Waiting for Brando

Ihad fallen head over heels in love with Susan Brockman at Cornell in 1955. I met Susan when she was standing alone in the lobby of Willard Straight Hall, the student union. She was looking so intently at a mural depicting a youth trying to subdue a unicorn that she didn’t notice me. I asked her if she identified with the youth or the unicorn. Without turning her head, she answered, “The unicorn.” When I tried to keep the conversation alive by saying, “Unicorns don’t exist,” she replied, walking away, “Neither do I.”