Binomial

Author: Sheila Paulson

(Second in the 'Letters from College'. Originally published in Slime Trails 7)


November 30

Dear Mom,

Thank you for the muffler you knitted for me. I assure you it will be exactly what I need to keep me warm. Yes, Mom, it does get very cold in New York, but I'm certain no colder than it does in Cleveland.

Tell Dad I did get an "A" on my particle physics exam and assure him I am grateful to him for instilling in me the proper study habits. I'll explain it in more detail in my letter to him.

I'm sorry I couldn't be with you for Thanksgiving, but my class load is rather heavy this semester. I'm looking forward to being with you and Dad at Christmas. It's good news to hear that Uncle Cyrus and Aunt Millicent will be there too, along with Eddie. I'm told Eddie's grades are excellent and am
certain he will please Uncle Cyrus with a scholarship at the end of his senior year.

You asked me if I had any more trouble with Venkman. Yes, that's the name of the student I told you about in the last letter. He is certainly a distracting influence in Professor Polgetta's class. I can't imagine what someone like Venkman is doing in the study of parapsychology unless he considers it an easy grade like basket-weaving. Not that 'basket-weaving' is on the curriculum here at Columbia, of course, but it serves as an image of an easy class. Perhaps if one majored in a subject such as folk art.... But never mind.

Venkman is one of those students who makes smart remarks to the professor and gets the other students to laugh. He also distracts the professor from the subject at hand and leads him off onto weird and bizarre tangents. I have often seen lazy students do this to their teachers in order to delay the lesson plan and insure there will be no new homework, and I have no doubt that Venkman hopes to accomplish this as well, but lately I've discovered the questions Venkman asks often lead to rather intriguing digressions. At first I thought that perhaps Polgetta was a more interesting teacher than I had first suspected. His method of delivery is so dry as to be soporific. Yes, Mom, I can hear Dad saying that the subject matter is worthy no matter the skill of the professor, and please assure him, if you tell him of this, that I make a point to pay complete attention in class no matter how dry and dreary the presentation.

But Venkman's questions have a tendency to bestir Polgetta and, surprisingly, the rest of the class. I have discovered most students have limited attention spans and are easily led, so what astonishes me is that after Venkman creates a distraction and Polgetta becomes more interesting, lively class discussions
follow. Surely Venkman can't be doing it on purpose.

Having considered that possibility I made it a point to watch Venkman in class yesterday. Sure enough, he interrupted the professor. And to my astonishment, I realized that his question was actually a rather clever one under the guise of a foolish distraction. And as the students roused and the class became lively, I am positive I saw a satisfied look upon his face.

Yet I know of him outside the classroom. He is what they call a BMOC, or Big Man on Campus, pursuing popularity and parties. I cannot imagine he understands proper study habits. Yet yesterday I tried very hard to see what grade Polgetta gave him on the report we were recently assigned on what
simple explanations we might find on an investigation. When Venkman got the paper, he shrugged and stuffed it away with an ostentatious display of resignation. Yet I am positive I saw an "A+" on the paper. This will merit further study.

Please tell Aunt Millicent I am very grateful for the fudge she sent me. And if you could, would you forward my most recent copy of *Who's Who and What's That*, to me. I left it behind when I was home that weekend in October and I want to bring it to Polgetta's class.

Love from your son,

Egon


Dec. 7

Dear Mom,

Here I am, right on time with my weekly letter. I'm just back from rehearsal for the Glee Club that you suggested I join. They are very happy to have a new bass voice as they were short in that area. We are preparing for a Christmas performance which will take place the day before I leave to come home for the holidays. I have taken to bringing my particle physics text with me and studying before the singing begins.


I was astonished, which I should not have been, to find Venkman in the Glee Club. He saw me there, frowned slightly, then he grinned, called me 'Professor Einstein', and told me it was a great place to meet 'chicks'. After that he ignored me and figuratively pasted himself onto Gloria Upton, a very blonde, very curvaceous girl who appears to possess too little intellect to have ever been accepted at the university. She was quite pleased to have him beside her. I returned to my physics text.


But Venkman seems to be everywhere any more. The other day, I went into that little restaurant where I frequently have lunch on Mondays before my scientific method class, and Venkman was there, in a back booth. It is a place where students rarely come, so I was surprised to see him there. He was bent over a book, and the whole table top was strewn with them. As I watched, he made considerable notes, working very hard. I had not believed it possible. Then, he looked at his watch and started to gather everything up. That was when he saw me.


Mom, he went completely white at the sight of me. I think he was deeply shocked that I was there and had seen him studying. But he brushed it off with some comment about both of us getting ptomaine poisoning from the food there. I sat down to order, and when I looked again, he had put on an apron
and was busy cleaning up one of the booths. I realized he worked there as a bus boy. He very carefully avoided looking at me after that. Unfortunately, I had embarrassed him. He seemed ashamed of being forced to hold a job, and also upset because I'd caught him studying.


Mom, I'm quite perplexed. There is no shame in working. And I noticed that while he bantered prodigiously with the waitresses and gave the appearance of slacking off, he did his job thoroughly and well. He kept looking in my direction and appeared quite relieved when I departed.


Venkman is a member of a fraternity. I remember you urged me to join one, but I simply wish to reserve my free time for my studies. I am not in college to attend parties but to get a firm grounding in my profession. I know some people do both, but I am not a frivolous person. I know a part of you wishes
I was slightly more so, but this does not seem to be my nature. Dad trained me far too well for that. Never think I am ungrateful for the warmth you bring into my life, however. I simply wish to be as worthy a physicist as possible.


Perhaps what interests me so much about Venkman is that he is a series of contradictions. He is a puzzle to be solved. I have never met anyone like him before. Were it not for Polgetta's class I should never have met him at all but, having met him, I can't let this mystery go unsolved.


Oh, be sure to tell Dad I am finding the particle physics class particularly appealing. I have described some of my studies in my letter to him.


Your Son

Egon



Dec. 14

Dear Mom,

Yes, I do like the Glee Club, Mom. And I've found it gives a rather pleasant sense of companionship with the other members of the chorus. The blending of voices is particularly appealing.

The Venkman story continues. I returned to the restaurant for another meal and found Venkman there, apparently just going off duty. I am not certain why I did it, but I asked him to share a meal with me. I realized that without more than casual contact, I would never understand him, and I find myself more and more determined to do so. I can hear you, Mom, reminding me that a person is not a scientific experiment but I can't help thinking a complicated person might not be approached through a similar process. When I first met Venkman I thought he was one of the most superficial beings I had ever encountered, but since I have been paying attention, I realize that he has constructed an outward persona to create a certain image. He is, in a sense, like an actor who has played a part so often he can put it on without thinking about it.

He looked as if I'd asked him to eat raw frogs, but then he caught himself and sat down. I think we were both rather surprised and rather annoyed at ourselves for putting ourselves in such an awkward position, then he made a crack about Polgetta about how the professor couldn't see past the point of his nose and how he must be no threat at all to ghosts when he went out to investigate a haunting. And the thing is, I had wondered that myself, so I said so. After that, we talked about the professor for a time, some of our
conversation rather scurrilous, and the odd thing is, Mom, I enjoyed it. Polgetta may be an intelligent man--I believe he is--but he lacks the ability to convey it in a normal classroom atmosphere. Only when distracted from his lesson plans does he let go and show us a more intriguing glimpse into the field. As we talked, I realized Venkman knew that without having to put much thought into it, and since he didn't like to be bored in class, he decided he'd do something about it. I won't say it was a conscious plan, but he did
understand it. I am coming to believe he is smarter than I had at first suspected.

His major is psychology but he said he was considering a double major with parapsychology as his second subject. And since I've long considered that possibility myself--physics and parapsychology--it gave us a subject we could share. Please, Mom, don't mention the double major to Dad yet. I want to
discuss it with him face to face, as I know he will not approve, any more than Uncle Cyrus approves of Eddie's guitar lessons and the rock band he plays with in Freddie Allen's garage.

Venkman has a full scholarship. I asked a few subtle questions and learned he had been valedictorian of his high school class, as well as being the quarterback of the football team. He smirked when he said it. "Nobody expected me to amount to much." Then he realized what he'd said and pulled back the confidence with a smart remark. But I realized something that utterly perplexes me. He doesn't want people to believe he is intelligent. I can't understand this at all.

So I told him about Dad and all my studying at home, and he was *sympathetic*, Mom. He didn't understand how much I want to excel in my work. "We've gotta get you out in the real world," he said to me. Isn't physics a part of the real world? I will have to have a profession and I value my studies. He said I was too young to be such a grind. Now, Mom, I know you've frequently suggested I avoid limiting my activities while I am in college. You might even agree with Venkman. So I told him I often went to the opera. He was horrified. He behaved as if culture was offensive. I couldn't help it, Mother, I told him he must come with me and see what it was like. I was certain he would refuse. Instead he said, "You're on. If you'll come to something I like the time after."

So we went to the opera. Fortunately it was Wagner, which I felt might appeal to him more than certain others. Alas, he went to sleep. But as I sat there trying to enjoy the opera in my customary way, I realized he was sleeping because he was exhausted. He is carrying a full class load, working in the restaurant, maintaining a Fraternity lifestyle which includes frequent weekend parties and still getting better grades than he admits to his fellow fraternity brothers. I am beginning to suspect he studies on the sly or often
late at night when no one will know. I can't understand why he would do that, or why he would not want his frat brothers to see him studying.

Afterwards, he pretended he hadn't been asleep and said he'd been right all along, it was just caterwauling. I must say I have to give him credit there. The diva was not the best I've seen. She was flat on two separate occasions and I detected the faintest edge of a screech in her voice.

Next week, he plans to take me to a play. This worries me for I realize his funds are limited, but I dare not offer to pay. I have discovered a very strong pride in him, all the more intense because he pretends so hard to have no ethics at all.

I'm sorry, Mom, I know you have far less interest in Venkman than you have in my own activities, but they mostly consist of study and lab work apart from the Glee Club.

Please write to me. I eagerly await your letters.


Love from
Egon


Dec. 21

Dear Mom,

I am not sure why I'm writing this because I leave tomorrow to come home, but the habit of weekly letters is well ingrained and I wish to continue. Perhaps I will bring this to you.

Several odd things have happened this week. Venkman and I went to the play. He was rather, well, amused about it, and when we got there, the play proved to be *Hair*. I trust you have heard of this production. It does contain nudity, Mom. I was rather embarrassed, but because Venkman was so obviously waiting for me to show it, I tried to conceal it. Oddly enough, there was a rather compelling pleasure to the music. And while it would not be appropriate for me to admit to Venkman that I liked it any more than he had admitted liking the opera, I found it was not unpleasant. I have come to rather enjoy Venkman's scurrilous comments. While they are frequently simply silly, they are all too often directly to the point--without appearing to be to the point. He goes to the heart of the problem and is unremitting in his discovery of sham and pretense. Which is odd because his outward appearance is nothing else but that.

On the other hand, the sham is so ostentatious it's as if he's telling the world, 'this is what I choose to show you but there's more if you look'. He frequently annoys me, but I find myself beginning to enjoy it. Mom, I know you said that if I looked deeper I might find a friend in him, and when I read that, I thought you were considerably mistaken. Now I am not quite so sure.

So I did an impulsive thing. Upon learning that Venkman meant to stay at the Fraternity house over Christmas, I asked him to come home with me. He shrugged the offer aside, and said he had to work, and in any case he didn't celebrate Christmas. I wondered if perhaps he were Jewish--we have never
discussed religion, and the name Venkman is one with obscure origins, although I should have guessed it to be Dutch rather than of Jewish origin--or simply not a Christian, but one does not ask such questions. But then I saw two things. First, his dismissal of Christmas is deliberate, not that he does not celebrate it but that he feels bitter toward it, and second, he was more moved by my invitation than he was comfortable admitting. I let it go, Mom, because I felt to persist would embarrass him. So he said he had
to work anyway, and admitted his scholarship doesn't cover his Fraternity expenses. I am sure there are other things it fails to cover, and while his father appears to send him money, it is a sporadic thing.

Tonight was the Glee Club's Christmas Show. We did very well, Mom, and it was extremely satisfying to be a part of the group, knowing we had worked together to create such an acceptable spectacle. But I was disturbed by the sight of Venkman's face as he sang carol after carol without a shred of joy on his face. I was even tempted to stay here over the holidays but that would have been unfair to you and Dad. And Venkman would never have thanked me for it.

Merry Christmas, Mom, and I look forward to seeing you and Dad tomorrow afternoon.

Your son, Egon


Jan. 3

Dear Mom,

Christmas was wonderful, and it was a delight to be with you and Dad. I had many instructive conversations with him about my work schedule for the new semester, and he seemed pleased with my grades. I hope Uncle Cyrus and Eddie will get along better. Although I do feel Eddie should continue with his music lessons. As you have long said, too great a focus will make one narrow. Eddie is young yet, but he derives considerable satisfaction from music. That should be encouraged, not repressed. Of course he should study hard, but he is sixteen years old. He should derive some enjoyment from his life.

Venkman was back for the first of Polgetta's classes. The professor went on about poltergeists at some length, until most of the students were quite restless. Venkman sat there and grinned, and I was afraid he'd disrupt the class. And he did. A moment later there was a mysterious rapping sound. Then suddenly a dictionary flew off the shelf at the side of the room. Everyone instantly woke up and paid attention. For the next few moments, objects flew about the room. Polgetta's eyes grew huge.

Then Venkman grinned. "Looks like we've got a poltergeist ourselves, Prof. Now what do we do about it?"

At that point, Polgetta recruited the whole class into discovering what had happened. They asked each other questions, went around the room, and it wasn't long before they discovered that the objects in question had been rigged before class. Polgetta instantly said that many apparent poltergeist
outbursts were falsified but looked quite real, and that it was important for them to learn that for themselves.

Venkman leaned over and whispered to me, "The old guy can sure capitalize on somebody else's handiwork." And I knew that he'd done it, knowing what the lesson was to be about. Any of us in the class had learned enough to do such a thing; we had to, in order to detect frauds.

"Some study aid, Prof," Peter said in his driest voice, and Polgetta preened himself as if he'd done it. And Peter and I exchanged a look and rolled our eyes. I realized in that moment that Peter will himself be a fine teacher one day. And his manner will appeal to the students. Until then I had assumed that the subject matter in itself was enough, but I have come to realize that perhaps more is needed. Idealistically, should I teach, I would wish for students as interested in physics as I am, but that would not necessarily be
the case.

I know I've thought of working at Spengler Labs, Mom, but lately I find myself considering the option of teaching or perhaps pursuing my parapsychology research in addition to physics. Don't mention this to Dad until I have resolved it in my mind.

Love from
Egon


Jan. 10

Dear Mom,

I'm glad you think I would make a fine teacher. I have not decided yet what I wish to do; lab work has a great appeal, but I also find myself wishing I could incorporate my parapsychology studies into what I do. Parapsychology is approached from different disciplines. Physics is one of them. As yet I am
undecided. I am only in my third year. I have time, especially since I plan to work for my doctorate while I am here.

Venkman is a sophomore, although he is the same age as most of the freshmen. Apparently the school system where he lived at the time had a very late cutoff. His birthday is in November, so he was only four when he started kindergarten.

You remarked that I had called him 'Peter' in my last letter. I had not realized it. And you also commented that I was talking to you about other subjects than physics and that you were pleased about it. I'm sorry, Mom. I hadn't realized how completely my schoolwork had permeated my letters until now. Since you are not a physicist, naturally you would rather hear of other subjects. I'm pleased you have enjoyed my tales of Venkman.

He is doing something rather interesting now, and what amuses me is that I think I understand it. Suddenly he has become more obnoxious than before. I happened upon him on campus on Saturday night when I was returning from lab work, and he was with two fraternity brothers. They had all been drinking.
Venkman took great delight in calling me 'Igor', and waiting for me to correct him. The other students chuckled like mad. I found myself saying, "Really, Venkman, Igor was the mad scientist's assistant. I aspire to the role of actual mad scientist." The other two thought this was rather stupid, but Venkman appreciated it, I could tell. In any case, I suspect he is testing me, trying to determine what I will endure and what I will not. I made a point of visiting him in the restaurant several days later, sharing a
meal with him, and pointing out that while I do not object, at least not strongly, to being the butt of a joke between the two of us, I would prefer not to provide comic relief for his whole fraternity. I thought perhaps he might be angry, but instead he was surprised. He thought about it, quite visibly. At times his face can be quite expressive. Then he relaxed and said we had a deal. I fear he will find new methods to plague me.

Because I have begun to suspect he is quite wary of trusting people. Else why would he need to wear the mask he so often wears? I will get to the bottom of this puzzle, Mom.

Yes, the weather has been very cold here. Yes, I'm wearing the muffler you knitted for me. No, Mom, there is no need for you to send me your cure-all. I feel quite well.


Much love from
Egon



Jan. 13

Dear Mom,

My finals are over and my grades were as expected. I've told Dad about this in more detail, but I wanted you to know my grade average is still intact. I am eagerly awaiting the new semester and have arranged to do a great deal of lab work in the short break.

Something happened this week, Mom, that upset me. When it was time for Polgetta's final, Venkman didn't come to class. I was quite surprised because he has not missed a test before. After class, I went to his fraternity house and inquired after him and learned that he was ill. He was suffering from a very bad case of the flu. Apparently his frat brothers had left him to suffer on his own, which I found reprehensible. They said somebody brought him his meals as if it were a virtue. I was quite incensed with them and told them so before I went to see him.

He looked extremely pathetic, Mom, almost fragile and, for an instant, when he saw me in the doorway, vulnerable. I had never seen such an expression on his face before. He was shocked and astonished that I was there. "Come to read me the riot act for missing the test?" he asked.

"No, I came because I heard you were sick and was concerned. Peter, you should be in the infirmary." I put my hand on his forehead to test for fever the way you always did when I was ill as a child. He was quite warm.

He shook his head immediately, dislodging my hand. I suspect he feared he could not afford medical care. So I decided it was up to me to help him. Fearing he had become dehydrated, I spent the rest of the afternoon with him, forcing fluids, checking his pulse and respiration, making sure he ate some
healthy broth which I insisted one of his fraternity brothers prepare for him. I quite regret telling you not to send a supply of your remedy; it would have served well. However, I was able to assemble most of your ingredients and borrow a blender. Peter said he would never forgive me but he drank it, and I believe it helped him. He began to rally within a day. I gave strict instructions to two of the more reliable fraternity brothers to repeat the dosage that night.

The next day I returned, bringing with me Professor Polgetta, with a copy of the test, which he offered to monitor as it was a free period. Peter was astonished, but he had improved enough to sit up in a chair and work on the test while I made sure he had orange juice and a hot bowl of soup. He is definitely on the mend. He made smart remarks to the professor the whole time he was taking the text. Since he was not yet well, that much effort exhausted him, and I had to put him to bed afterwards.

"Why are you doing all this?" he asked when the professor had departed. "What's in it for you, Spengs?" That's what he often calls me. Strange, but it is the first time anyone outside the family has ever actually bothered to give me a nickname. I rather enjoy it.

"In it for me? Why should there be anything in it except a concern for your health," I replied.

That really hit him hard. He looked at me like he didn't believe a word of it, then he asked, "Why?"

I opened my mouth to talk about duty and the unwillingness to jeopardize a life, but what I said was, "Because you are my friend." Until that moment, Mom, I hadn't thought about friendship, at least not consciously, even when you mentioned it in your letters. And when I said it I realized something
that I had never noticed before. I never had a real friend before. Oh, there were acquaintances, people I went to school with, but no one I actually considered my friend. Until that moment, I had not even realized a lack. But as I spoke, I realized that Peter had become a friend, even in a strange,
round-about way, and that I had been worried about him.

I think he was actually moved, but then he covered it up. "Why?" he said again as if he didn't understand, and that was when I realized that, for all the people with whom he surrounds himself, he does not consider them friends.

Once again, I spoke without analyzing my words. "I never had anyone I could laugh with before." Of course it is more than that, although I still don't entirely understand it, Mom. But I thought maybe that was an answer he could understand.

He did seem to understand it. I could tell he wasn't very comfortable with me, but I didn't push him. I knew you would say I shouldn't, and I am slowly coming to understand him a little. He's defensive and wary, although I don't know why. I chose to busy myself tidying up his room a little, and let him
off the hook. He didn't say anything more about it, but when I left, he called to me to stop me before I went out of the room, and then he said, "Thanks, Egon." I was quite pleased.

I had better finish this or I shall miss the post.


Love from Egon




Jan. 20

Dear Mom,

Thank you for your health remedy. Venkman is well now, but I took it around to him and offered it. He declined quite enthusiastically, with so much energy I knew he was better. Instead I took it to Dr. Dawson, my chemistry professor, and we analyzed the contents. He was impressed at the collection
of healthy vitamins contained therein. Perhaps you should patent it.

I'm very glad I pleased you with my last letter, Mom. I had to chuckle when you said that while Peter might not be the friend my father would wish for me--and I greatly fear you are correct in this assumption--that you believe nothing could be better for me. I hope you are correct.

He has been rather different around me during this past week. Sometimes, when he thinks of it, he holds me at a distance, as if he is almost afraid of me, but the rest of the time, we get on rather well. He has made no verbal claim of friendship, but one day when a member of his fraternity said something to
me about being a 'geek' Peter became quite angry at him and told him to 'bug off or he'd know the reason why'. I was extremely proud of Peter when he said that. I realized that in his own way he, too, values our friendship.

This does not mean we always get along, of course. Some of his habits are definitely annoying, and his manner can be as abrasive as chalk scraped on a blackboard. Professor Calkins has a habit of that, and it is truly aggravating. Part of Peter's behavior is habit; when he calls me 'Igor' and jumps on me for using a normally intelligent man's vocabulary. Part is a defense mechanism. I am not sure *why* he needs it, but he will tell me one day, or else he won't.

I did ask Peter if he would like to study with me one day a week. To my surprise, he accepted. He showed up at my door with a stack of books under his arm, and did study quite hard, although he punctuated it with humorous comments, and suggested more than once that a little loud rock music would
assist in the study process. We do have a new parapsychology class together. I find I am quite looking forward to the disruptions. (Incidentally, he got an "A-" on the test he took while he was ill. I am allowing him leeway for the fact of his illness.)

When he left, he said a strange thing. "Don't tell anybody about this, Dr. Einstein?"

"Not if you don't wish it," I agreed. "Good study habits are nothing to be ashamed of, however."

He only shrugged.

"Unless, of course, it is the association with me which embarrasses you," I persisted.

He said, "Gimme a break," and gave my arm a punch, which I translated to mean it wasn't that. I am learning an entirely new language. As it seemed expected, I punched back. Most peculiar, but entirely satisfying.

Tell Dad I am quite enjoying my new classes this semester.

Love from
Egon



Jan. 27

Dear Mom,

Would you please send a copy of my glasses prescription. I am afraid I broke my main pair of glasses and the spares are one prescription out of date.

Don't be alarmed, Mom, because I am quite well and unharmed, but I have been through a mugging. I can hear you thinking how dangerous New York is, but such things happen in Cleveland as well. And, oddly enough, I am glad it happened.

I'll explain. It was two nights ago. I have a lab class that night, and I finish it up at nine. It was a cold and snowy evening, rather nasty, and as I walked back to my apartment, I was hurrying and paying little attention to my surroundings. I turned a corner and a man jumped at me and waved a knife in
my face. He said, "Gimme your watch and your wallet." Now, Mom, I didn't want to part with the watch because it's the one Dad gave me for my last birthday, but I did not intend to argue. Apparently I did not move fast enough for the mugger, who appeared to be high on a controlled substance. He came at me with the knife.

I ducked, of course, but the ground was icy and my foot slipped. I fell, and my glasses went flying. I heard them break. As you know, I am extremely myopic and, while I could see the mugger, I had more difficulty with the knife. It was blurry, and moving very fast, and I had no purchase. I knew he
would stab me. It was a strange moment, Mom, because a part of me was frightened, naturally, but another part found the moment produced sufficient adrenaline for me to feel a strange excitement. I thought to kick him but, being unskilled in such matters, I did not succeed. The knife came at me,
close enough to see it perfectly clearly. I was positive in that moment that I was about to die.

Then something hit the mugger, and he went down with someone on top of him, punching him and hitting him until the knife flew a distance away and became buried in a snowdrift. The mugger wiggled away and ran down the street, and the man who had attacked him was revealed as Peter.

"God, Egon, are you okay?" He sounded worried sick. "Did he cut you? Are you hurt? You better be okay." He knelt beside me, fussing over me like I was a child, even taking my pulse. We were just beneath a streetlight, and I could see he was actually pale, even though he had been struck on his cheekbone and would likely have a bruise there later.

I assured him I was unhurt, only mildly winded, and do you know what he did? He actually gave me a hug. I was extremely moved by this, enough so that I returned it. I was rather shaken by the incident, you see. He kept an arm around me and told me it was okay, patting me on the back.

I thanked him for coming to my rescue and he just grinned and said, "I was here, wasn't I?" And I had a feeling that in a way this was a declaration of friendship from him.

The man was long gone and we couldn't find the knife, so he walked home with me and made sure I hadn't been cut. The sleeve of my coat had been mildly torn and my glasses were broken, but other than that and the fact that I wrenched my back slightly, I was completely unharmed. Peter had several
bruises and his knuckles were in sad shape, so I wound up bandaging his hand. He said when he was a kid his dad had spent a couple summers on the carnival circuit and Peter had gone with him one year. He said he'd learned to fight there. If so, I was quite glad of it. Although I can't help wondering what his father does for a living. Yet as soon as he mentioned his father, he became quiet as if the mention were a mistake. Someday I might find out. But not quite yet.

He stayed for a couple of hours and I didn't realize it until later but he encouraged me to talk, so that by the time he left, I was quite calm and relaxed. He departed with a smart remark, of course, and a suggestion I consider karate lessons. But I watched him walk down the hallway and I
couldn't help smiling. My friend.

Please don't worry, Mom, and don't fuss. I have learned my lesson; I will pay more attention when I am out alone. I will be careful. Peter said if I wasn't he'd track me down and punch it into me. No, not a threat, or rather a threat to stay safe because he was worried.

So as you can see, I'm perfectly fine and seem to have acquired a protector.
Don't worry about me at all.

Love,
Egon


Feb. 3

Dear Mom,

Thank you for the prescription; I took it in and am having it filled. It will make a difference to have new glasses. Peter said I should go with wire-rims--they're 'in' he tells me. He says I can stick with horn rims if I want to look like a professor. Oddly, I chose the wire rims for a change of pace.

My back is quite well now, it was only a mild strain. Don't worry, Mom. Yes, I do take care of myself.

Life progresses, classes progress, and my friendship with Peter progresses too, and so do his bruises, which proved particularly colorful but which are now beginning to fade. We're still studying together one night a week, and sometimes we listen to his music, which I find terribly distracting but am trying to live with because he says real life might not come with background music but it comes with built-in distractions and I should learn to kick back and take them. Sometimes I play opera, and when he winces, I remind him about the built in distractions.

In spite of the growing comradeship, Peter and I are still very different and don't always see eye to eye, but this is good, I realize. What benefit would I gain from associating only with clones of myself? Peter says it's becoming his purpose in life to drag me out of the lab and into the real world if he has to haul me by the heels. I must say the real world can be rather surprising. While I had never even considered it before, I assumed all scholars were like Dad and Uncle Cyrus and that all students wanted to learn.
I soon realized that for some study was simply a means to an end. Peter talks about making a lot of money--I don't believe he's ever had any--and thinks if he opens a Fifth Avenue practice he might gain a fashionable clientele and become wealthy. He talks about money a lot, about getting a fancy car;
currently the interest is in a Ferarri. The trappings of wealth appeal to him. He doesn't understand that I don't care if I have a new coat or a fancy apartment as long as I can work at a good lab and do considerable research. Or perhaps combine my two fields and make that work for me. I honestly have
an interest in the paranormal world and have since I was a child. I mean to uncover the mysteries people have long misunderstood.

We were talking about that two nights ago at our study session and Peter said he thought it would be 'kind of cool' to go out and track down ghosts. I suspect he doesn't believe in ghosts; he shows more interest in areas of psi; ESP, that kind of thing. He doesn't know exactly what he wants yet any more
than I do but we spent half an hour speculating on ways to track down ghosts and catch them. It made me wonder if it might be possible to design equipment that could actually detect ghosts. I shall have to ponder this.

But discussing it is proving both interesting and fun.

Love,
Egon


Feb. 10

Dear Mom,

Have I really never mentioned 'fun' before? How surprising! I often tell Peter there is more to life than fun, but he always tells me that life without fun is pointless. He doesn't put it like that--I've never quite
conveyed how colorful his vocabulary is. He has a gift with words; in fact, he would do well as a writer because his speech is very creative. And I know, because he talks all the time. He has a comment for everything. For the most part, I have spent my life with rather quiet people--Cousin Eddie is perhaps
the exception--and encountering someone like Peter is a revelation. He is right. I was locked away in the lab, unaware of the real world. If nothing else, he has given me a fine gift. But it is not so fine as the knowledge that I have a friend.

Peter said the other night that he'd considered me a 'grind' at first. "You never said anything not to the point in class. I thought you were just another yes man."

"What changed your mind?" I inquired

"What makes you think I changed it?" he teased. He has started teasing me now, and while it's a new experience, I find myself beginning to enjoy it.

"Naturally you changed. Because it wouldn't take you long to appreciate my perfection."

That made him tackle me and we had a wrestling match. You would have enjoyed to watch, because it was really rather invigorating. He won, more practice, and he does play football.

"Or your ego," he said, pinning my shoulders down. "I think 'ego' is short for 'Egon'."

"Actually I assumed 'ego' was your middle name." I tried to throw him off.

We went on like that for some time, then he grew more serious and let me up. "It was because I realized you were laughing when it was funny, when Polgetta was being his most pompous and hypocritical, the old stuffed shirt. And when I bugged him, you got it. Only other one in the class who knew what I was
doing."

"I realized you might be an excellent teacher one day."

"Me!" He looked horrified. "No way, José. That's not for me. I want major bucks."

"You might like it."

He shook his head, but there was a thoughtful look in his eyes, as if he had never considered it before. "Nah. Anyway, what you said that time, about finding somebody you could laugh with...." His voice trailed off and he looked genuinely embarrassed.

"It makes a difference," I said. "I've enjoyed this semester far more than any other. It isn't even the classes, although I do enjoy them too."

"It's moi," he cried, slapping himself on the chest. "The inimitable Venkman, the one, the only."

"Mouth of the year," I put in. "Do you always talk like this?"

He nodded. "Gotta. It's the rules."

And while our conversation went on in a similar vein for some time and neither of us really said anything that would appear important on the surface, I did enjoy myself.

Is this what you mean by 'fun'?

Please tell Dad I am studying quite hard, even when accompanied by rock and roll, and that my grades remain very high. Interesting, in spite of the fact that I occasionally take an evening off from studying to socialize.

Love from
Egon



Feb. 17

Dear Mom,

A strange thing happened on Sunday. I went by Peter's fraternity house to meet him; he had decided I knew too little about sports and since he had tickets for a New York Knicks' basketball game he said he'd take me so I could learn something. He said it wasn't natural to be ignorant of sports. A few discreet questions of some of my fellow physics students, even the most studious, proved that nearly every one of them knows far more of the standings of professional sports teams than I do. And I remember that even
Dad occasionally goes to an Indians game back home. Peter is right, I have let my focus become very narrow.

When I arrived I found Peter in the entry hall of his frat house arguing with an older man. Upon observation, I realized this might well be Peter's father. His nose was the same, his jawline as well, and the shape of his eyes, although his hairline had receded into the classic lines of male-pattern baldness. Yet there was something about him I distrusted on sight. The word 'sleazy' might well describe him, although part of that could be the way he was dressed in a rather loud sports jacket and patent leather shoes.

When Peter saw me he looked completely horrified. Then his face hardened and he introduced me to the man, who was indeed his father, Charlie Venkman. It seemed Charlie had come by to borrow money from Peter. Odd, when Peter's funds are so limited.

Charlie looked me up and down, then he put his arm around my shoulders and said I looked like 'a perceptive fellow' and that he thought I might like to make a little investment, and that he had a 'really sweet deal' and I might 'get in on the ground floor'. Behind his back, Peter shook his head
energetically. I declined. Mom, upon consideration I believe Mr. Venkman is a con man. The scheme he detailed for me seemed every bit as appropriate as buying the Brooklyn Bridge.

Peter told me his dad had showed up unexpectedly and we'd have to go to the game another time. He practically pushed me out the door, and I could tell he was really upset. I would have stayed but I could tell it would only have distressed him further.

While his father might be dishonest, and I fear he is, I have seen none of that in Peter. He has even refused to borrow money from me, and there have been several instances when he might have stolen a few dollars from me and never did. It never occurred to me to question his honesty, and of course I
still don't. I believe him to be ethical, except perhaps in deceiving his fraternity brothers into believing he will never study. He puts up walls around himself to keep people out, yet everyone does that to an extent.
Dishonesty, however, is not a part of his nature. But it must be very hard on him to have a father like that.

However, that is not all that worries me. Since the meeting on Sunday, he has avoided me completely. He hasn't come over to study and when I went to the restaurant for our weekly lunch, he said he had to fill in for another employee and couldn't take the time to eat. And after class, he simply vanishes.

This upsets me, Mom. I had not quite realized how much I had come to depend on his friendship and his presence in my life. I have spent the week studying very hard, attending classes, going to my lab work, things that would have satisfied me utterly six months ago. Now I feel as if my life is rather empty. I didn't miss having a friend before because I had never had one. Now I miss Peter. I hope I have done nothing to offend him. He gave me signals not to go into his father's scheme, so it couldn't be that. I even called his
fraternity house but they told me he was out. Yet he didn't return my call.

I'm sorry to send you such a negative letter, Mom, but you know far more about friendships than I do. What should I do?

Your worried son,
Egon


Feb. 24

Dear Mom,

Thank you for all your comments, and I have to say every one of them was right. But I managed to solve the problem satisfactorily before I got your reply. I feel much better than I did when I wrote you last time, and I hope Peter does too.

I knew you would have answers for me, but I didn't want to wait. I was afraid the longer I waited, the harder it would be, so I went to the restaurant at a time when I knew Peter would come off shift and waited outside. When he came out and saw me, I felt for a moment that he would run away. He stopped dead and looked around rather wildly as if contemplating flight. Yet what I saw in his eyes was not anger, Mom, but the panicked look of a trapped animal.

I went up to him and stood directly in front of him. "What have I done to offend you?" I demanded.

His eyes opened very wide. "Offend me?" he echoed as if he didn't understand what I was talking about.

"Yes, you have been avoiding me for some time, and I find I don't like it. I miss our study sessions and all your attempts to 'drag me into the real world'. If I have done something to make you angry, you owe me an explanation so I can apologize or change." It was hard to speak that way, but once I began it grew easier and I felt better for trying.

"You think I'm mad at you?" he asked, and he couldn't have been more surprised if I had hit him.

"What else can I assume? You've skipped our study session--and it seems oddly quiet without the rock music. You take off after class without speaking. And if it comes to that, you've been far too quiet in class, too." And then I realized I'd been quite selfish, thinking only of how I felt, when his behavior might well have another meaning. "Peter, what's wrong? Something has upset you. It isn't me, is it?"

He shook his head, but I didn't think it was in denial of what I had said. "I'm okay." It was a quick dismissal, an easy way out.

"No, you're not okay. I admit I'm rather new at this friendship thing, and I may have made a mistake. So if there's something I need to do, or did wrong, tell me."

"You still think you're my friend?" The words came out involuntarily and he looked as if he would have given anything to take them back.

I wondered for a moment if I had missed a cue that should have told me he didn't want to be friends any more, then I realized he hadn't expected me to remain his friend. And it all came together then. It was his father. I had met his father, and he had expected me to take off after seeing what Charlie
Venkman was like.

"Of course I'm your friend," I said in exasperation. "I know of no reason on earth why I should stop, in spite of your stupid actions this past week."

He tried to answer but he couldn't find words. He stood there, his mouth open, then he turned around very quickly so I couldn't see his face. "Yeah, well, I never claimed I was perfect," he mumbled.

"Yes you did, many times," I reminded him.

It was the right thing to say. He turned back and his eyes were very bright.
"Yeah, well," he began awkwardly.

"Peter," I told him sternly, "if you thought I would stop being your friend after meeting your father, you have judged me unfairly."

"Yeah, well, most people take one look at him and..."

"I am not 'most people'."

"I guess you're not, Egon," he said. "I guess you're not. God, I'm sorry. I just expect people to dump on me, the way they always do."

"Always?" I asked, and I found that rather sad. "At least when you take enough of a risk to give them a chance?"

"He comes around every so often," Peter said. "Sometimes he brings me a little money, when he's had a big score. Sometimes he's on the lam, in a way, hiding out from whoever he's cheated or scammed. Sometimes he wants money."

"It must be...rough."

Peter hesitated. "Nah," he said brightly. "It's okay." Then when he saw me looking at him patiently, he said, "It's okay most of the time. He's not a bad guy, he cares about me, he just can't help it. That's what he does. But once in awhile..."

I realized there had been friends before who had considered him too much his father's son and had taken off. Mom, do you think he acts the way he does to put people off so they won't get close and then end the friendship when they find out about his father?

"Not this time, then," I said quite firmly. I wanted to ask him to trust me, Mom, but I suspect that is a lengthy process for him. I can wait. I'll simply be trustworthy and go on trusting him. "Next time, ask me, though. I have not enjoyed this past week."

And then he smiled, the most dazzling smile I'd ever seen on his face. "Okay, deal," he agreed. And then he changed the subject very quickly so we wouldn't become emotional about it. I think I am starting to understand him a little better. "Now about that basketball game...."

"But you don't have tickets."

"I can get 'em. I know somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the owner. You've gotta have connections." And he winked.

Yes, Mom, there is a little of his father in him; just as there is some of Dad in me. But he is my friend, and that's what matters. I'm glad he has a way to get the tickets; I know he couldn't afford to buy more. So I merely said that was lucky, and as we went to have lunch, I told him about Dad. I'm afraid I painted a rather harsher picture than necessary without lying, but it seemed the kindest thing to do. I wanted him to know that one could not help one's relatives (I do love Dad, and he knows that, so please don't worry). Peter didn't think Dad would approve of him, and I suspect perhaps that Dad wouldn't. But that makes no difference in the way I value Peter. I knew I could tell you this and that you would understand, because I must live my life and not a reflection of Dad's.

But Peter and I are still friends, and this is a very good thing. I found myself smiling at odd moments for the rest of the day. I feel very good, Mom.

When I come home, for spring break, I think it will be time to talk to Dad about my plans for a double major.

Love from your son
Egon