Eddie was my groupie experience, I think. I made a harpsichord debut recital at the campus art museum in the spring of 1974. Dispensing with foolish modesty, I think I looked pretty good that day, which was bright and warm, in fact the first warm day after a particularly hard winter. I wore an off-white linen suit and a peach-colored rose in my lapel. I played well, my collaborators (flute and soprano) did likewise, and more than 1,600 people had crowded into the museum (giving the guards fits) to hear the event. High up on the third floor, overlooking the interior courtyard where I was playing, stood Eddie (unbeknownst to me), gazing down (he said later) in rapture.
That led very quickly to the shortest of all my grand affairs, a white-hot three months of passion and conflict. Eddie was certainly a live wire, incredibly intense about everything -- possibly this had something to do with his being half Puerto Rican -- and extremely energetic in sexual matters. The physical relationship was especially good, but he just could not understand why I might object to his running around. Truth to tell, I did not object all that much, but I surely did want him to bring my car back from these forays into the summer night's little love-nests.
As terminations go, it was one of the easiest. Eddie loved drama, and upon waking up alone one Saturday morning and not seeing my car in the garage, I decided it was time for some. It's a small town, after all, so it was simple matter to call a bar-fly friend and ask if Eddie left with X. Yes, he did. So I got a cab and went to X's apartment building and sure enough, there was my car in the parking lot. I marched to X's door and knocked with the authority that usually only the police have. A very sleepy and bedraggled-looking X opened the door and I said in my sweetest voice, "Hi! I'd like the keys to my car, please. I need it. Eddie can get himself home when he's ready." Oh god, he was so angry. Served him right, I thought.
He finished med school, did a residency in psychiatry and is flourishing on the west coast as a therapist. We saw each other a couple years ago and had a wonderful bunch of reminiscences, including the fact that each and every orgasm he had was accompanied by a petit mal seizure. I was quite startled the first time, of course, but it quickly became the ordinary pattern. The seizure seldom lasted more than a minute or two, and of course to him it not only didn't seem unusual, it was indeed his norm. You might say he came with built-in drama!