[Vignette 2/2011] Cambridge Man (Supercape)

[Dr Archeville]

Cambridge University

May, 1989

It was his second year at Cambridge, and the young, brilliant but rather eccentric Quentin Quill was at a party.

And Quentin Quill, esq, was a little drunk.

Eccentric he was, but he wasn’t shy or unattractive. He may not have been the catch of the year, but he was still an attractive young man, full of genius and promise, and not without charm. Girls weren’t throwing themselves at him, but they weren’t running either.

And he had struck up a conversation with Cressida Chimes, the not-unattractive philosophy student he had almost stumbled into. Fortunately, she had had one or two glasses of punch too, and it transpired that aside from her bookish beauty, she was also a rather good laugh.

After a cursory and not too impressive shuffle on the dance floor, to the strains of the Smiths and a few other Indie English bands all trying to copy the Smiths (with varying degrees of success, but usually limited), Quentin and Cressida stepped outside to the crisp Spring air.

Quentin had had a few flings at Cambridge. A few kisses, a few fumbles under the sheets, even a few girls on whom he had gone a few dates (and had a few fumbles) but nothing had really come to anything. He was neither romping from bed to bed, nor was he a geeky celibate – despite his academic success. Quentin took things as they came. He was pretty sure he had an exceptional mind, but in other areas he was just your everyman, and that included avoiding the stereotype of being a socially inept nerd who spent more time in the Library than even thinking about girls (or boys, for that matter).

And so, Quentin and Cressida started to talk. She was easy to talk to. Maybe he was a little drunk, maybe the air was just the right temperature, maybe the silence hit him after the music. Maybe the Smiths were romantic (he smiled at the thought). Maybe Cressida was just... right.

She could talk about Plato without getting pompous, she could talk about the psychology of perception and get him fired up. She could laugh about Freud without detracting from his wisdom. And all the time, he was gazing into her eyes and smile.

As for him, he talked about physics and the nature of quantum mechanics that was unfolding the fabric of the university before them.

He didn’t really know how long it took before they stopped talking and just laughed. “You are the best, Cress” he said simply, and sincerely, and kissed her. She giggled as she did so, but not in an unkindly way, it just made her ooze more attractiveness, and didn’t impede her responding to his kiss in kind.

The spring and summer of 1989 were Quentin’s first love, with Cressida Chimes. She broadened his mind a little outside his world of physics. He read psychology, philosophy, and even poetry. He loved her, and she loved him back. Together they made love, cooked, ate, and discussed the fabric of reality that would eventually set him down the road to his destiny as Supercape.

He never knew what became of her, as she never returned to Cambridge for her third and final year. She only sent him a letter saying that she loved him, and hoped to see him again one day, but that she felt the universe was bigger than she had thought, and was going travelling to India for a year, dropping out of University.

Quentin was heartbroken, of course, but never felt any hatred or ill to her. She was to special for that. And every now and again, he looks at the letters they shared and marvels still at the words in them.