The Walking Man (21 page)

As Andy approached to apologize, Hope’s beauty stunned him, so his first reaction was to try to make things right by cleaning up Twister’s saliva. With no towels in sight, Andy took off his T-shirt and started rubbing it on Hope’s chest. Just as he realized the impropriety of his action, Hope knocked him out with the butt end of her Apple MacBook.

Seeing blood and seeking to protect his master, Twister, the supposedly brainless dog, leapt into the air, grabbed the MacBook from Hope’s hands, and took off. The MacBook contained Hope’s life, so she immediately gave chase. Twister ran straight across MIT’s main courtyard and then across Memorial Drive, where he was grazed by a Taxi and a Cadillac SUV before depositing Hope’s MacBook into Charles River.

Just as Hope crossed Memorial Drive in hot pursuit of Andy’s dog, the cerebrally-challenged Golden Retriever turned and ran straight at her. Two taxis and a bicycle messenger nearly clipped Hope as she ran back across Memorial with Twister on her heels. Hope was five feet away from her bench when Twister caught up to her. The force of the collision and ensuing bite caused Hope to hit the ground like she had been crossed checked by Zdeno Chara. Luckily, Andy had come to during the chase, so he was able to curb his dog’s assault by yelling, “Down, Twister!”

“Your fucking dog just bit my leg, asshole!” Hope Wynsome screamed at Andy McCormack.

“Maybe he’s mad because you knocked me out, bitch!” Andy replied.

“You grabbed my tits, creep!”

Andy paused for a moment. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking…”

Hope tried to hobble away, but her leg was bleeding profusely, so Andy insisted on helping. Having already disrobed his upper torso for lack of a towel, Andy took off his cotton MIT sweat pants and shredded them with his Swiss army knife, an item that had been attached to his key chain since he was twelve years old. Standing in his boxer shorts, Andy then wove his shredded sweats into a tourniquet, which he applied to Hope’s leg to stop the bleeding. Then, without seeking her permission, Andy McCormack swept Hope Wynsome into his arms and proceeded to carry her to the MIT infirmary.

The MIT Infirmary was almost a mile away from the bench where Hope and Andy “met.” As Andy walked he continually apologized to Hope, who was furious, although her anger did not prevent her from noticing that Andy McCormack was built like a Greek god. Andy had Brad Pitt’s looks, without the hint of femininity. He had red-brown curly hair, a freckled face, and a chin that had a perfect dimple. He had broad shoulders and a perfectly hairy chest. He looked rugged like the Marlboro Man – before he developed cancer.

The blood from Hope’s leg soaked Andy’s boxer shorts, so as he walked down Massachusetts Avenue, more than a few ladies were struck by the size of Andy’s manhood, which they could envision with minimum fantasy, due to the clingy nature of blood-soaked cotton. As Andy walked, Hope eventually calmed down enough to consider the possibility that her molester was not a total asshole, a thought reinforced when the admitting nurse at the MIT Infirmary said, “Professor McCormack, what happened to you?”

Not one to lie, Andy responded, “I stupidly grabbed this young lady’s chest, so she knocked me out with her Apple MacBook, so Twister bit her.”

The nurse, familiar with the social miscues prevalent in an institute dominated by men with Asperger’s syndrome unblinkingly responded, “Happens all the time. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of you both.”

Andy turned to Hope and smiled. “By the way, my name is Andy McCormack.”

Hope looked at Andy and was suddenly smitten.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, Professor McCormack. My name is Hope Wynsome.”

Because of suicide attempts and alcohol poisonings, MIT always had a physician present at its infirmary, so a real doctor, from a real Caribbean medical school, quickly determined that Andy’s and Hope’s lacerations did not pose a threat to their long-term health or welfare. After ten stitches to Andy’s head and twenty-eight stitches to Hope’s leg, the couple shuffled to the MIT bookstore, where they inexplicably bought a set of matching MIT shirts and sweats that made them look like the host and hostess of Nerdworld.

Being all dressed-up with nowhere to go, Andy then boldly suggested locking Twister in his office and then proceeding to The Muddy Charles Pub for drinks. Hope liked the drink part of the plan, but instead of storing Twister, she suggested drowning him in the Charles River or donating him to a nearby medical school, where he could be tortured in the name of science.

Before the Frisbee toss, Andy had classified Hope as a rare beauty. Like most men, Andy was quick to assess a female’s core features and he liked what he saw. Hope was five feet tall with dirty blond hair, stunning green eyes and naturally pouty lips. She had large, but not too large, breasts, a firm ass, and gorgeous legs. Overall, the package was enough to make most men instantly fall in love with Hope Wynsome, but Andy had been with beautiful women before and none of them had ever knocked him out, so he was hesitant to follow his heart, which was telling him Hope was “the one,” a feeling reinforced when Hope licked the salted rim of her first margarita and smiled.

“So, Andy, how does a tit grabber and master of a psychotic dog become a professor at MIT?” Hope said with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Actually, being a tit-grabber and owning a psychotic dog is the sole requirement for being a physics professor at MIT,” Andy McCormack disclosed.

“A physics professor?”

“Theoretical physics.”

“Black holes?”

“Eat ‘em for breakfast.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t tell my friends I’m seeing a friggin’ physicist.”

“If it helps any, you can tell your gal pals that I’m also a little league coach.”

After a third round and multiple assurances that their next encounter would not involve any form of human or canine assault, Hope accepted Andy’s request for a date the following Saturday.

In the days before the big date, Andy sent Hope several get well cards, in which he further apologized for his inappropriate behavior. One of them contained a five hundred dollar J Crew gift card signed: “From Twister.”

Hope never responded to Andy’s cards, so when the big Saturday night arrived Andy was a bit nervous as he approached the Sloane School dormitory where Hope lived. He was fully clothed and had a special gift in hand.

After convincing the dorm’s security guard that he really was a physics professor by doing a Lorentz Transformation, Andy entered the dorm and proceeded to Hope’s room.

Hope greeted Andy with a huge smile and said, “Welcome, Professor.”

Suddenly, it was Andy’s turn to be smitten. Floored by Hope’s beauty, Andy struggled for words before saying, “You look beautiful, Hope.”

Hope smiled. “Think so, Professor?”

“Oh yeah,” Andy said before handing Hope a gift bag. “I got a little something for you.”

Inside the bag was a new Apple MacBook.

“The scuba diving club retrieved your laptop from the Charles then the crew at the Media Lab recovered the data. Those kids love a challenge.”

Hope was moved. “Well thank you, Andy.”

“You’re entirely welcome.”

“So, Professor, are you suggesting I pretend we just met and forget about the horny guy who used a Frisbee and his crazy dog to check me out?”

“Is that what I was doing?”

“‘Throw the Frisbee near the pretty girl’ is the oldest trick in the book,” Hope said.

“Do all women know about it?”

“Of course we do. We know all your tricks.”

“Damn, us guys don’t have a prayer.”

Hope smiled. “You do what we let you do.”

“Will you let me buy you dinner?”

“Of course. You’re the professor, I’m just a lowly grad student.”

“I hope you’re not implying there’s anything inappropriate about our student-teacher relationship?”

“Not yet,” Hope replied.

Hope and Andy would forever own the evening that followed. It started with dinner at Legal Seafood in the Copley Plaza. It was not the most romantic place in the world, but the food was outstanding. Andy, being a douche bag, had a steak. Hope had grilled tuna with wasabi and fresh vegetables. After dinner, the couple had drinks at the Top of the Hub, a bar on the fifty-second floor of the Prudential Building that offered a stunning view of Boston and its surrounding communities.

After a dinner dominated by conversation that could be best described as a background check by Hope, the talk at the Top of the Hub got animated when Hope and Andy began to reveal their real life stories. For starters, Hope told Andy she grew up in a middle class family in Waltham, Massachusetts. She said she had a gay brother and then disclosed she once did not talk to her mother for an entire year.

“A whole year – harsh,” Andy said. “What did she do?”

Hope laughed. “She videotaped me making out with my high school boyfriend.”

“Kinky,” Andy said.

“She used a Teddy Cam,” Hope said with an exaggerated look of disgust.

Hope then revealed her dad once made one hundred and fifty grand a year, but he had not worked for two years, so he was depressed.

“Tough,” Andy said.

Hope sighed then dabbed her eye with a napkin. “Very.”

Andy didn’t want to scare Hope away so he was vague about his family. He neglected to mention his father was an MBTA bus driver who once went to work after drinking a twelve pack of Bud tallboys. He also did not disclose his mother recently did a thirty-day stay in county jail for instructing two of his older brothers to “beat the living shit” out of their next door neighbor, Mr. Daniel O’Malley, an octogenarian with Parkinson’s disease, who mistakenly parked his Buick Century in “Ma’s spot.”

“I’m an Irish Catholic from South Boston, the eleventh of eleven children,” is all Andy said.

“Eleven kids?” Hope howled.

Andy laughed. “My dad once called me his seventh accident.”

Hope smiled. “Too Catholic to use birth control, I guess.”

“Something like that,” Andy said, neglecting to mention his father once proclaimed his Catholicism consisted of an occasional prayer to “Saint Who Gives a Shit, the Patron Saint of Fuck You and the Horse You Rode in On.”

“It must have been fun growing up in a big family,” Hope said.

“It was.” Andy cleared his throat. “My parents were pretty much worn out by the time I showed up, so I grew up without being hassled.”

Hope was fairly sure Andy was being evasive about his family, but she was satisfied that he wasn’t raised by wolves or terrorists, so after sharing a few wallet pictures, Hope began exploring Andy’s politics. Being a staunch Republican, Hope figured Andy, being a professor, had to be a liberal Democrat. So, she asked Andy what he thought of George Bush. Andy, skilled in avoiding conflict, responded, “I generally like Texans.”

“What do you generally like about them?”

“I’m not sure,” Andy said. “I think it has something to do with football, oil, or beef.”

When pushed further about his politics, Andy finally admitted he was apolitical.

“Actually, Hope, I’ve never voted,” Andy admitted. “I have a hard time telling the difference between Democrats and Republicans. They’re all politicians to me.”

Hope frowned. “You’ve never voted? How do you expect to change things for the better if you don’t vote?”

“What can I tell you,” Andy replied. “I trust the judgment of the masses.”

Perplexed by Andy’s seeming disinterest in family and politics, Hope next pressed the religion button.

“I’m a Protestant,” Hope said abruptly. “I go to church twice a year to drop a twenty in the collection basket. How about you?”

“I do a twenty every Sunday,” Andy said.

Hope grinned. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Andy; you still go to church every Sunday. I thought you science types didn’t believe in God?”

“I believe in the possibility of God,” Andy said, “and I like the Pope because he has the balls to wear a pointy hat in public.”

“I like his Pope-mobile,” Hope said.

Andy laughed. “Me too!”

A pause followed while Andy conducted an internal debate over whether to open up or risk boring Hope to death with his relentless Southie wiseassery.

“I also believe in wonder,” Andy finally said.

“Wonder?”

“Yes. I believe in the wonder of things to come. We know virtually nothing, but at our current rate of knowledge acquisition, within our lifetime, we will be able to live forever, implant the world’s knowledge into every man’s head, use nuclear fusion to solve our energy problems, and we’ll even be able to use subatomic particles to instantly communicate with each other with no possibility of eavesdropping. To me, religion and politics are sideshows; technology is what matters.”

“Wow,” Hope said. “You really are a nerd.”

“Guilty.”

“So, I guess this means you really don’t believe in heaven.”

“I didn’t say that, Hope. Believe it or not, heaven and physics are not inconsistent. Other dimensions surround us. We just can’t see them. Everything we perceive is ninety-nine-point nine, nine, nine percent nothing. We are surrounded by total mystery. Heaven is a definite possibility.”

Hope feigned shock. “Oh my God, I’m dating the mythical regular guy nerd.”

Andy smiled. “Yes, Hope, I am Bigfoot; beneath my admittedly stunning exterior are the flesh and bones of a card carrying N-E-R-D – much to my mother’s chagrin.”

“Oh my, Professor,” Hope said. “This schoolgirl’s heart is all a flutter – tell me more.”

“If I must,” Andy replied before regaling Hope with additional stories of wondrous new technologies.

After a ten-minute lecture, a captivated Hope said, “Gee, Professor, it sounds like some big business opportunities are coming down the road. Somebody is going to get rich.”

“Somebody will always get rich,” Andy said.

“Why not you, Professor?”

Andy held Hope’s hand and grinned. “Money cuts into my Red Sox time and limits my ability to have drinks with beautiful women.”

“Like me, Professor?”

“Exactly like you.”

The more Andy talked the more Hope was struck by his lack of ego. He never spoke of his academic greatness, and he seemed exceptionally attentive. To Hope, the whole Andy package seemed too good to be true, so after her third Cosmo, she posed the question she’d been dying to ask…