.gl/images/u2ckgo, https://goo.gl/images/NYyjQU, https://goo.gl/images/ViWRzv