Songs for the End of the World - Saleema Nawaz Page 0,35
when you were a student? I know I still feel it when I encounter work that challenges me.” He rested his hands on his knees. “That intense desire for someone else’s take on the world. And the hunger to possess it.”
“I think it’s true,” Stu spoke up. He remembered the way he’d felt when Rachel lectured, how her exhilaration about ideas seemed to light her up from within. “Learning can be kind of sexy.”
Owen turned and noticed Stu for the first time since he’d sat down. “Exactly! When learning is effective, there’s an erotic charge. It’s unmistakable.”
“For God’s sake, Owen. Stop saying ‘erotic’ in front of the students.” Professor Howe put down her cup and threw off her shawl. “I’m going to find Keelan. I’ve half a mind to shut this party down right now.”
A gentle smile crinkled the writer’s eyes. “Oh, Gretchen. There’s no orgy about to break out. We’re just having a conversation.”
Stu opened his mouth to chime in, but Sarah tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t get involved,” she said in a low voice. She stood up and pulled him out of the living room, letting the conversation continue without them. “My mom is on fire tonight. She’s going to root out every last person who dares to disagree with her.”
Stu glanced back. “That’s your mom?”
“Yeah, remember I told you? Both my parents are profs.” Sarah pointed across the foyer to an older man talking to Rachel. A silvering blond ponytail poked out below his tweed deerstalker. “My dad’s here, too. And that’s my brother, Elliot.” Stu followed her gaze to a dark-haired young man who was chatting up a girl in the dining room. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “He just dropped out of grad school,” she said, in the relishing tone of hot gossip. “And my parents still don’t know.”
“Holy…” said Stu. “So I guess you’re the one who’s following in their footsteps.” It occurred to him that she looked like an exact blend of them both: reddish-blond hair, bookish, vaguely bohemian.
“I’m more like a splinter than a chip off the old block. Or blocks,” said Sarah, her voice returning to normal as she led the way to the kitchen. She grabbed two beers out of the cooler and handed one to him. “Just taking some electives to keep them happy until Elliot breaks the news. They’re definitely going to freak out. Even though he’s the one who wants to go out into the world and, like, live the ideals of justice and benevolence they’ve been teaching.” She used the bottom of her shirt to protect her palm as she twisted off the bottle cap. “But I guess everyone’s family is a bunch of weirdos, right?”
Stu was about to respond that he wished his was weirder when Sarah said, “Be right back.” He watched as she went to join Owen, who had risen from the couch and was now standing by himself. They clinked beers, and Sarah tossed her hair over her shoulder as Owen spoke to her with a grave, attentive focus. Stu chugged his beer, hoping someone would come talk to him, but nobody did.
Once the dance music on the stereo was turned up, Stu picked up his jacket. As he slipped it back on in the foyer, he was surprised by Owen sidling up to him with a friendly nod.
“So how do you know my wife?” he said. “Shawn, was it?”
“Stu. I’m in her Presocratics class.”
“Ah. And what’s your story?”
“My story?” Stu thought about his conversation with Rachel. “I’m a songwriter.”
“Cool,” said Owen. “Do you have an album?”
Stu was taken aback. “No, not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Just taking some time to figure things out.” When Owen didn’t nod or otherwise acknowledge the statement, Stu added, “And, you know, learn some things.”
Owen put his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the wall next to a large framed painting of a goat playing a violin. “Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia.”
“That’s a long way away from here.”
“Only a few hundred miles.”
“Still,” said Owen.
Stu felt himself being sized up, though not unkindly. “How about you?” he asked. “Where are you from?”
Owen shook his head as though it didn’t matter. “And where are you hoping to end up?” He took a drink from a glass that appeared to contain straight whisky. “It doesn’t sound like anyone has drawn you a map.”
“I don’t think anyone has a map,” said Stu.
“Of course they do,” said Owen. “Most of the people at this party do.” He nodded at the students and