Aftermath of An Experience

by

Carole M. Brand

Don Marshall sat in his car, impatiently smoking a cigarette and wondering just what he was going to say to her when she came out of the dorm and got in the car.

He flicked his cigarette ash into the tray, hitting his forefinger against it with impatient jerks. He thought of the last time he had been out with Faith, with slight amusement. Well, she didn't disappoint me, he thought; I did get her to drink beer, and I did get her drunk. For the experience, he thought.

For the experience. That was the agreement. "Everyone should go out and get drunk, just once, for the experience," he had said, and once he had persuaded Faith she had said that, too.

"For the experience, you know," she had said as she drank her first beer, and then her second and on and on until she had been drunk and crying and telling him that she loved him. He was shocked at the time; and in a way, he supposed, hurt. Hell, he thought, why didn't he just admit that he hadn't expected that sort of thing in a million years not from Faith, who always concealed herself so well behind her mask.

But then he got to thinking about Faith. His first thought was that he had been a fool; and instead of being shocked and surprised, he should have taken advantage of the moment.

Then he realized that he couldn't have done that, even if he had thought of it at the time. He just couldn't have-not to Faith . . . naive Faith? Only was she so naive, he thought; and somehow he didn't think so. Just because a girl keeps her thoughts hidden, and has never drunk beer before, doesn't mean that she's naive, he finally reasoned.

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