I met Andrea in 1988.  I was a sophomore in college and still living in the dorm.  She was the girlfriend of a guy named Barry who was the roommate/dorm-mate of my friend Joe.

Barry was into working out, hitting the gym in the adjoining dorm once a day.  I could always tell when he was going by his clothes – tight white shorts and a blue tank top – which he wore no matter how cold it was outside.  He’d also carry a red Adidas gym bag.  One day he returned from the gym with Andrea.

Barry had a type – big hair, big chest, and big personality. I liked her because she was fun to be around and easy to talk to. She was among the first women I ever met who was unafraid and unapologetic when it came to affection and sexuality. I considered this an asset, Barry would later break up with her claiming it was too much. Silly man.

One night while studying I asked her about her giant Anatomy book. She was studying to be a physical therapist. She shook her head and told me it was hard to look at people the same way after understanding the body was a machine made of meat directed by a brain controlled by chemicals. She flipped open a break down of a man’s groin – the illustration peeling back layers of a penis to expose the various components and plumbing. Sex was just “chemistry” she explained. Hormones in the brain.  Biological urges.  All of this was just chemicals preprogrammed, human-will subservient to genetic imperatives. Love was just a happy, albeit meaningless, by-product to make us stay together long enough to procreate and provide for the next generation. She sighed and laughed. I fancied her and even talking about sex in such a clinical fashion was a thrill for me. And maybe for her too.

It’s a memory that’s stayed with me long after I lost track of Andrea and Barry.  I consider Andrea’s biological reductionism periodically – maybe life is simply chemicals and genetics and meat.  Maybe my emotions are just hormones out of balance and if I just wait long enough …

Maybe …