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As a student in 1968 at a conservative southern university, Ben Shepperd was imprinted with the crosscurrents of that period while also experiencing great changes in his personal life. His story novelizes an overlay of those changes against what was going on in the country. Ben lives with his wife and cat in Savoy, Illinois.

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WILD GOOSE MOON

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

As he focused on her across Fat City's smoke-and-dust-fogged dance floor, Tom's mouth opened slightly and he stood frozen in place. Multicolored streamers hung from the Happy New Year sign swagged above the bandstand, and with Rhode Kill beating out an ear-splitting "Judy in Disguise", bobbing and swaying high school- and college-age dancers pulsated in a blur of motion between them. Clair Kennerly was deep in conversation with a girlfriend. As Tom stared, though, he saw her demeanor change. She had been smiling, talking, and observing the action on the dance floor. First he saw her focus shift - drawing in as if in thought. Then she closed her eyes slowly. And as slowly as she had closed them, she opened them while turning her head toward the opposite wall - toward Tom. She looked directly at him, the smile gone from her face. There was no surprise or excitement in her eyes, but there was an unmasked depth to them. She did not return his stare so much as she drew him into hers. For his part Tom made no pretense of trying to deny the sincerity and the power in her eyes, which he remembered as crystalline blue. The awkwardness that he had felt - first in being caught staring at her and then in being so helplessly ensnared by her gaze - fell away. He allowed himself the unadulterated moment of honesty and of reverie that their eye contact afforded them. Neither moved. Neither smiled. Tom finally nodded slightly. She did not respond.

Suddenly, the club's strobe lights were activated in time with the band's hard beat. As the light jerked their faces from black to ghostly white, they continued to stare. Finally, Tom saw Clair's mouth frozen open for a split second, and he knew she had said his name. At that moment he heard her molasses-rich drawl in his mind as she said, "Tom", and somehow made two silken syllables of it - her voice rising slightly on the second, suggesting both acknowledgment and anticipation. The connection across the room was so pure, so complete that he could clearly call up the fragrance of her hair, her skin - as if his face were again buried in the softness of her neck. The memory of the joy and pleasure lasted for but a moment before being pushed aside by the pain of their last time together.

The delicate squeeze on his arm caused him to jerk and to spill several drops from the drink he held. His awareness widened to the music, to the dancers and to Meredith suddenly at his side.

With her dark brown hair flipped up at the shoulder, and with eyes of ebony, chiseled cheekbones, and a smooth, olive complexion, she looked older than her nineteen years and more exotic than she was. With his hazel green eyes looking out from a ruddy, rounded face along with his fine, thick, gel-dried short brown hair, Tom looked less than his almost twenty years and every bit as immature as he was.

"What are you staring at?" Meredith asked with a smile.

Tom whipped his head toward her and with unguarded guilt, replied, "No one ... uh, nothing. Here ... here's your drink."

"Thanks," she said, turning to scan the crowd on the dance floor into which Tom had been looking. Tom, too, turned toward the opposite wall in search of the eyes that had captured him moments earlier. He saw only Clair's thick blonde hair tumbling to the middle of her back. Scanning down, he saw her familiar full hips and her legs - made for the miniskirt she wore. As she faced the wall with head bowed, her friend stood beside her wearing a concerned expression.

Tom turned to Meredith and said, "I've got to -"

The slap on the back almost took his air, and he wheeled quickly. Rob Carver greeted him with a toothy grin and a beer-breathed, "Howdy!"

Glenda Bell, a short plump blonde, was wrapped around Rob. She yelled, "Hey, Tom," above the din.

Tom smiled and turned to Meredith, whose expression asked, 'who are these people?' "Rob! Glenda!" Tom yelled. "Meet Meredith Blaine. She's from here in Springfield - a freshman at The College. Meredith, this is Rob Carver and Glenda Bell - old 'Noofer' High buddies of mine. Rob goes to The University and Glenda's at Baylor."

As greetings were exchanged, the two couples moved in closer and ducked their heads together to hear one another. "So Tom," Rob began, "how are you liking W-S-U so far? Little more happening there than at Stover County J-C, huh?"

Tom recognized the beginning of the standard and obligatory "Joe College" conversation. He had heard variations on it countless times the prior semester, his first at Wesleyan Southern University since transferring there after a year at his county junior college. Rob dominated the ensuing discussion as he related fraternity party hijinks, beer bus trips to football games, uninhibited antics of inebriated co-eds, and pledge class hazings. Tom could tell that Glenda, who had attended Stover with him for a year, was still taken with Rob's line just as she had been off and on through high school. He understood that Glenda shared with him the subtle, unspoken inferiority of having attended a junior college her first year. Tom observed Meredith's reaction to Rob's braggadocio as being amused but detached. Hers was a different college experience at Springfield College, a small private liberal arts school.

Finally Rob came to the inevitable 'who did you pledge?' question.

"I'm a G-D -" Tom caught his language in deference to Meredith. "I'm an independent." As soon as the words left his lips, he knew he owed Rob, who had given away a barely perceptible face drop, and Glenda an explanation. "Yeah, I've been coming home to see Meredith every two or three weeks, so I didn't see any reason to pledge. Hey, miss the parties on the weekends," he offered with his best world-wise grin, "and be around all week for the work. Uhn-uhn. Not for me." His explanation seemed sufficient for all present, but as insurance he added, "Anyway, I may go through Rush next fall."

The conversation continued along its natural course with Glenda and Meredith comparing notes about Glenda's high school friends at Springfield and Meredith's at Baylor, and Rob and Tom also discussed their old chums. Tom was the only 1966 New Fredonia graduate at WSU, but a number of their classmates were now at The University of Texas. The only obvious omission from Rob's spiel was that of his sexual exploits. With Rob's burly blond good looks and considering his formidable record of conquests in high school, Tom knew that the fifteen thousand-plus co-eds at UT had not gone unserviced. But he realized that the omission was in deference to Glenda and that it resulted from Rob's desire to add one more exploit to his list - to start the New Year with a bang.

As they conversed, Tom raised his head periodically and searched without success the opposite wall, the dance floor, and the trickle of departing revelers at the door. Tom was experiencing the gnawing anxiety of an opportunity lost. He stopped short of excusing himself to go look for her because he knew he had no acceptable reason. The risky choice of doing it without an acceptable reason was in combat with the status quo. But as the foursome's conversation wound down, Tom glanced up and saw Clair as she was turning her gaze away from him and moving toward the exit. For that split second, with her standing in the glow of the track lights, Tom saw the high, wide cheekbones, the tapering chin, the...