Mr. Hemingway At The Prom
The music was terrible. So, were the women. Might as well go out and get drunk. I had started for the door when I saw her.
She was tall, had dark hair and
eyes. I liked her looks. I went over and cut in.
Hello, she said.
Hello.
We danced around the hall twice.
You’re sweet, I said.
No, I’m not.
Yes, you are.
I’m not.
You are.
I am not.
All right, I said. You’re not. Let’s go outside and have a drink.
What about my partner?
To hell with him.
Yes. To hell with him.
We went outside. I found somebody’s car; we climbed in and drank three or four quarts of grappa and brandy.
I was feeling pretty good. I put my arm around her and tried to kiss her. She struggled. I held her arms so she couldn’t strike me, and kissed her. She struggled for a moment, then relaxed and her head fell back on my shoulder. She was crying. I kissed her again and she still cried.
Oh, darling! she sobbed. You’ll aIways love me and be sweet to me, won’t you?
What the hell, I thought. I wiped her eyes with my handkerchief and kissed her cheek.
Yes, I said. What’s your name? Gretchen.
God, I thought what an awful name.
Do you like it?
Yes. It’s pretty.
I drank two or three more quarts of brandy. I had been feeling pretty good, but now I felt terrible. Spots were jumping up and down before my eyes.
‘Scuse me, I said, and started climbing from the car.
Where are you going dear?
What the hell, I thought. What the… –
\- The Yale Record, reprinted in the Kentucky Advocate, Danville, Kentucky, July 21, 1931
“I love you whatever that is,” he said.
“I love you whatever that is,” she answered.
“You are mine whatever that is,” he said. “My only mine, my real mine.”
“I am your real mine and you are my real mine,” she said, “whatever that is.”
They walked out, taking a new cask of Citronella with them. They walked until they reached the river. “Fornicate the river,” he muttered.
“I do not know what that means,” she murmured. “Does it make you lonely?”
“I am always lonely even when I am with you, but when I am with you I am not lonely by myself but with you. Naturally, I do not like to be lonely by myself, but with you.” Well, he thought, I said it gently, and I was gentle this time, and I’m sorry I said fornicate the river. I must remember not to say that again.
\- “In the Style of Hemingway”, Hopalong-Freud and Other Modern Literary Characters, Ira Wallach, 1951
by kingkongbrody