A New Chapter in Island Education

In each monthly report for my job, I must write a section on "integration into the community." This November, this surprisingly pleasant November- I integrated in a new way, one which no matter how tempting, I will not write about in my report. Admittedly, my immediate supervisor would be as pleased as punch. I think she intentionally hires reasonably attractive and smart young women for the express though tacit purpose of strengthening island gene pools. Twenty percent of fellows get suckered into staying. Of course nowhere in Fellow Orientation do we cover drinking, drugs, and sex. Okay- I confess: this year during the informal periods when new fellows were left alone with old fellows, yes. We talked about drinking on island. But now? Now I have reached an unknown shore. Or at least one that was left off the official map. So let us explore the landscape of island intimacy.

First comes the talk. Fully two months before the Dark even set foot on the island, I'd learned that the Tall was planning to "sic" him on me. I wasn't even single at the time, but the Tall had decided that it would be amusing, and (in a distance relationship himself) that he could then live vicariously through his friend, and get some. Shortly after the Dark landed, it was suspected that we were seeing each other. I am fairly certain that by this time, we had in fact, been properly introduced.

Then came the gifts. I have cataloged them before, but such riches deserve repeated inventory. Apples (hand stolen and delivered to my door); wild cranberries from a bog on the Eastern Head (though obviously not from the Park); firewood, which appeared like magic while I was off-island one weekend; homemade applesauce, a hostess gift for when I served dinner in return for the firewood. By the time he brought me to see the whale carcass, overwhelmed by the need to reciprocate, I had promised to knit him a hat- one which I immediately started, since I was convinced that it was the only route to protecting my virtue: "I know it is not sex, but a hand-knit hat is a very fine thing indeed! It will keep you warm for much longer!"

Talk and gifts are all very well- but they are window dressing. It doesn't much matter what people say, or what tokens are exchanged. What matters is how two people rub together, figuratively speaking. And literally. After all the food and hikes the Dark and I were getting along quite well. Saturday night, we slipped away from the crush of the highly successful cribbage tournament and returned to my house to watch a movie. It was, quite overtly (between us), a date. The movie ended and we embarked on that most sacred of post-sexual-liberation activities: making out on the couch.

Now some people may do this silently, hunkering down to business like all those serious people eating bland food in glum Danish paintings of the 19th century. I can't. Sex has to be talkative, and I mean talkative like a play by George Bernard Shaw. Or at least Oscar Wilde, maybe Noel Coward. So it was, somewhere between layers of clothing, our discussion came around to condoms; more specifically the availability of condoms on the island. Because we have exactly one store. And they carry exactly two boxes of Trojans (3packs). They live behind the counter with the medicines and tick nippers. If I wanted to purchase the aforementioned prophylactics, I would have to address my next door neighbor and the chairwoman of the school board (who happens to be the cashier): "Sue, I'd like both packs of Trojans please." I would rakishly arch my eyebrow as I emphasized the quantity, and I am sure my face would not betray even the slightest hint of blush.

Yes. Today I ran right out to do that. Of course if I did need to purchase condoms here, I am fairly certain they would not be in season. The Dark and I considered placing a friendly wager on when they likely expired. I had thought '89, but he was pretty sure he'd stolen condoms from the store during his teenage years, and that the current crop would only date from the mid/late '90s. It was good of him to share the info with me, or who knows what I would have lost on the bet.

Of course beyond the logistics of safety, there is also the matter of discretion. Where to park his truck? How should we time leaving events so it is not obvious that we are leaving together? Very important details, here...

Finally there is the parental factor, which comes into play when I inevitably run into his father (again, there are about 50 people on the island for the winter). The Dark, a very legal 27 years old, claims his father is oblivious, and I hope that this is so... nonetheless, I catch a glimpse of the man and I feel like a juvenile delinquent, and am gripped by an urge slink ever so quietly away.

And so it is that I have begun a personal history on the island. Heaven help me.