Why Can't We Just Love One Another

Matthew sat alone in his library study staring out the little slit of a window at the people coming and going on campus. He was thinking of the OpEd piece he'd just been reading. Hoping to find some momentary distraction from his own personal miseries, he'd only been driven into deeper contemplation. "Why Can't We Just Love One Another?" the columnist wondered. Of course, her question had been suggested by the perennial problem of teenage violence and family neglect. She seemed all too willing to agree with those popular songs that tell us "what the world needs now is love, sweet love," and "all we need is love." As though love might be the solution to our problems, the resolution of all our petty differences. And Matthew supposed that he, too, despite his veneer of studied sophistication, had succumbed to many of those same notions. Didn't he still believe in peace and love, and making love not war? But as he sat there watching his fellow human beings in their daily comings and goings, he wondered if maybe his own dilemma wasn't the result of too much love. Or love too easily proffered, too willingly given, too indiscriminately shared.

As he leaned back in his chair and starred up at the ceiling, he wondered if perhaps once again he was taking too melodramatic a view of his present dilemma, not to mention letting himself off too easily. Now that he was back in his own well-ordered universe, surrounded by rows of books and stacks of papers, many his own scribblings, he could think of nothing but his latest brush with human emotions set loose. He sat there trying to think how he'd let himself do such a thing? How had he so foolishly believed that he was in control of the situation? And what in the world could he have been thinking when he told Mary Ellen all about it? That was the really strange part. Of course, she was furious with him. But the fury didn't really last that long. Soon she began to see this latest failing as part of a pattern she had long ago come to expect from him. Then she berated him for being such a damned fool as to tell her all about it, as though he were some child proudly pointing out his mischief to his mother and expecting her praise instead of a good spanking. Mary Ellen had quickly seen it as another example of his showing off: "Matthew, you are such a fool," was the kindest part of her response. Then she told him if he ever did anything like it again, not to tell her, and if she ever caught him pulling such a stunt, she'd divorce him instantly and take everything he had or ever would have in the future. That part delivered with her accustomed coolness and from an emotional distance greater than any he'd ever experienced. But most of that came later, after she'd recovered from what he could only believe was genuine shock. Now whether she was shocked by what he'd done, or by the fact that he'd told her all about it, or both, he was not quite sure.

Mary Ellen's reaction had been somewhat confirmed when he told Karen that he had told Mary Ellen. Matthew could step back and see that each decision had been worse than the last, but still he was compelled to confess, as though that would somehow have some mitigating effect. "So you told her about us," Karen had said, lifting herself up with her right elbow and looking at him in disbelief accompanied by what Matthew thought might be the early signs of shock that he wasn't just kidding around.

"I just can't believe you told her. So, did she tell you to move out or what?" Karen asked, her eyes searching his for something beyond an answer to those questions.

"No, nothing that dramatic. Of course, she was upset, but not exactly what I expected. She seemed more pissed that I told her than she was about, you know, you and me."

"I don't understand. Does that mean she's like okay with this?" Karen seemed to be growing more confused.

"Oh, no, she's not okay with it. She made that clear enough. She told me not to do it again, and if she found out she'd divorce me," Matthew tried to explain.

"But, do you want a divorce?" Karen asked.

"No, not at all. I told her I wouldn't see you anymore," Matthew answered, realizing that in his present circumstances he wasn't making much sense

"I'm in shock, Matthew. I'm trying to understand this. You told your wife you wouldn't see me anymore and then you came over here and we go straight to bed. What are you telling me?" Karen insisted, obviously not satisfied with his indirection.

"Karen, I'm sorry." Matthew was beginning to understand the depths of this abyss he was sinking into. "I just wanted to be honest with Mary Ellen, not keep it a secret."

"But what about us?" Karen shifted herself to a more upright position and looked piercingly at him.

"I don't know." Matthew answered lamely.

"What do you mean you don't know?" The tone of frustration was unmistakable. "I'm trying to understand you, Matthew, but I can't. Why would you tell her? Are you trying to end your marriage? Is that what you want to do? And what about me? Where do I fit into your plans?"

Matthew tried to formulate some reply, some answer that would restore the equilibrium to his relationship with Karen, but he realized that he was way out of his depths with her. He had no idea what she was thinking or what her barrage of questions actually meant. He began to realize that he hardly knew her as a real person, just as one of those attractive young female students who had fallen under his spell for a few hours a week. Karen wasn't even the prettiest, or he hadn't thought she was then. Now she was older, still cute and eager, but with what he could see was a newly acquired air of sophistication she'd picked up working in the city and living on her own. Now she was looking at him, studying him with the penetrating and questioning glare of a woman he wasn't sure he knew.

He tried again to explain: "Karen, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about any of those things. I just wasn't really thinking at all."

"Jesus, Matthew, you're such an innocent." Her voice was somewhat calmer, and although there was still a note of disappointment, Matthew told himself it also sounded a little softer and sweeter, the way she usually talked to him in bed.

He tried to stall for more time to think. "I know," he began, and then added, "I'm a fool really. I don't mean to be, but I just, hell, I just don't know anymore."

But Karen replied rather coolly, "No, Matthew, you're not a fool, you just don't think about anybody but yourself."

Matthew almost flinched at Karen's tone, which he now saw was more disappointment and resignation than understanding or sympathy. This indictment was also familiar; he suddenly wondered if Mary Ellen had spoken to her. Then, as quickly, he remembered Karen's initial reaction of shock and dismay. She could not have known already that he'd talked to Mary Ellen. He wanted to reach out to her now, to touch her, not drive her away. They were lying in her bed, only inches apart, and yet the distance between them seemed to grow with each passing second of silence. But he could not think what to say. Words, his greatest resource, would not come to his aid. As he thought of each response, it sounded more insincere and contrived than the last.

Karen lay there watching his discomfort, the faintest trace of a smile beginning to form at the corners of her mouth. Then she laughed out loud and said, "Poor Matthew, now you've got both of your women pissed off at you." And she rolled over on top of him, raising herself with her arms outstretched and staring down at him with a playful grin, then letting her breasts brush softly against his chest.

Matthew had to admit to himself he did not know this woman. She was no longer the young student he remembered from classes taught years ago. He almost felt a role reversal, as though she were now assuming the teacher's part and he must learn to be her pupil. But Matthew refused to follow. He felt a wave of panic coming over him. What was he doing here? Hadn't he promised Mary Ellen it was over, a mistake, he wouldn't do it again?

"Better not," he said, and gently pushed her aside.

She resisted at first, then rolled off him and said, "So, that's what you're trying to tell me?"

"Yes, I guess it is."

"So what was this, a good-bye fuck?" There was no mistaking her tone now.

Matthew started to say something, but he could see the emotion welling up in her eyes and her face turning to anger. Then she screamed, "You come over here like nothing's changed, jump into bed, and then tell me you told your wife all about us. So what did you tell her? All about what we talked about? All that stuff you told me? Did you tell her all about that? Or just that you fucked me? Or did you tell her I fucked you?" And she burst into tears.

He'd never seen Karen cry before. She was always such a tough kid, a smart aleck, a bit of a know-it-all, kind of street smart from growing up in New York, and always the brightest one in the class. Now the toughness and newly acquired sophistication both melted away as she sat there in bed sobbing and shaking with emotions he'd never seen in her, never imagined.

"I'm sorry, Karen."

"Oh, fuck you're sorry. You son of a bitch. You're treating me like your god damned whore. You know that? You know how that makes me feel?"

"Yes, I know," he wanted to say something more, something sensible, but he just lay there watching her cry.

"Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone," she yelled. He had never heard her use so much profanity.

"Are you going to be okay?" he attempted.

"No," she said. "I'm not going to be okay. Jesus Christ, you're such an asshole, Matthew." She still was sobbing but after her burst of anger was also calming down. "You don't want to know whether I'm going to be okay anyway, you want to know if you're going to be okay. You want to know if I'm going to be trouble, if I'm going to make a mess in that nice orderly little world of Matthew and Mary Ellen."

"Then I guess I should go?" Matthew heard himself asking it as a question and felt even more foolish, still lying in her bed.

"Yes, go, leave, what's the point in staying? You've got what you wanted. I understand now."

"Karen, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you said that," she said, then added sarcastically, "several times."

"But, I am."

"Yeah, I know. Now just go, please, just go."

As Matthew stared out of his study window, thinking about Karen and Mary Ellen and their reactions to his recent loving behavior, he suddenly thought of the lyrics of another old rock tune: "What's love got to do with it?" Was it love that made such a mess of things? He loved Mary Ellen. He loved her more deeply, more profoundly than anything else in his life. He could not imagine life without her. They'd known each other practically since they were children; they'd been married for more than a dozen years. In all that time he'd never strayed, never even thought about it.

No, of course that wasn't true. Let's at least be honest about this. He was normal. He was human. He was a man. It was part of his genetic makeup, wasn't it? Yes, he'd thought about it, but that was just fantasy. Perfectly normal. All the books and experts say so. Acting on those thoughts, now that was something he had never intended to do. And to be fair, he had not acted on those thoughts. This business with Karen was different. He was off his guard. He wasn't prepared. Now there's a rationalization. What kind of pathetic excuse is that? Mary Ellen had seen through that one immediately. At first, he hadn't told her who it was, but she figured it out almost right away. She knew Karen worked at the book store, and she knew Matthew saw her there regularly. Matthew had told her he'd taken Karen out for coffee to talk about graduate school and Karen's plans for her future. The funny thing was Mary Ellen even seemed to like Karen. She was a good kid. When Karen was a student, she had come over to their apartment for dinner, or on occasions just to hang out or swim in the pool, sometimes with other students, sometimes alone. All of that seemed so innocent, and was. Or was it? Looking back, Matthew wondered now what that was all about. Was it just being friendly? Other students, men and women, were always coming by their apartment. But Mary Ellen had only teased him about it. She'd never been jealous of students.

But Karen was no longer a student. She was a grown woman, living and working in the city, on her own. She was no student when she asked him to stop by her apartment for coffee. And he was no innocent, struck suddenly unawares by a moment of weakness, giving in to an impulse, a romantic impulse. Is that what he wanted Mary Ellen to believe? And what was that supposed to mean? It no doubt sounded as fabricated and fictional to her as it did to him. So, he asked himself, what really happened? How did he let all of this happen? And why?

In some ways, he guessed he was the innocent Karen had accused him of being. At least it was true that he had not given much thought to any of the consequences of his actions. Isn't that what being an innocent really means? He was inexperienced. He'd never done this sort of thing before. Well, that much is true. He'd never done this sort of thing. So why had he never done it? Was it really because he was such a faithful husband, or was it that he had never had such a temptation? Or that he'd never had such an opportunity? That was getting closer to the whole truth. He'd tried to explain to Mary Ellen that this thing, this business, this affair with Karen, wasn't really anything, didn't mean anything for them or their marriage. It was just something that happened. And why did it happen? Didn't he want it to happen? Well, yes, but that wasn't the deciding factor. It wasn't just that he'd wanted it to happen. Karen had wanted it to happen. So it was Karen's fault? She seduced him? No, that's not fair. But she had made it easy for him.

Okay, so what did he think he was doing? He needed to work this out for himself. That was why he had retreated to his library study. He needed to think this through in solitude. Was he really all those things Karen and Mary Ellen said he was? Selfish, thoughtless, foolish? He could hardly deny the evidence. And most of all he was unfaithful -- to Mary Ellen, to Karen, and to himself. Well, this is all true, but it sounds like a Sunday school lesson. Now, what have I learned? That you can't be unfaithful to others without being unfaithful to yourself. So where was that supposed to lead him? He'd confessed, hadn't he, he'd been honest? Didn't that count for something? Of course, what he meant was now that he'd confessed weren't Mary Ellen and Karen supposed to say, "That's okay, Matthew, you're still a good little boy. You made a mistake, but now you've learned your lesson. Just don't do it again." Yeah, don't do it again. And so what does he do? He goes right over to Karen's, jumps in bed with her, and afterwards, tells her that's it, can't do this anymore. Jesus, no wonder she was so pissed off.

But what about Mary Ellen's reaction? She did not want to know. That was the surprise, wasn't it? She had made it clear that she thought he was not just a fool, nor an innocent, but a complete idiot for telling her all about his "indiscretion," as he'd called it. He had actually used that word, his little indiscretion. No wonder she was so angry. Mary Ellen had said he was looking not just for her forgiveness but her approval. Was that true? Is that why he had told her? Did he want her to say, "Oh, that's okay Matthew. If you want to have sex with some of your former students, that's okay with me." Then she says not to tell her if he ever does it again, but if he does do it again and she finds out she'll divorce him.

And what was he thinking when he went right back to Karen after telling Mary Ellen it was just a momentary lapse? Does he want a divorce? That's what Karen asked him. Well, hadn't he told her what Mary Ellen said? What did he expect her to think? Does he want a divorce?

No, of course not. Why would he want a divorce? He loves Mary Ellen. He certainly does not love Karen. But maybe that's not quite what he led Karen to believe. Did he ever actually say "Karen, I love you?" He was pretty sure he did not. He was careful to imply that he cared a great deal about her, but he'd never said he loved her. Or had he. Had he slipped and referred to making love? Karen didn't talk much about making love. To her it was sex, plain and simple. Oh, yeah, plain and simple. Well, that's what he had thought before she broke into tears and accused him of treating her like his whore. But wasn't that exactly what he'd done? He'd used her to satisfy himself, sexually, and romantically. And, if he's completely honest with himself, to satisfy his curiosity. What would it be like if he took advantage of her openness and trust? How far could he go with this young woman? How far was she willing to let him go? What would it be like to go to bed with her?

He could see now that he had betrayed Karen's trust, and her innocence as well. Of course she must have seen her relationship with him in a different way than with her friends and contemporaries. Matthew was older, had been her teacher, her adviser, someone she looked up to and could turn to for advice and guidance. In loco parentis. Matthew did not like to think of that. Where was that coming from? But he knew Karen did not have a father. She even pointed it out to him on more than one occasion. This was beginning to make him feel a little queasy. When he put it in these terms it sounded a little too much like incest. Is that what he was doing? Come on, Karen was younger than he, but she was not the innocent child he was trying to imagine. She certainly knew what she was doing, and she enjoyed it, maybe even more than he did. He was over dramatizing again, as usual. The truth was he'd taken advantage of a situation without realizing, or wanting to realize, that he was also taking advantage of another person. That was what hurt Karen, that thoughtlessness, callousness on the part of someone she admired and trusted. She was upset with Matthew because he had failed to live up to her own best images of him. She had suddenly seen him for what he really was, and she was overtaken by her disillusionment.

But what about Mary Ellen. By now she certainly was under no illusions about Matthew's shortcomings. She knew about his selfishness, self-centeredness, self-involvement. In some ways she even took these for his strengths. Or was that why Mary Ellen too had been so angry? Was she also disillusioned? Had she thought that there was one shared, secure, sacred core of trust between them that he would not violate? Wasn't that what their relationship was built on? How would he react if she had been unfaithful? If she had taken advantage of an opportunity? That was the part of all this that Matthew was loath to confront. Would Mary Ellen ever do this to him? He did not think she would. And didn't she have the same right to assume, to be secure in her knowledge of him as he was of her? That's what he must confront, and confront honestly. He has torn apart something that they shared, that was theirs, together, just the two of them. It sounds old fashioned to put it that way, but Matthew was sure it was true. Their bond was a sacred one, even if they did not believe in God or marriage, or much of anything beyond themselves. It was sacred because of what it meant to them and to them alone. It had seemed perfectly natural to Matthew. He had always told her everything, shared his feelings, his thoughts. He valued her opinion, her advice. No wonder Karen said he was an innocent. How did he expect Mary Ellen to react? Why should she want to know? What Matthew saw as honest, she experienced as betrayal. On the other hand, Mary Ellen, once she'd recovered from the shock of his confession, appeared to be more upset over his telling her. Was there something she wasn't telling him? Was she protecting him from knowledge of some betrayal on her part?

Matthew's glance fell on the people walking around outside his window, and he thought to himself that each of them was carrying their individual burdens, each oblivious to the burdens of the others. There was something about university campuses that exaggerated the distance between people and made them seem isolated and terribly alone. Was that why there was so much campus coupling? Was that what made him reach out for Karen, some response to her loneliness? Is that why he'd told Mary Ellen that it was nothing to do with her? Surely, Karen was lonely. Matthew could see that, and she craved attention and affection. Was it so wrong to give a little of himself, to share some attention and affection? Wasn't there enough to go around? Wasn't his store big enough for more than one person? Was that really the only thing there was just too little of? Is that what the world needs now? Love, love, love. All you need is love. That's how he had wanted to see it, of course. Just Matthew spreading a little love in the world. Why should that be so terrible or so bad? How could that hurt anyone, especially Karen or Mary Ellen?

Of course, that was not going to get him off the hook. He could see that now. It was all too clear. Here he was the great teacher of literature, literature filled with examples of why that view never works, and still he behaves like someone in a bad romance novel or some popular love song. That's what Karen meant by his innocence. He'd betrayed both of them, Mary Ellen and Karen, but in different ways. He had been willing to sacrifice his marriage and his friendship to see what it was like to be a character in a story. Or was that just as dishonest as all of his other explanations? Was that just more romance? Wasn't he simply out to take advantage of a situation? And so why the honesty? Why the need to let everyone know what he'd done? Was it foolish, or arrogant, or merely selfish? And what was his regret? That he'd made a mistake in doing this or in telling Mary Ellen? If he'd kept quiet he could have gone on deceiving her and having Karen any time he felt like it. Is that what he really wanted?

About a week later he had met Karen for coffee when she got off work. She was noticeably different now, recovered but still somewhat tentative toward him. Whatever little spell he'd been able to cast over her was certainly broken by his recent behavior, but she'd readily agreed to have coffee with him. He chose a little shop near the bookstore where she worked, someplace public but also familiar to both of them.

"You look good," he told her, although he was never very convincing with such compliments.

"I don't feel good," she sighed with a noticeable frown.

Matthew wondered why she said that. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing terrible, but I should probably have let you know," she answered hesitantly. This was an unexpected turn. Matthew was wondering what it could be. Had she missed a period? His mind was racing, and she must have read it in his face. "What's wrong with you? You look strange," she said.

"What do you mean nothing terrible? What is it?"

"My herpes is back. I should have let you know. I don't think it was active when we were, you know, but still."

Matthew breathed a momentary sigh of relief before suddenly seeing that he was far from off the hook. Now what if he got herpes? What if he infected Mary Ellen? What if he'd already infected her?

"Maybe it's a good thing we stopped when we did," Karen continued, not reacting to Matthew's stunned silence.

"Are you okay, then? Is it bad? What are the symptoms?" He managed to ask.

"Oh, it's annoying, and uncomfortable. The scariest part is that it can spread, you know."

"No, I didn't know. I thought it was just like a genital infection."

"Oh, it is usually. I've got this prescription that keeps it under control. It's just you can never really be cured."

Matthew was finding it hard to focus on the moment. This wasn't quite what he had in mind for this meeting. He had come prepared with more apologies and explanations, and he thought this might be an opportunity to try to salvage their friendship. Now he was thinking that Karen had betrayed him. Maybe he had been right to think she was to blame for the whole business. He had known how casual her attitude toward sex was. When she was his student she'd given him plenty of hints about her many sexual adventures.

"I'm sorry to hear this, Karen."

"Oh, I'll be okay. It's just when I started to notice my symptoms coming back, I knew I should have told you. But everything happened so fast before that I never had a chance, and I'd been doing pretty well for a long time. I really thought that prescription was working."

"Well, I'm sure it's going to be okay," Matthew lied. Suddenly he wanted to change the subject: "I'm glad you agreed to meet with me."

"Yes, I wanted to see you. I mean not about the herpes. I really appreciate everything you've done to help me, and I felt really horrible about the way we parted."

"I know, I did, too," he agreed. "But that wasn't your fault. I realize now how badly I behaved. Anyway, I'm glad you came. I wanted to see you."

"But not in bed," she said, very matter-of-factly.

Matthew almost laughed at her directness, but he remained serious. "No, definitely not in bed."

"You mean because of the herpes?"

"No, I mean not in bed because it was wrong. I was wrong."

"I'm not sorry," she said softly, and smiled at him.

"But I am. I'm sorry because I hurt two people I love, and because I betrayed them and myself. I'm sorry because I've harmed my marriage with Mary Ellen and my friendship with you," Matthew tried to explain.

"I thought we were something more than friends," she whispered, glancing over his shoulder.

Matthew turned and saw the waiter bringing their coffee and a pastry for Karen. He thanked him, then continued. "I know, and that's my fault, too. I shouldn't have let you think that, or acted in a way that let you think that. But I don't want to lose your friendship."

"Mary Ellen must hate me."

Matthew did not want to discuss Mary Ellen. He knew he could not tell Karen that Mary Ellen did not hate her, but what could he say. The awkward pause was already communicating his discomfort, and Karen must be drawing her own conclusions, but what were they? He attempted a reply: "No, I don't think Mary Ellen hates you. I don't think she hates either of us."

"But she won't forgive me," Karen said.

"Let's not talk about Mary Ellen." Matthew was no longer sure what he wanted to talk about. Karen's revelations about her herpes kept coming back to him. Should he tell Mary Ellen about that too? He played with his coffee cup and took a few tentative sips. It wasn't bad.

Karen was searching Matthew's face, as though she were looking for something, some clue to this meeting. "You seem angry," she offered.

"No. I'm not," Matthew tried to conceal his frustration. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry and I would like to keep your friendship and affection, if that's even possible."

Karen appeared more confused. He thought he was being clear enough, but there was something more that neither of them was able to articulate.

Matthew continued to sit there staring out his study window as the morning wore on. He wondered if he was going to come down with herpes. He had looked it up in a medical dictionary, but he didn't learn much from that. Symptoms should show up in a week or two. Apparently, it was only transmitted from one person to another when the symptoms were active, so he probably had not given them to Mary Ellen. He could see that this was going to haunt him. It was like some divine retribution for his foolishness, his arrogance, and vainglory. Again he was dramatizing things. As though the divinity would be making sure to punish Matthew for this fall from grace. He knew he had more to fear from Mary Ellen. She must never know, he told himself. And even so, he was getting off easy. What if Karen had been pregnant, or had some other dreadful disease? What was he thinking, he kept asking himself. Love, love, love. Love is all we need. And a prescription if we get herpes. Maybe that was why we can't just love one another, or one more reason.

As Matthew sat there looking out the slit of window in his study, he thought he saw someone familiar among those coming and going below on the campus walks and lawns. It looked like Mary Ellen walking along the sidewalk with someone Matthew did not recognize. They appeared to be engaged in what seemed at his distance a rather personal, even intimate conversation. Both looked seriously concerned about something. Matthew wondered what it could be. Was Mary Ellen keeping something from him?

© 2005 by Michael L. Hall