Golden Girl

By Christian Krauss

“He might even have made love to her; and in the course of all that he would have realized that she wasn’t she.’” Robert Bly is talkinig about the idea of the "Woman with Golden Hair," the archetype of perfect womanhood represented by princesses in fairy tales and goddesses in myths. Sometimes a man meets a normal worldly woman and mistakes her for the mythic one. He will be fully captivated by the mere sight of this golden woman, but when he realizes her flaws, the gold fades: “A person who discreetly farts in an elevator is not a divine being.”

The first morning I was home for summer I was woken up by the high voices of my sister and her friend. My flight had come in late the night before, and it was still early enough to justify sleeping. I rolled out of bed and walked to the window rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I was inhaling, ready to yell at my sister for the rude awakening when I saw her friend floating on an inner tube in the pool. “Morning,” I mumbled. My grumpy, anger had been entirely forgotten. She looked over from the pool, with an inviting smile. My sister turned towards me. “Come on!”

            The next thing I new I was diving into the brisk pool.  The sun had not yet had the time to warm it from the nights chill. The water was ready to suck me in with an awakening embrace, but my drowsiness had gone before I even touched the water. I skimmed the bottom of the pool, and splashed up a short distance from the rubber inner tube. I looked up to her tan face. Her mouth was cracked into perfect little smile, exposing glowing white teeth. The need to tread water slipped my mind. I could still have been dreaming until my head dipped back under the surface. Even the dunk did not convince me that I was actually swimming with this girl. I wanted to reach out, touch her, and see if this was all real. I tried, but quickly pulled my hand back. What if I made the reach and her golden tint disappeared?

            The light breeze pushed her inner tube throne around the pool, and I did all I could to follow. It seemed like the entire day had passed away when the wind bumped her up against the steps out of the pool. I watched her pick up a towel and start off to find my sister. The light breeze picked up, and the water began to feel more chilling than refreshing. I looked down to see the skin on my fingers wrinkled and waterlogged. I thought of my swimming partner, whose skin was probably as smooth as when she entered the water. Getting out of the pool was uncomfortably cold, and I had forgotten a towel during my haste to get into the pool. The day seemed less bright without her presence.

            I could not wait to see her again. The days of my summer shuffled by until I heard that my swimming partner was coming back over. My stomach tightened, and the day seemed to stand still until she was dropped off that evening. I went to join my sister and her watching a movie. I was back in the dreamlike state that had washed over me in the pool. A while into the movie I looked over to find that my sister had left, and the same perfect smile from the pool was cracked at me. This time I was able to break the barrier around her.

            Our lips touched and opened. Them her teeth bumped into mine with a shocking jar. Then my senses were overwhelmed by the sour taste that was spreading into my mouth. When we separated, I was suddenly back in my living room sitting on a dog-hair covered couch in the company of normal sixteen-year-old girl with bad breath. I could not get out of there soon enough.

            I stopped responding to her text messages, though I could not give her a reason to why I suddenly wanted nothing to do with her. It was like when you wake up from a really good dream, and no matter what you do you cannot get back to it.

            This memory flashed back to me while reading Iron John this year. I only now realize that I had taken her to be a Golden Girl. I must have thought that she had deceived me. When she turned out to be a normal girl I hated her for it, though that wasn't fair. Robert Bly wrote, “When she asks him why he has lost interest, he may even tell her of his disappointment.”