The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best fiction books to read TXT) 📕

The Musical Clubs Concert This Evening--I Sing With The Glee Club And

Norry'S Going To Play A Solo,  And I'M In The Banjo Club,  Too--And We Are

Going To Have A Farewell Dance At The House After The Concert." Hugh

Pleaded Earnestly; But Somehow Down In His Heart He Wished That She

Wouldn'T Stay.

"I Know,  But I'Ve Got To Go. Let'S Go Somewhere Out In The Woods Where

We Can Talk Without Being Disturbed."

Still Protesting,  He Led Her Out Of The House,  Across The Campus,  Past

The Lake,  And Into The Woods. Finally They Sat Down On A Smooth Rock.

"I'M Awfully Sorry To Bust Up Your Party,  Hugh," Cynthia Began Slowly,

"But I'Ve Been Doing Some Thinking,  And I'Ve Just Got To Beat It." She

Paused A Moment And Then Looked Him Square In The Eyes. "Do You Love

Me?"

For An Instant Hugh'S Eyes Dropped,  And Then He Looked Up And Lied Like

A Gentleman. "Yes," He Said Simply; "I Love You,  Cynthia."

She Smiled Almost Wearily And Shook Her Head. "You _Are_ A Good Egg,

Hugh. It Was White Of You To Say That,  But I Know That You Don'T Love

Me. You Did Yesterday,  But You Don'T Now. Do You Realize That You

Haven'T Asked To Kiss Me To-Day?"

Hugh Flushed And Stammered: "I--I'Ve Got An Awful Hang-Over,  Cynthia. I

Feel Rotten."

"Yes,  I Know,  But That Isn'T Why You Didn'T Want To Kiss Me. I Know All

About It. Listen,  Hugh." She Faced Him Bravely. "I'Ve Been Running With

A Fast Crowd For Three Years,  And I'Ve Learned A Lot About Fellows; And

Most Of 'Em That I'Ve Known Weren'T Your Kind. How Old Are You?"

"Twenty-One In a Couple Of Months."

"I'M Twenty And Lots Wiser About Some Things Than You Are. I'Ve Been

Crazy About You--I Guess I Am Kinda Yet--And I Know That You Thought You

Were In Love With Me. I Wanted You To Have Hold Of Me All The Time.

That'S All That Mattered. It Was--Was Your Body,  Hugh. You'Re Sweet And

Fine,  And I Respect You,  But I'M Not The Kid For You To Run Around With.

I'M Too Fast. I Woke Up Early This Morning,  And I'Ve Done A Lot Of

Thinking Since. You Know What We Came Near Doing Last Night? Well,

That'S All We Want Each Other For. We'Re Not In Love."

A Phrase From The Bull Sessions Rushed Into Hugh'S Mind. "You Mean--Sex

Attraction?" He Asked In Some Embarrassment. He Felt Weak And Tired. He

Seemed To Be Listening To Cynthia In a Dream. Nothing Was Real--And

Everything Was A Little Sad.

"Yes,  That'S It--And,  Oh,  Hugh,  Somehow I Don'T Want That With You.

We'Re Not The Same Kind At All. I Used To Think That When I Got Your

Letters. Sometimes I Hardly Understood Them,  But I'D Close My Eyes And

See You So Strong And Blond And Clean,  And I'D Imagine You Were Holding

Me Tight--And--And Then I Was Happy. I Guess I Did Kinda Love You,  But

We'Ve Spoiled It." She Wanted Desperately To Cry But Bit Her Lip And

Held Back Her Tears.

"I Think I Know What You Mean,  Cynthia," Hugh Said Softly. "I Don'T Know

Much About Love And Sex Attraction And That Sort Of Thing,  But I Know

That I Was Happier Kissing You Than I'Ve Ever Been In My Life. I--I Wish

That Last Night Hadn'T Happened. I Hate Myself."

"You Needn'T. It Was More My Fault Than Yours. I'M A Pretty Bad Egg,  I

Guess; And The Booze And You Holding Me Was Too Much. I Hate Myself,

Too. I'Ve Spoiled The Nicest Thing That Ever Happened To Me." She Looked

Up At Him,  Her Eyes Bright With Tears. "I _Did_ Love You,  Hugh. I Loved

You As Much As I Could Love Any One."

Hugh Put His Arms Around Her And Drew Her To Him. Then He Bent His Head

And Kissed Her Gently. There Was No Passion In His Embrace,  But There

Was Infinite Tenderness. He Felt Spiritually And Physically Weak,  As If

All His Emotional Resources Had Been Quite Spent.

"I Think That I Love You More Than I Ever Did Before," He Whispered.

If He Had Shown Any Passion,  If There Had Been Any Warmth In His Kiss,

Cynthia Might Have Believed Him,  But She Was Aware Only Of His

Gentleness. She Pushed Him Back And Drew Out Of His Arms.

"No," She Said Sharply; "You Don'T Love Me. You'Re Just Sorry For

Me.... You'Re Just Kind."

Hugh Had Read "Marpessa" Many Times,  And A Line From It Came To Make Her

Attitude Clear:

                                "Thou Wouldst Grow Kind;

                 Most Bitter To A Woman That Was Loved."

"Oh,  I Don'T Know; I Don'T Know," He Said Miserably. "Let'S Not Call

Everything Off Now,  Cynthia. Let'S Wait A While."

"No!" She Stood Up Decisively. "No. I Hate Loose Ends." She Glanced At

Her Tiny Wrist-Watch. "If I'M Going To Make That Train,  I'Ve Got To

Hurry. We'Ve Got Barely Half An Hour. Come,  Hugh. Be A Sport."

He Stood Up,  His Face White And Weary,  His Blue Eyes Dull And Sad.

"Just As You Say,  Cynthia," He Said Slowly. "But I'M Going To Miss You

Like Hell."

She Did Not Reply But Started Silently For The Path. He Followed Her,

And They Walked Back To The Fraternity House Without Saying A Word,  Both

Busy With Unhappy Thoughts.

When They Reached The Fraternity,  She Got Her Suit-Case,  Handed It To

Him,  Declined His Offer Of A Taxi,  And Walked Unhappily By His Side Down

The Hill That They Had Climbed So Gaily Two Days Before. Hugh Had Just

Time To Get Her Ticket Before The Train Started.

She Paused A Moment At The Car Steps And Held Out Her Hand. "Good-By,

Hugh," She Said Softly,  Her Lips Trembling,  Her Eyes Full Of Tears.

"Good-By,  Cynthia," He Whispered. And Then,  Foolishly,  "Thanks For

Coming."

She Did Not Smile But Drew Her Hand From His And Mounted The Steps. An

Instant Later She Was Inside The Car And The Train Was Moving.

Numbed And Miserable,  Hugh Slowly Climbed The Hill And Wandered Back To

Norry Parker'S Room. He Was Glad That Norry Wasn'T There. He Paced Up

And Down The Room A Few Minutes Trying To Think. Then He Threw Himself

Despairingly On A Couch,  Face Down. He Wanted To Cry; He Had Never

Wanted So Much To Cry--And He Couldn'T. There Were No Tears--And He Had

Lost Something Very Precious. He Thought It Was Love; It Was Only His

Dreams.

For Several Days Hugh Was Tortured By Doubt And Indecision: There Were

Times When He Thought That He Loved Cynthia,  Times When He Was Sure That

He Didn'T; When He Had Just About Made Up His Mind That He Hated Her,  He

Found Himself Planning To Follow Her To New Rochelle; He Tried To

Persuade Himself That His Conduct Was No More Reprehensible Than That Of

His Comrades,  But Shame Invariably Overwhelmed His Arguments; There Were

Hours When He Ached For Cynthia,  And Hours When He Loathed Her For

Smashing Something That Had Been Beautiful. Most Of All,  He Wanted

Comfort,  Advice,  But He Knew No One To Whom He Was Willing To Give His

Confidence. Somehow,  He Couldn'T Admit His Drunkenness To Any One Whose

Advice He Valued. He Called On Professor Henley Twice,  Intending To Make

A Clean Breast Of His Transgressions. Henley,  He Knew,  Would Not Lecture

Him,  But When He Found Himself Facing Him,  He Could Not Bring Himself To

Confession; He Was Afraid Of Losing Henley'S Respect.

Finally,  In desperation,  He Talked To Norry,  Not Because He Thought

Norry Could Help Him But Because He Had To Talk To Somebody And Norry

Already Knew The Worst. They Went Walking Far Out Into The Country,  Idly

Discussing Campus Gossip Or Pausing To Revel In The Beauty Of The Night,

The Clear,  Clean Sky,  The Pale Moon,  The Fireflies Sparkling Suddenly

Over The Meadows Or Even To The Tree-Tops. Weary From Their Long Walk,

They Sat Down On A Stump,  And Hugh Let The Dam Of His Emotion Break.

"Norry," He Began Intensely,  "I'M In Hell--In Hell. It'S A Week Since

Prom,  And I Haven'T Had A Line From Cynthia. I Haven'T Dared Write To

Her."

"Why Not?"

"She--She--Oh,  Damn It!--She Told Me Before She Left That Everything Was

All Off. That'S Why She Left Early. She Said That We Didn'T Love Each

Other,  That All We Felt Was Sex Attraction. I Don'T Know Whether She'S

Right Or Not,  But I Miss Her Like The Devil. I--I Feel Empty,  Sort Of

Hollow Inside,  As If Everything Had Suddenly Been Poured Out Of Me--And

There'S Nothing To Take Its Place. I Was Full Of Cynthia,  You See,  And

Now There'S No Cynthia. There'S Nothing Left But--Oh,  God,  Norry,  I'M

Ashamed Of Myself. I Feel--Dirty." The Last Word Was Hardly Audible.

Norry Touched His Arm. "I Know,  Hugh,  And I'M Awfully Sorry. I Think,

Though,  That Cynthia Was Right. I Know Her Better Than You Do. She'S An

Awfully Good Kid But Not Your Kind At All; I Think I Feel As Badly

Almost As You Do About It." He Paused A Moment And Then Said Simply,  "I

Was So Proud Of You,  Hugh."

"Don'T!" Hugh Exclaimed. "I Want To