Kate and Kilimanjaro

University of New Orleans ScholarWorks@UNO University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations Dissertations and Theses 5-18-2007 Kate and Kilimanjaro John Nirenberg University of New Orleans Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td Recommended Citation Nirenberg, John, "Kate and Kilimanjaro" (2007). University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations. 1066. https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td/1066 This Thesis is protected by copyright and/or related rights. It has been brought to you by ScholarWorks@UNO with permission from the rights-holder(s). You are free to use this Thesis in any way that is permitted by the copyright and related rights legislation that applies to your use. For other uses you need to obtain permission from the rights- holder(s) directly, unless additional rights are indicated by a Creative Commons license in the record and/or on the work itself. This Thesis has been accepted for inclusion in University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks@UNO. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Kate and Kilimanjaro A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the University of New Orleans in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Film, Theatre and Communication Arts Creative Writing by John Nirenberg B.A. University of Connecticut, 1968 M.S. Southern Connecticut State College, 1971 Ph.D. University of Connecticut, 1975 May, 2007 © 2007, John Nirenberg ii Acknowledgements This seemed like a good story to tell. My partner Allyson Villars encouraged me to tell it and gave me the encouragement and support throughout this late-in-life academic indulgence to finally put it to paper. Writers, as other artists, are really quite sensitive to feedback. I want to hear that my work is good, but I also want to hear how it could be even better. That’s what this MFA was all about for me. Unfortunately, my desire for feedback is often accompanied by trepidation. Sometimes there is good reason for that, especially when the feedback is loaded with negative judgment and destructive criticism under the guise of being helpful. Sadly, too many teachers find it easier to be harsh and think that dismissive judgment without helpful suggestions is useful to the budding writer. Then there is Kathleen Veslany. Kathleen is a model workshop leader and thesis advisor. I wish everyone at UNO could have the experience of her workshop. I appreciated her meticulous reading of my work, questions and comments. Her manner of communicating criticism was consistently positive and made it possible for me to hear and benefit from her feedback. Though my writing still has a long way to go, I have improved immensely from her guidance. Her helpfulness in both workshop, and as my thesis advisor, will not be forgotten. Thank you Kathleen. Amanda and Joseph Boyden were enthusiastic members of my thesis committee. Unfamiliar with my work, their spirit of adventure must have overwhelmed their common sense. I’m sure of it given their monstrous work schedules. Their feedback was very helpful and they proved that even the thesis defense could be an important learning experience. Many classmates in each workshop have also been helpful, and some deserve special thanks here: William Bain, Rick Bolner, Mawiyah Bomani, Tara Shanti Harold, Kristina Heinz, Trisha Kratzenberg, and Dawn Leslie Lenz. Their editorial advice is still very much appreciated. Finally, to all those mentioned in these pages, life wouldn’t have been the same without you. iii Table of Contents Chapter 1: Kate ..............................................................................................................................1 Chapter 2: Kilimanjaro ...............................................................................................................10 Chapter 3: First Date ...................................................................................................................22 Chapter 4: Pool Shark .................................................................................................................40 Chapter 5: My Candle Burns At Both Ends ............................................................................54 Chapter 6: In Africa.....................................................................................................................70 Chapter 7: Natural State .............................................................................................................89 Chapter 8: Slow Slow ................................................................................................................105 Chapter 9: In Pursuit of Uhuru ................................................................................................116 Chapter 10: Home .....................................................................................................................138 Chapter 11: Renewal .................................................................................................................155 Vita ..............................................................................................................................................162 iv Chapter 1 Kate I don’t remember when I decided to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, but I remember exactly when I met Kate. It was a crisp Friday night in December, under an unusually starry night in Silicon Valley. The sprawling Decathlon Club in Santa Clara hosted that month’s gathering of the Stanford Bachelors where a large crowd of singles turned out to stave off the holiday blues. My friends were in the spirit and already charged with the energy that fuels overconfidence and closes down that part of the brain controlling self- awareness. It was, after all, a singles event. Some called it a meat market. In either case, it was a hustle and not the time or place for deep conversation. As awkward and distasteful as this kind of situation is under the best of circumstances, sometimes, with the right devil-may-care attitude and absolutely no hope for anything more fulfilling than watching beautiful women dance their hearts out, it could be fun. Besides, I did all sorts of irregular things in my search for a partner. In our forties, we assumed we’d be married. But when it came right down to it, we were just too damn choosy – some by nature, some, like me, because we had been burned; and, some of us were downright difficult to be with. If there was ever a group for intellectual pretentiousness based on ideological confrontation dipped in a heavy coating of emotional drama, this little group of ours 1 was it. In other words, we heartily embraced cynicism and proved, once again, that indeed misery does love company. And, we proudly wallowed in it. My brother Lloyd was the ringleader. We drove to the event together in his sporty red Masda RX7. A few years older than me, he stands a slim six feet tall with crystal blue eyes and a devilish grin. He exudes an attractive personal charm when he turns it on. Everyone in our little band enjoys his extroversion; and, in spite of my envy, I love him. As my older brother, he was in some ways larger than life and always ready to take the lead. His charm works like a psychological net for targeted women who approach too close. It is immediate, intense, and engaging; but it dissipates quickly after he beds them. Alas, a couple of weeks, or a month later, he’d point out some fatal flaw and it, whatever it was, would be over. His self-satisfied, bon vivant swagger borne of the incredible sex he was having would disappear and he’d plunge right back into the singles pool. He’s an inveterate womanizer, though he’d vociferously deny it; the inevitable breakups were never his fault, of course. Back in the pool, his substantial hooked nose would flare like a dorsal fin breaking the social surface seeking yet another repast for his libido. In between his conquests he had more than his fair share of gloomy longing but he, alone among us, was always able to attract and date the sexiest females. I suppose, because of my sibling jealousy, I never understood what they saw in him. It seemed he could pick up women just by looking at them; once he picked up the dental assistant while getting a root canal. I knew that tonight he would turn it on. 2 When Lloyd and I arrived we easily found Jim, another member of our little group. A fastidious, always deliberately well-spoken, and usually cheerful friend, he makes the circumstances of a breakup sound funny and never wallows too deeply in self-pity. He always lands on his feet. Jim’s cheeriness was often accompanied by mystical comments that made us wonder if he was being funny or profound. Out of nowhere he’d grin and say something like, “Why do we love to cook outside but shit inside the house?” Jim graciously and frequently hosted evenings so the group could examine just these kinds of deep questions over a take-out dinner in his living room. Actually, those evenings were spent shooting socio-political economic theories at each other like bullets from an automatic weapon. An evening at Jim’s was the intellectual equivalent of a rumble between the Crips and Bloods, but we enjoyed the encounters, bizarre as that may sound. We’d say whatever absurdity popped into our heads and sometimes we’d end up way beyond the pale, as when Richard totally demolished the underlying premise of my recently completed book manuscript – all in the name of being an intellectual exercise, of course. When we got totally absurd,

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