Love in the Twilight Zone

Part I

M, the Matchmaker

This is a story of bribery, deception, and jealousy. It contains assorted chemistry majors, varying degrees of alcohol consumption, a crack-of-dawn breakfast at a greasy spoon diner, and reruns of an iconic 1960s TV show. It is also the story of the beginning of a life-long love. And it is all absolutely true. Only the names have been disguised to protect the identity of the devious, the jealous, and the imbibers. The greasy spoon diner, however, will be identified by its real name – Nick's...

Near the end of my first semester senior year in college, I wandered into the basement rec room of the dorm I was living in to meet some friends at a mixer. It was the early 1970s. The legal drinking age was still eighteen, so dorm mixers usually consisted of a keg of beer, maybe some spiked punch, a sound system playing what would now be considered truly classic rock, and lots of people - some talking, some dancing, all drinking. I had arrived late, and my friends had gotten a head-start on the drinking part. M was there with her boyfriend, J#1. I had known J#1, a chemistry major, since my first day of college. He had attended high school with my first roommate, and we remained good friends even after my roommate transferred to another school. I had known M since my sophomore year, long before she started dating J#1. M was friendly and outgoing but was also one of those rare people who lacked the censor most of us have between our thoughts and our tongues. Cold sober, she would tell you exactly what was on her mind, ask the most straight-forward questions. That night, the plastic cup in her hand had visited the keg more than once before I had arrived and likely contributed to M's confession to me that she would never feel her relationship with J#1 would be secure until I was married off. J#1 and I laughed, as did the other friends who knew of M's insecurities and my long friendship with J#1. M then proceeded to take me around the room and introduce me to anyone she perceived as an eligible guy, listing their attributes in front of them - “He's pre-med. He'll make a fortune someday. He's a great catch. And so cute...” All the guys we approached knew M, so this bizarre search for my future husband was more amusing than embarrassing. Still, it quickly got tiresome, and as she was extolling the virtues of J#2, a chemistry major who lived on the same corridor as J#1, I told her I'd take him. J#2 was friendly in a quiet way, very smart (according to M), funny, and a good conversationalist. We talked until the arrival of that mixer tipping point when more people are on the dance floor than are not. J#2 asked me to dance. (I would later find out that this was an aberration. J#2 was not a dancer. The keg again?) We danced and talked the rest of the night, and J#2 walked me back to my room and said goodnight.

Though we lived on opposite ends of the same co-ed dorm, I didn't see J#2 again that week. I was disappointed. I kind of liked him. Though I didn't previously know him, I recognized J#2 as someone I had seen during the past four years going in and out of the physical science building where I did most of my studying. (I wasn't a science major. I just don't study well in libraries – “Oh, look! Books! Magazines!” – and the physical science building was the most austere, distraction-free place to study on campus.) First semester finals were coming up soon, then Christmas break. I thought it would be nice to run into J#2 before finals week, but it just wasn't happening... 

To be continued...

Tomorrow:

Part II

J#1, the Matchmaker

Imagination... its limits are only those of the mind itself. - Rod Serling