The Imposter Q1 1982

In the spring of 1982 I was a sophomore in college. It was the last time I lived on-campus. Third College, as it was called then, had clusters of two-story fourplexes. These had little courtyards, and each fourplex was connected to similar units to create a building of some thirty residents.

I had a private room that had a window looking out on a eucalyptus grove, with the library in the near distance.

I luxuriated in that tiny window of time between getting accustomed to the academic workload, and getting serious. I didn't even have to declare a major until the fall. I decided that I really wanted to spend as much time as I could, making friends.

I had a telephone conversation with my mother about my strategy. She was opposed to the idea, because she thought I should just concentrate on schoolwork.

I was not dissuaded. I set about being a part of as many social engagements as possible. I was on an intramural soccer team, and I had never played soccer before. I missed compulsory youth soccer leagues by perhaps months.

I practiced all the time. My position was fullback, the player closest to the goalkeeper. My responsibility was to prevent the other team from getting a clear shot at the goal. I learned how to strip the ball away from even the best dribblers. The secret, at least my secret, was to ignore what the other player was doing with their feet. They could cross-step and switch which foot they dribbled with, but they could only move in the direction their hips pointed.

I would backpedal defensively until I saw an opening, then strip the ball from them. Worked every time.

The team name was coined by the Resident Adviser. We were called "The Amoebas of Doom," and we had t-shirts made up. My number was sixty-nine, which at that time was considered quite clever.

Some of my more clever maneuvers came off the field, as well. I made a dummy out of my old clothes. I sewed a shirt and socks into an old pair of pants, and I forget what I used for the head, and then stuffed the whole thing with newspapers. This enterprise took about an hour to assemble.

The inspiration for the counterfeit was practical jokery. U.C. San Diego had acquired the mythical title of "suicide school." There were urban legends about first-year students who were overcome by pressure, jumped off buildings, and killed themselves.

My ringer was also suicidal. I would lug him up to the roof of some building and huck him over the side, always with a blood-curdling scream, to the effect of, "OhMYGODHEJUMped!"

I never did have the guts to chuck him off a balcony at Tioga Hall, which was probably fifteen stories. What a missed opportunity. When he had enough jumps under his belt, he became a spectator at Amoeba matches, sitting in a nylon beach chair.

One thing that college offers, is a lot of opportunities for courtship. I didn't lose my virginity until I was nineteen. Not because I'm ugly, I don't think. I always had a cute girlfriend. Each one had a different reason for not wanting to go all the way. And I think I was missing fundamental lessons about male -female relationships.

I suffered a freshman year in which it felt the only person not having sex was me. I had a roommate named Billy who was verbally abusive to his girlfriend, yet they had wild sex, night after night. That baffled me. The only courtship advice I ever got was my sisters' issues of Cosmopolitan, from which I somehow inferred that the most desirable man was really sensitive.

I dated the most beautiful girl in the Spring of freshman year. Michelle was mixed-race white and latina, and she was saving herself for marriage. I wanted to make love with her, but I did respect her boundaries. I didn't so much think we would get married as that I would eventually wear down her resistance.

That summer, I went to Alaska to work in a salmon cannery. I shared a barracks with other young college men, and they all had amazing tales of sexual conquests. There was this guy named Raffi, who was olive-skinned and latinate, with a trimmed beard. He told me how a girl came to his dorm room and they had rough sex together.

"I flipped her over on her stomach and just fucked her like an animal, like I was full of rage, you know?" he said.

"And you know the funny thing?" he asked. "She asked if she could come over the next day!"

That was when I learned that a woman expects and wants to be taken.

So when I returned to school that fall, Michelle was out of the picture. Before classes even started, there was a dance in the library pavilion. I could hear the music from my student residence. I started a pot of macaroni boiling, then turned off the heat and left the noodles on the stove without eating them.

My eyes set upon a girl I thought I could get. Every movement, every word and gesture, carried the intent of getting her into bed with me. After some perfunctory dances, we went down to the beach together in the darkness.