"Why," said the woman, leaning forward over her cup of espresso, "do you call it Innocence Consulting?"
He looked embarassed; looked down at his cafe mocha.
"You really want to know?"
"Yeah."
"Well. The story goes something like this..."
A long time ago, I was a carefree undergraduate at Harvard University; at this time, I was prone to spend a fair amount of time at Wesleyan University, down in Connecticut. One weekend, I was invited to a pledge party thrown by a Wesleyan literary society, so come Friday afternoon I revved up my Honda Civic (vroom) and headed on south, bringing a friend of mine (who we'll call Meredith) along.
What you have to know about Meredith is that she had, at Harvard, made somewhat of a fetish about being innocent. It was, as it were, her stock in trade. It wasn't that wide-eyed 'how shocking' attitude that can be so annoying, but rather a sort of acceptance that the world could be a decadent place while refusing to take part in it. She was everyone's younger sister -- practical, and nice, and worth shielding.
It seemed like it might be interesting to bring her along.
So, when we got down to Wesleyan, I left her in the capable hands of some of my friends, who she also knew through the Internet, and headed off for a smaller party at a living group offcampus. (Lowrise A6, when Rich Dansky was there, if anyone cares.) I had an enjoyable and sociable evening, as I am wont to do, and did not see Meredith again until the next morning.
That conversation was probably the real beginning of the story, now that I think about it. She had this sort of dreamily pleased look in her eyes, as she waved to me, and bounced on over.
"Hi, Bryant!"
I grinned. "Hi, Meredith. Did you have a good night?"
A smile, in return, quite pleased. "Oh, yes. Hey, Bryant?"
"Yessss?"
"I've been thinking," she said blithely, "And I think I need a new definition of innocence."
I merely blinked.
"I think that you're innocent as long as you think of yourself as innocent. You know, maybe somebody you've met would say you aren't, but if you think you are, you are."
There wasn't much one could say to that besides agreement, so I allowed as how I thought that was pretty reasonable, and we ate breakfast, and we wandered off in our separate directions. I didn't see her again until around midnight that night, at the pledge party. She was bouncing, which was not unusual for her, and while the dreamy look had fled she was still looking rather pleased with herself.
"Hi, Bryant!"
I grinned. "Hi, Meredith. Are you having a good party?"
The smile she gave me was familiar. "Oh, yes. Hey, Bryant?"
Awfully familiar. "Yes?"
"I think I need a new definition of innocence."
I didn't blink, this time.
"I think that as long as there's someone you know, like maybe someone back at school or something, who thinks you're innocent, you're innocent. Because it's really something society defines for you, so if there's someone who thinks you're innocent, you're innocent."
"Uh huh," I said. "Well... it's as good a definition of innocence as any."
She beamed happily and wandered off again. Ah, youth.
I didn't see her again until the next morning, when I collected her for preparation for the drive back up to Boston. We assembled our things, packed our bags, made our farewells, promised our quick returns, and started off on the windy little highway that leads from Wesleyan to the interstate.
"Hey, Bryant?"
Imagine us about halfway to the interstate; imagine me looking over at Meredith. "Mmm?"
"I think I need a new definition of innocence. I think --"
"Stop," I said, quietly; calmly.
"I am," I continued, "Going to give you a definition of innocence that you can use for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch."
"Oh," she said. "Oh. That would be good."
I nodded, with as much of the Biblical patriarch about me as I could manage. "Innocence, Meredith, is a very tricky question. Many people have thought for many years about the nature of that state."
She nodded, wide-eyed. The patriarch was working.
"And I... I have come to a conclusion."
I paused.
"Innocence is when you've never slept with a bull elephant."
"Oh," she said again. "Yes. Yes, that'll do very well."
And for the rest of the drive home, we spoke of less weighty topics.
The end of this story is this: that summer, after due contemplation, and some advice from the woman I was dating at the time, I went out and purchased a plush toy elephant. (As opposed to a plush real elephant, which is less convenient.) It was named, of course, Innocence.
"Innocence," the man said. "I think it's an important part of any young man's life."
She nodded, thoughtful, and finished her espresso.