Aversion to Love---Chapter 1

A Story by J. V. Moffatt

"Welcome. You may be wondering where you are. If you're not, get out!"

Someone in the back of the lecture hall raised their hand.

"Can I help you?"

"What does it say behind you," the boy asked giggling. The whole class erupted in chuckles. We all knew what it said.

"I'm sorry. This class might be a little too advanced for you if you can't read. It says 'f**k love'. Does anyone want to know why it says that?"

Reluctantly, almost every hand went up in the room, including mine. This was my third year at Epiphany University. I was sitting in my advanced writing class. Even though I was mostly a communications major, I couldn't shake the part of me that wanted to write. I wanted to take this class in particular because I heard about the professor. I heard that she chewed up writers and spit them out. I needed a teacher like her.

Regina Graney was a professor whose reputation proceeded her. Rumors had it that she was one of the most bitter women you would ever meet in life. The rumors were that she was left at the altar because of how horrible she was to her fiance. Whatever the rumor, she was a drill sergeant when it came to writing.

"I'm sure in your time here you have taken plenty of writing classes. You may think that you can bullshit your way through this one. Let me tell you something right now. I want to make myself perfectly clear. You can't bullshit through my class.

At this point in the game, I shouldn't still be teaching you proper grammar. You should already know it. If you don't, please drop my class. This class isn't about teaching. This class is about making you all better writers."

A few students mumbled amongst themselves. Professor Graney sat on the desk in front of the chalkboard and looked around at all of us. She wanted for the chatter to calm down before she began speaking again.

"I know what the rumors are. Did I get left at the altar? No. Was I engaged? Yes. Am I married? No. Am I angry at love?"

Her eyes darted around the room. She was so hard when we first entered the room but she was soft now. She couldn't be much older than I was. She had short black hair that she had fluffed every which way. She took off her glasses. Her expression confused me. I assumed we were going to hear a sad story.

"I'm not angry at love," she said smiling. "Love hasn't done anything to wrong me. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not even bitter. I am, however, tired of reading about it. Let me get a show of hands, how many of you have written about love?"

Looking around the room, almost every hand was up.

"Keep your hands raised. Look around. It's kind of sick, huh? Now of those people, how many of you have never written about anything else?"

A few hands went down, including mine, but a lot of hands were still raised.

"This is why I say 'f**k love'. This is why. We write about love as if there is nothing else going on in our lives. We write about love as a cop out. WE don't want to deal with or write about other things. We even write about love to avoid writing about sex. Let me tell you something ladies and gentlemen, those two things are not synonymous. The best sex I've ever had didn't involve love at all. Laugh if you must. I have nothing to hide. I'm a writer. I say what I want.

"I want to know what you're passionate about. I want to know what you love without it being love. That's your first assignment. I want you to write the words 'I love' and then make a list. You will work from this list most of the semester."

"Professor Graney," a girl three rows behind me spoke up. "How many things do you want us to list?"

"Regina. My name is Regina. As for your list, it should be thorough. Think of everything that makes you happy and then write it down. What wouldn't you mind writing about? Okay. Go forth. Be writers. I'll see you all on Thursday. Well, I'll see all of those who can handle it."

I walked out of the lecture hall with my best friend, Mike Jenner.

"I think this class is going to be awesome," Mike said to me. We met our first semester in a film class. Working on several projects together, him and I became fast friends.

"Do you want to write together tonight? Bethany has band practice so we'll have at least three hours."

"Sure. Not that we'll need a whole bunch of help writing a list."

"Shut up, Michael. You want me to drive?"

"No. I'll bring my car in case Bethany gets back early and I need to escape through the window."

I laughed at him. It wasn't really a joke though. My current roommate, Bethany had issues with men being in our apartment. She feared they might rape her in her sleep, even if she was wide awake. I didn't argue with her. I just would have Mike over when I knew she would be gone for long periods of time. If she came home while he was there, I'd have to sneak him out when she went to the bathroom. Many a time, I have hidden Mike under my bed.

"Okay, Michael, I'll see you in twenty-three minutes."
"I like the sound of that."

Back at my apartment, I sprawled all of my papers and notebooks on my bed. I laid on my stomach and buried my face in my pillow.

"Can I put rough sex, Michael," I asked him through muffled through my pillow.

"Wouldn't you be embarrassed if you had to read that in front of the class?"
We both looked at each other and laughed.
"No," I said still laughing. "Maybe someone else will get the same idea and I'll get to have some rough sex. I should put balls on my list too. I do enjoy balls."
"Kel, I could go my whole life without needing to know that."
"Seriously, Mike, it's a good thing when a girl likes balls. I know you don't truly understand that because of your virgin status."
"You use any chance you get to tease me about that."
"Hey. I resent that! I was just thinking that having sex will make you a better writer. So you know, go out and get some."
"Whatever. You want to hear my list," mike asked me, changing the subject quickly. He always changed the subject when something was said that made him feel awkward.
"Yeah, I'll listen to your list and then I'll read you mine."
"I don't know if I want to know what's on your list."
"God, Mike. Can't you take a joke. Loosen up, you rigid, old man"
"If you're ready, I'll continue."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"I love, Coldplay, French poetry, sleeping, animals, veggie burgers with cheese, cheese, potato wedges, crab, pancakes, and orchids. That's what I have so far. Before you judge, read yours."
"I love coldplay, butterfly bushes, dragonflies, peanut butter and strawberry jam, Mike's potato wedges, cupcakes, hugs, sleepovers, and soft pillows."
"I should add hugs to my list. You know what's funny? You didn't put anything sexual on your list."
"I told you I was just kidding. You know what, Mike, I love my list. I feel like I could totally write using that list."
"I love that the first thing both of us list is Coldplay."
"That's only because they're the messiah of awesome. Speaking of which, we should put some Coldplay on now."
"Which album?"
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to look at Mike. We smiled at each other as we both came to the same decision.
"A Rush of Blood to the Head," We said together.
We listened to the entire album while we wrote. We wrote until Bethany came home and Mike climbed out the window.