(no subject)
Shoe challenged those of us who are midly literarily inclined to write a story about what our lives would be like if a major turning point had never occured. So here's my story, written mostly in comp sci, about what life would be like if I'd never....
Well, you should be able to understand it fairly quickly.
Between the lines, this is taking place hypothetically two or three weeks ago, not long before Homecoming. And, I am sad to say, this story would probably be true.
I skidded around the corner, socks catching on the grains of the warped wooden floor, tea sloshing out of the mug that seemed permanently glued to my hand. My shoulder rebounded on the wall across from me in the small hallway, more tea sloshing, and I staggered back into a straight line.
"Freak," I heard my sister chirp from the couch where she was vegetating in front of MTV- I responded with a few colorful choice words of my own, my usual nicknames for her, and continued my sprint to my room, pulling an abrupt U-turn to get to the staircase, and then tripping up the carpet-covered steps. I skidded the last bit to my room, slamming the door behind me, and promptly plopped down at my mug-covered desk, my hands quickly and automatically finding the worn, sticky, yellowed keyboard. Though my dad had offered to get me a new one, I'd declined. This one had a strange sort of sentimental value.
[Back, sorry] I typed to the young man on the other end of my screen, my words showing up plain and black on a boring white background. Ordinary- reasonable, compared to the multi-colored messages of my peers. Not to mention I typed in painstakingly grammatically correct complete sentences, a habit I was very proud of. [I had to get more tea.]
[Why do you drink so much tea anyway?] he asked me. I shrugged to myself, clicking out of my email client and typing my reply.
[I like tea. It keeps me calm. You don’t mind, do you?]
[Meh, maybe.]
I sighed in minor frustration, sitting back from my keyboard. Apparently, it was going to be one of those nights.
[Listen, I’m only away from the keyboard for a minute or two. It’s not that big a deal. But I’m not going to stop drinking tea just because you’re deprived 120 seconds of my conversation.]
[Whatever.]
[I’m sorry, Kai. It just feels like you’re on my case about everything lately.]
[I'm not on your case. I care.]
I sighed to myself. It seemed like we were having this conversation more and more often- almost every night. I thought for a moment, and then put my hands back on the keyboard.
[I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fuss at you.]
[It’s alright, I guess…]
[Can I do something to make it up for you?] I asked him, hopeful. Despite the cables and screens and miles in between us, I could see the cogs ticking in his brain.
[Come over tomorrow, since you didn’t come today.]
I smiled. [Of course I’ll come over. I’ve already done all my homework for the rest of the week. That was why I didn’t come today.]
[Yeah.]
I sighed, my smile sliding off my face. Apparently, he was still bitter. Apparently, I was going to be spending all night, and probably all tomorrow evening trying to make the offense of one small slip up to him.
At least he wasn’t as bad as he used to be, I mused as we discussed local politics. Back when he was thousands of miles away, both of us would blow up at the littlest things. But then, when he got in a car accident and I realized how quickly I’d nearly lost him, we worked things out. When he’d moved here, to Austin, to study at UT, things had calmed down a little more, and I now saw him every day, or almost.
The realization that I hadn’t received any new messages for a few minutes jerked me back to my mind. I checked the clock- midnight. Beating my fist on the desk in frustration, I watched helplessly as I was signed off from the client. I leaned over and picked up the phone, dialing in his number. He answered on the first ring, his soft voice lulling me the second he first spoke.
“Did you get disconnected again?”
“Yeah. My mom’s a nazi,” I told him as I ejected a disk from my drive and shut down my computer.
“But you are coming over tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a car,” I replied, standing and tucking the cordless phone to my ear as I meandered across my messy room. “She can’t stop me. I’ll come over right after school, and tell her that I’ve gone to hang out with Ben and Eric.”
“I suppose.”
I sighed, frustrated. I was too tired to deal with this.
“Listen, love, I’m really tired and I really need to go to sleep. I’m sorry that I was unkind to you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Without ceremony, we hung up. I looked long at the phone for a minute, and then, with a sigh, set it back in its cradle, stripping down to my underwear and crawling in between my sheets.
Something had to give.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
I sat in physics the next day, tapping my pencil against my binder in utter boredom, munching on a barbeque potato chip out of a bag I’d stashed in my oversized black Metallica hoodie- not my hoodie, really, but it belonged to Peter, and his things were mine and mine were his. Plus, I regularly stole and returned his clothing. It kept me company during the day, when I couldn’t be with him.
Mr. Chang was rambling along in his unintelligible “engrish”, sketching out complicated (not to mention illegible) charts on the chalkboard. I halfheartedly copied the charts and all the words I could understand, calm and composed, unlike a few of my classmates who were freaking out due to near-failing grades. I wasn’t worried, though- I had one of the highest grades in the class, thanks to reliable Pete, who knew “mostly everything”.
I looked down at my notes, lost in thought. He was a freshman in college, though he was a bit more than two years older than me: he’d “taken a year off” after high school when he’d failed to apply to colleges, a failure he blamed on me. I willingly took the blame for that, too- I’d promised to help him find one, and informed him about UT a week after the deadline. I’d wanted to kill myself for that one.
But now he was here in Austin, and I’d be joining him at UT next year- or, if I didn’t get into UT, I’d move into an apartment with him and take at ACC or St. Edwards until I could transfer into UT. Either way, I thought smugly, toying with the end of my long braid (Peter liked my hair long, so I rarely cut it), my future was set. I was going to marry Pete and he was going to provide for me, and I’d stay at home and write during the day while he went off to work, and my books would get famous and we’d be rich, and he wouldn’t have to work anymore, and we’d move somewhere nice and cold, maybe the Rockies, and have one kid, and adopt a kid from Asia, and have two cats and one dog and a goldfish for each of the kids.
A paper football landing in my lap jerked me from my musings. I looked down, and then looked around the room. A jock was smirking at me, and, grumpily, I opened the note.
“hay sundancer dropout,” it read in a childlike hand, and I gritted my teeth. All the girls on the team had been so… so stupid, so intellectually challenged, that I’d just walked out. Peter had encouraged me to, but in the end, it had been my decision to leave… hadn’t it?
“blacks not really ur color but ur still not that bad.
I munched on another chip, grinding my big toe in its black army surplus combat boots against the floor. Illiterate juvenile.
“I mite even consider letting u cum 2 homecomin w me.”
I forced myself to chew calmly, swallow calmly, and eat another chip, my expression impassive.
“as long s u promise not 2 wear black. wat u say, babe?”
I picked up my black unibal pen and poised it over the paper, thinking for a split second. Then I began to write.
“Firstly, go to hell.
“Secondly, your grammar is so terrible that even had I the most remote desire to attend homecoming with you, your horrible phonics would have driven me away posthaste.
“Third, you’re an arrogant cockfag and need to have your balls chopped off.
“Lastly, suave isn’t all that flattering for your total lack of personality, so drop the façade and admit that you want nothing more than to screw me. Unfortunately for you, I wouldn’t go near you even with a fifty foot pole with a moldy blowup doll attached to the end.
“Nice try.”
I folded up the note, shot the jock a flattering smile, and threw it squarely at his head. Mr. Chang, still focused entirely on the chalkboard, didn’t notice a thing.
I watched from the corner of my eye as the jock’s fat, clumsy fingers fumbled to open the note, and then snickered as his small, beady, uncomprehending eyes scanned over my meticulous writing. He looked confused for a moment, scribbled something down, and threw the note back to me.
“o, playin hard 2 get, huh? wats with all the big words? u think ur so smart, dont u?”
“I am simply demonstrating my superior intelligence in the hopes of awing you into a coma. Now get lost, douchebag.”
I threw the note back at him, and began to pack up my things as the clock ticked nearer to the bell. The jock threw the note back at me, and I opened it, and ripped it in half, then in half again, and dumped it on his desk as the class began to mill around.
“There’s your homecoming,” I replied to him simply, and walked calmly out of the room as the bell rang, munching on another chip.
Exit witty genius, stage left.
I strode into his apartment several hours later, dropping my bags by the door and breathing in the scent I associated with his home- pot and incense, courtesy of his crazy roommate Steve, and the underlying vanilla scent of the cologne I’d bought good old Pete for Christmas.
“Hey,” I called in, kicking the door shut behind me. “I’m here. I let myself in with my key.”
“Yo.” It was Steve, poking his head through the door from his room with a grin. His hair was all messed up, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “You’re here earlier than normal.”
“Hey, Steve. Any clue where Petey went?”
“I think he’s at the library, studying.” Steve scratched his dark, short, messy hair, looking confused and leaning out a little more, revealing to me that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “You can wait around til he gets back, though.”
“I think I will,” I replied, dropping down on the dingy couch and flicking the remote to the decrepit little TV. “You should put a shirt on and come join me,” I called out to him jokingly. I knew he would anyway, because Steve was like me- a little confused, a little standoffish sometimes, but friendly and a good host, even if he was a bit high.
“You want something to eat?” he asked, plopping down next to me and propping his feet up on the table.
“Nah. I already ate.”
I hadn’t.
For a while, Steve and I watched bad anime on Toonami, but after about an hour of this, Steve glumly informed me (in a perky sort of way) that he had to go to class not, but I could stay and make myself at home, and could even have some of his weed if I liked, as long as I didn’t smoke too much and paid him back. Smiling, I told him I’d keep that in mind, and out he went, hoisting his backpack over his shoulders. With a click, the door shut, and I was alone in the apartment.
Where was Peter?
He normally didn’t forget about me coming over, mostly. Usually. Maybe he was very distracted, or had a big test to study for that he hadn’t told me about, or… or something.
A bit hungry (but not about to eat any of their food, lord knew they needed as much as they could get) I meandered through the small apartment. On one side, Steve’s room, its bed covered with tacky leopard print sheets and its walls covered with ripped out ads from magazines or drawings- I’d been in there before, and there really wasn’t anything special about it, save for the turtle named FloJo he let wander around on the floor. In the middle of the apartment was the living area with the dingy couch and creaky table, the plywood entertainment center with the small TV and xbox- behind the squat entertainment center was a counter that separated the microscopic kitchen, with its big old fridge that wheezed and smelled like nachos. On the other side of the tiny apartment was Peter’s room, and that was where I went, plopping down on the ordinary white sheets of his bed and staring at the bland ceiling. A few posters from various animes decorated the walls, and a bookshelf in one corner contained various textbooks, code books, and lots of DVDs- again, of anime. The desk where his laptop usually sat was empty, a binder sitting squarely atop it. I yawned, rolling over, and took a short nap.
He still wasn’t back.
I’d been there for more than an hour and a half and he still hadn’t showed up, hadn’t called my cell, hadn’t… hadn’t anything. A little frustrated and a little worried, I wandered over to Pete’s bookshelf, grabbed a random anime (Ebichu, an obscure show and one of his favorites) and meandered back into the living room, slapping the DVD into the disk drive and plopping down on the couch with one of the throw pillows to watch.
The DVD was over. He still wasn’t back.
Grumbling, I checked my watch. I’d been there almost two and a half hours, and he was nowhere in sight. It was getting darker outside, so I flipped on both the outdoor and indoor lights, put in the next disk, and continued to watch Ebichu.
Steve was back from class and Peter was still nowhere. By now, I was very hungry and very irritated.
“Is he still not back?” Steve asked me, aghast. I grunted and shook my head, putting Ebichu on pause.
“No. Haven’t heard from him, haven’t seen him, nothing. I don’t suppose you saw him?”
“Nope,” Steve replied, tossing his backpack into his room. “I came straight back. I’ll keep you company until he shows up, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I replied gratefully, and unpaused the anime.
The second disk of Ebichu was through, and it was after eight. I’d finally given up on my “not eating the poor college kids’ food” stigma and grudgingly accepted a microwavable soup at hand from Steve. As we watched the evening news together, I raged within. Where was he? How dare he?
It was nine when he finally walked in the door.
“Where were you?” were the first three words out of my mouth as I stood up and took an angry step towards him.
“What?” he asked me, confused, blinking. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
“Four hours,” I replied, shaking with suppressed anger, and worse, hurt. “I told you I was coming by right after school!”
“I told you I had that study thing after school today,” he replied without interest. “And I had to work on a project.”
“Four hours!” I yelled, fuming. I heard Steve slip from the room behind me, quietly, and was grateful. “And you didn’t tell me jack shit.”
“Yes I did,” he replied, now a little defensive. His dark brown eyes were sparkling, long near-black locks swinging into his face. “I told you that I had to work on a project and go to my study group.”
“I told you I was coming by right after school last night, when I called you!”
“You made me angry. I forgot.”
“I forgot too, if you even told me at all, and if you actually DID inform me it was probably an offhand comment last week!”
“So what, it’s my fault?” He glared at me from underneath his dark, thick brows, and for a moment I faltered. But I couldn’t just lie down and let him walk all over me.
“All I’m saying,” I ground out, breathing deeply, “is that I don’t appreciate being left to wait here for four hours. Not to mention I need to be going soon anyhow. But you asked me yesterday to come over and you should have reminded me that you wouldn’t be around.”
“It’s not my fault you forgot.” There he was, back to the cool arrogance that made me love him and hate him at the same time. I resisted the urge to throw the Ebichu case in his face and instead stormed over to the door, pushing past him, grabbing my bags.
“Whatever. I’m leaving. I’m going to go hang out with Leanne or something,” I responded acidly. “At least there I’m wanted.”
“Stay here. I don’t like Leanne.” He was frowning now, and it took all my willpower to slap him.
“Well I do. She’s my cousin. And this time, you can make YOUR shortcoming up to me, instead of me making it up to you!” Furiously, I slammed out of his apartment, walking down the airy catwalk and stomping my furious way down the stairs.
Somewhere deep within me, I hoped he would come after me. But he didn’t- he never did.
A little more defeated now, I put the keys in the ignition of my car and fired it up, turning on my headlights and backing out. I drove the familiar urban streets to Leanne’s apartment, got out, locked up my things in the trunk, ascended another stairwell and knocked on the door to Leanne’s apartment. She came to the door, looking confused. When she saw me, she smiled.
“Leigh, hi! I didn’t know you’d be coming over.”
“Can I come in?” My lower lip was trembling now, and, without ado, Leanne ushered me in.
Her apartment was every bit as dingy and effluvious as Steve and Pete’s, smelling not only like pot, but also cigarettes and some strong booze. Leanne was a little wild.
“What’s wrong?” Leanne asked me, clearing me a space on the couch- it looked like her roommate was out for the night.
Sniffling, my tears spilled over and I began to sob lightly, relaying my story. She rubbed my back soothingly listening sympathetically, her peaches-‘n-cream complexion and deep brown half-hispanic eyes pouring comfort into my damaged heart. When I was done, she shook her head.
“Yeah, men can be real pigs sometimes,” she consoled me. “But don’t let it get to you. Remember my high school boyfriend Mallecky?”
“Yeah,” I hiccupped, gladly taking the tissue she offered me.
“Once, we were supposed to go out on a date, and he was going to pick me up after work. You know, we were going to go out and do the whole late night thing…” she laughed, a comforting sound, a safe sound, a sound I’d heard all my life. “So anyway, I was there when they closed up the store, and I went outside to wait for him. I sat down on the curb, and it started to rain.” She laughed a little more, and I found myself laughing, too. “He didn’t ever show up! I had to call Mom from a payphone to come get me.”
“Ooooh,” I chorused, smiling blearily. “I bet you gave him hell for that one.”
“Nah, not really,” Leanne said, shrugging one shoulder. “His car broke down. Not to mention he got all the guilt he wanted because I got a really bad cold afterward and was sick for a week. Men,” she laughed, casting a pretty smile to me. “So easy to manipulate.”
I laughed, another hiccup, and Leanne reached for her cell phone. “Let me call Aunt Susie and tell her you came over for a bit to hang out with me, okay?”
Aunt Susie was Mom. “Alright,” I told Leanne. “Say that I was down here with some friends and wanted to stop by and see you before I went home.”
“Can do,” she replied, and dialed home. On the other end, I heard my mother's voice as she picked up the phone, and my cousin chirped merrily, “Hi, Aunt Susie!” They talked for a few moments, and Leanne told me that I was over, and had asked her to call while I went to the bathroom. She repeated my story and my mother, seemingly satisfied by her answer, hung up. I stayed over at Leanne's a while longer, until she told me I looked good to go. We made plans to go to an arcade together that weekend and, as it was getting late, I set out for home.
The hurt was still there in my heart as I drove along- what a jerk!- but I also thought about all the things I loved about Peter as I exited I-35 for Research. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I'd resolved to patch things up and make them better. After all, he probably had told me that he had the study thing and project today, so it really had been unfair of me to get so angry at him...
I got out of my car, grabbed my things, and meandered into the house, dropping my backpack in front of the couch in the living room, calling out a “hello!” to my mom, who was in the kitchen, and hopping up the stairs two at a time to my room.
As I stripped down for sleep (though it was a good three hours earlier than my normal bedtime, the events of the day had exhausted me), I thought to myself how lucky I was to have a boyfriend- practically fiancee- that loved me so much, even if he did mess up every once in a while. After all, we loved one another, and that was really all that mattered, right?
As I slipped into unconsciousness, a rebellious tear of loneliness and despair slipped down my cheek. That night, I dreamt of ice cold arms holding me, caging me, and no matter what I would do they would never let go, never be warm.
I was alone, lover of solitary ice, and would remain so forever.
Well, you should be able to understand it fairly quickly.
Between the lines, this is taking place hypothetically two or three weeks ago, not long before Homecoming. And, I am sad to say, this story would probably be true.
I skidded around the corner, socks catching on the grains of the warped wooden floor, tea sloshing out of the mug that seemed permanently glued to my hand. My shoulder rebounded on the wall across from me in the small hallway, more tea sloshing, and I staggered back into a straight line.
"Freak," I heard my sister chirp from the couch where she was vegetating in front of MTV- I responded with a few colorful choice words of my own, my usual nicknames for her, and continued my sprint to my room, pulling an abrupt U-turn to get to the staircase, and then tripping up the carpet-covered steps. I skidded the last bit to my room, slamming the door behind me, and promptly plopped down at my mug-covered desk, my hands quickly and automatically finding the worn, sticky, yellowed keyboard. Though my dad had offered to get me a new one, I'd declined. This one had a strange sort of sentimental value.
[Back, sorry] I typed to the young man on the other end of my screen, my words showing up plain and black on a boring white background. Ordinary- reasonable, compared to the multi-colored messages of my peers. Not to mention I typed in painstakingly grammatically correct complete sentences, a habit I was very proud of. [I had to get more tea.]
[Why do you drink so much tea anyway?] he asked me. I shrugged to myself, clicking out of my email client and typing my reply.
[I like tea. It keeps me calm. You don’t mind, do you?]
[Meh, maybe.]
I sighed in minor frustration, sitting back from my keyboard. Apparently, it was going to be one of those nights.
[Listen, I’m only away from the keyboard for a minute or two. It’s not that big a deal. But I’m not going to stop drinking tea just because you’re deprived 120 seconds of my conversation.]
[Whatever.]
[I’m sorry, Kai. It just feels like you’re on my case about everything lately.]
[I'm not on your case. I care.]
I sighed to myself. It seemed like we were having this conversation more and more often- almost every night. I thought for a moment, and then put my hands back on the keyboard.
[I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fuss at you.]
[It’s alright, I guess…]
[Can I do something to make it up for you?] I asked him, hopeful. Despite the cables and screens and miles in between us, I could see the cogs ticking in his brain.
[Come over tomorrow, since you didn’t come today.]
I smiled. [Of course I’ll come over. I’ve already done all my homework for the rest of the week. That was why I didn’t come today.]
[Yeah.]
I sighed, my smile sliding off my face. Apparently, he was still bitter. Apparently, I was going to be spending all night, and probably all tomorrow evening trying to make the offense of one small slip up to him.
At least he wasn’t as bad as he used to be, I mused as we discussed local politics. Back when he was thousands of miles away, both of us would blow up at the littlest things. But then, when he got in a car accident and I realized how quickly I’d nearly lost him, we worked things out. When he’d moved here, to Austin, to study at UT, things had calmed down a little more, and I now saw him every day, or almost.
The realization that I hadn’t received any new messages for a few minutes jerked me back to my mind. I checked the clock- midnight. Beating my fist on the desk in frustration, I watched helplessly as I was signed off from the client. I leaned over and picked up the phone, dialing in his number. He answered on the first ring, his soft voice lulling me the second he first spoke.
“Did you get disconnected again?”
“Yeah. My mom’s a nazi,” I told him as I ejected a disk from my drive and shut down my computer.
“But you are coming over tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a car,” I replied, standing and tucking the cordless phone to my ear as I meandered across my messy room. “She can’t stop me. I’ll come over right after school, and tell her that I’ve gone to hang out with Ben and Eric.”
“I suppose.”
I sighed, frustrated. I was too tired to deal with this.
“Listen, love, I’m really tired and I really need to go to sleep. I’m sorry that I was unkind to you tonight. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Without ceremony, we hung up. I looked long at the phone for a minute, and then, with a sigh, set it back in its cradle, stripping down to my underwear and crawling in between my sheets.
Something had to give.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
I sat in physics the next day, tapping my pencil against my binder in utter boredom, munching on a barbeque potato chip out of a bag I’d stashed in my oversized black Metallica hoodie- not my hoodie, really, but it belonged to Peter, and his things were mine and mine were his. Plus, I regularly stole and returned his clothing. It kept me company during the day, when I couldn’t be with him.
Mr. Chang was rambling along in his unintelligible “engrish”, sketching out complicated (not to mention illegible) charts on the chalkboard. I halfheartedly copied the charts and all the words I could understand, calm and composed, unlike a few of my classmates who were freaking out due to near-failing grades. I wasn’t worried, though- I had one of the highest grades in the class, thanks to reliable Pete, who knew “mostly everything”.
I looked down at my notes, lost in thought. He was a freshman in college, though he was a bit more than two years older than me: he’d “taken a year off” after high school when he’d failed to apply to colleges, a failure he blamed on me. I willingly took the blame for that, too- I’d promised to help him find one, and informed him about UT a week after the deadline. I’d wanted to kill myself for that one.
But now he was here in Austin, and I’d be joining him at UT next year- or, if I didn’t get into UT, I’d move into an apartment with him and take at ACC or St. Edwards until I could transfer into UT. Either way, I thought smugly, toying with the end of my long braid (Peter liked my hair long, so I rarely cut it), my future was set. I was going to marry Pete and he was going to provide for me, and I’d stay at home and write during the day while he went off to work, and my books would get famous and we’d be rich, and he wouldn’t have to work anymore, and we’d move somewhere nice and cold, maybe the Rockies, and have one kid, and adopt a kid from Asia, and have two cats and one dog and a goldfish for each of the kids.
A paper football landing in my lap jerked me from my musings. I looked down, and then looked around the room. A jock was smirking at me, and, grumpily, I opened the note.
“hay sundancer dropout,” it read in a childlike hand, and I gritted my teeth. All the girls on the team had been so… so stupid, so intellectually challenged, that I’d just walked out. Peter had encouraged me to, but in the end, it had been my decision to leave… hadn’t it?
“blacks not really ur color but ur still not that bad.
I munched on another chip, grinding my big toe in its black army surplus combat boots against the floor. Illiterate juvenile.
“I mite even consider letting u cum 2 homecomin w me.”
I forced myself to chew calmly, swallow calmly, and eat another chip, my expression impassive.
“as long s u promise not 2 wear black. wat u say, babe?”
I picked up my black unibal pen and poised it over the paper, thinking for a split second. Then I began to write.
“Firstly, go to hell.
“Secondly, your grammar is so terrible that even had I the most remote desire to attend homecoming with you, your horrible phonics would have driven me away posthaste.
“Third, you’re an arrogant cockfag and need to have your balls chopped off.
“Lastly, suave isn’t all that flattering for your total lack of personality, so drop the façade and admit that you want nothing more than to screw me. Unfortunately for you, I wouldn’t go near you even with a fifty foot pole with a moldy blowup doll attached to the end.
“Nice try.”
I folded up the note, shot the jock a flattering smile, and threw it squarely at his head. Mr. Chang, still focused entirely on the chalkboard, didn’t notice a thing.
I watched from the corner of my eye as the jock’s fat, clumsy fingers fumbled to open the note, and then snickered as his small, beady, uncomprehending eyes scanned over my meticulous writing. He looked confused for a moment, scribbled something down, and threw the note back to me.
“o, playin hard 2 get, huh? wats with all the big words? u think ur so smart, dont u?”
“I am simply demonstrating my superior intelligence in the hopes of awing you into a coma. Now get lost, douchebag.”
I threw the note back at him, and began to pack up my things as the clock ticked nearer to the bell. The jock threw the note back at me, and I opened it, and ripped it in half, then in half again, and dumped it on his desk as the class began to mill around.
“There’s your homecoming,” I replied to him simply, and walked calmly out of the room as the bell rang, munching on another chip.
Exit witty genius, stage left.
I strode into his apartment several hours later, dropping my bags by the door and breathing in the scent I associated with his home- pot and incense, courtesy of his crazy roommate Steve, and the underlying vanilla scent of the cologne I’d bought good old Pete for Christmas.
“Hey,” I called in, kicking the door shut behind me. “I’m here. I let myself in with my key.”
“Yo.” It was Steve, poking his head through the door from his room with a grin. His hair was all messed up, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “You’re here earlier than normal.”
“Hey, Steve. Any clue where Petey went?”
“I think he’s at the library, studying.” Steve scratched his dark, short, messy hair, looking confused and leaning out a little more, revealing to me that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “You can wait around til he gets back, though.”
“I think I will,” I replied, dropping down on the dingy couch and flicking the remote to the decrepit little TV. “You should put a shirt on and come join me,” I called out to him jokingly. I knew he would anyway, because Steve was like me- a little confused, a little standoffish sometimes, but friendly and a good host, even if he was a bit high.
“You want something to eat?” he asked, plopping down next to me and propping his feet up on the table.
“Nah. I already ate.”
I hadn’t.
For a while, Steve and I watched bad anime on Toonami, but after about an hour of this, Steve glumly informed me (in a perky sort of way) that he had to go to class not, but I could stay and make myself at home, and could even have some of his weed if I liked, as long as I didn’t smoke too much and paid him back. Smiling, I told him I’d keep that in mind, and out he went, hoisting his backpack over his shoulders. With a click, the door shut, and I was alone in the apartment.
Where was Peter?
He normally didn’t forget about me coming over, mostly. Usually. Maybe he was very distracted, or had a big test to study for that he hadn’t told me about, or… or something.
A bit hungry (but not about to eat any of their food, lord knew they needed as much as they could get) I meandered through the small apartment. On one side, Steve’s room, its bed covered with tacky leopard print sheets and its walls covered with ripped out ads from magazines or drawings- I’d been in there before, and there really wasn’t anything special about it, save for the turtle named FloJo he let wander around on the floor. In the middle of the apartment was the living area with the dingy couch and creaky table, the plywood entertainment center with the small TV and xbox- behind the squat entertainment center was a counter that separated the microscopic kitchen, with its big old fridge that wheezed and smelled like nachos. On the other side of the tiny apartment was Peter’s room, and that was where I went, plopping down on the ordinary white sheets of his bed and staring at the bland ceiling. A few posters from various animes decorated the walls, and a bookshelf in one corner contained various textbooks, code books, and lots of DVDs- again, of anime. The desk where his laptop usually sat was empty, a binder sitting squarely atop it. I yawned, rolling over, and took a short nap.
He still wasn’t back.
I’d been there for more than an hour and a half and he still hadn’t showed up, hadn’t called my cell, hadn’t… hadn’t anything. A little frustrated and a little worried, I wandered over to Pete’s bookshelf, grabbed a random anime (Ebichu, an obscure show and one of his favorites) and meandered back into the living room, slapping the DVD into the disk drive and plopping down on the couch with one of the throw pillows to watch.
The DVD was over. He still wasn’t back.
Grumbling, I checked my watch. I’d been there almost two and a half hours, and he was nowhere in sight. It was getting darker outside, so I flipped on both the outdoor and indoor lights, put in the next disk, and continued to watch Ebichu.
Steve was back from class and Peter was still nowhere. By now, I was very hungry and very irritated.
“Is he still not back?” Steve asked me, aghast. I grunted and shook my head, putting Ebichu on pause.
“No. Haven’t heard from him, haven’t seen him, nothing. I don’t suppose you saw him?”
“Nope,” Steve replied, tossing his backpack into his room. “I came straight back. I’ll keep you company until he shows up, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I replied gratefully, and unpaused the anime.
The second disk of Ebichu was through, and it was after eight. I’d finally given up on my “not eating the poor college kids’ food” stigma and grudgingly accepted a microwavable soup at hand from Steve. As we watched the evening news together, I raged within. Where was he? How dare he?
It was nine when he finally walked in the door.
“Where were you?” were the first three words out of my mouth as I stood up and took an angry step towards him.
“What?” he asked me, confused, blinking. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
“Four hours,” I replied, shaking with suppressed anger, and worse, hurt. “I told you I was coming by right after school!”
“I told you I had that study thing after school today,” he replied without interest. “And I had to work on a project.”
“Four hours!” I yelled, fuming. I heard Steve slip from the room behind me, quietly, and was grateful. “And you didn’t tell me jack shit.”
“Yes I did,” he replied, now a little defensive. His dark brown eyes were sparkling, long near-black locks swinging into his face. “I told you that I had to work on a project and go to my study group.”
“I told you I was coming by right after school last night, when I called you!”
“You made me angry. I forgot.”
“I forgot too, if you even told me at all, and if you actually DID inform me it was probably an offhand comment last week!”
“So what, it’s my fault?” He glared at me from underneath his dark, thick brows, and for a moment I faltered. But I couldn’t just lie down and let him walk all over me.
“All I’m saying,” I ground out, breathing deeply, “is that I don’t appreciate being left to wait here for four hours. Not to mention I need to be going soon anyhow. But you asked me yesterday to come over and you should have reminded me that you wouldn’t be around.”
“It’s not my fault you forgot.” There he was, back to the cool arrogance that made me love him and hate him at the same time. I resisted the urge to throw the Ebichu case in his face and instead stormed over to the door, pushing past him, grabbing my bags.
“Whatever. I’m leaving. I’m going to go hang out with Leanne or something,” I responded acidly. “At least there I’m wanted.”
“Stay here. I don’t like Leanne.” He was frowning now, and it took all my willpower to slap him.
“Well I do. She’s my cousin. And this time, you can make YOUR shortcoming up to me, instead of me making it up to you!” Furiously, I slammed out of his apartment, walking down the airy catwalk and stomping my furious way down the stairs.
Somewhere deep within me, I hoped he would come after me. But he didn’t- he never did.
A little more defeated now, I put the keys in the ignition of my car and fired it up, turning on my headlights and backing out. I drove the familiar urban streets to Leanne’s apartment, got out, locked up my things in the trunk, ascended another stairwell and knocked on the door to Leanne’s apartment. She came to the door, looking confused. When she saw me, she smiled.
“Leigh, hi! I didn’t know you’d be coming over.”
“Can I come in?” My lower lip was trembling now, and, without ado, Leanne ushered me in.
Her apartment was every bit as dingy and effluvious as Steve and Pete’s, smelling not only like pot, but also cigarettes and some strong booze. Leanne was a little wild.
“What’s wrong?” Leanne asked me, clearing me a space on the couch- it looked like her roommate was out for the night.
Sniffling, my tears spilled over and I began to sob lightly, relaying my story. She rubbed my back soothingly listening sympathetically, her peaches-‘n-cream complexion and deep brown half-hispanic eyes pouring comfort into my damaged heart. When I was done, she shook her head.
“Yeah, men can be real pigs sometimes,” she consoled me. “But don’t let it get to you. Remember my high school boyfriend Mallecky?”
“Yeah,” I hiccupped, gladly taking the tissue she offered me.
“Once, we were supposed to go out on a date, and he was going to pick me up after work. You know, we were going to go out and do the whole late night thing…” she laughed, a comforting sound, a safe sound, a sound I’d heard all my life. “So anyway, I was there when they closed up the store, and I went outside to wait for him. I sat down on the curb, and it started to rain.” She laughed a little more, and I found myself laughing, too. “He didn’t ever show up! I had to call Mom from a payphone to come get me.”
“Ooooh,” I chorused, smiling blearily. “I bet you gave him hell for that one.”
“Nah, not really,” Leanne said, shrugging one shoulder. “His car broke down. Not to mention he got all the guilt he wanted because I got a really bad cold afterward and was sick for a week. Men,” she laughed, casting a pretty smile to me. “So easy to manipulate.”
I laughed, another hiccup, and Leanne reached for her cell phone. “Let me call Aunt Susie and tell her you came over for a bit to hang out with me, okay?”
Aunt Susie was Mom. “Alright,” I told Leanne. “Say that I was down here with some friends and wanted to stop by and see you before I went home.”
“Can do,” she replied, and dialed home. On the other end, I heard my mother's voice as she picked up the phone, and my cousin chirped merrily, “Hi, Aunt Susie!” They talked for a few moments, and Leanne told me that I was over, and had asked her to call while I went to the bathroom. She repeated my story and my mother, seemingly satisfied by her answer, hung up. I stayed over at Leanne's a while longer, until she told me I looked good to go. We made plans to go to an arcade together that weekend and, as it was getting late, I set out for home.
The hurt was still there in my heart as I drove along- what a jerk!- but I also thought about all the things I loved about Peter as I exited I-35 for Research. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I'd resolved to patch things up and make them better. After all, he probably had told me that he had the study thing and project today, so it really had been unfair of me to get so angry at him...
I got out of my car, grabbed my things, and meandered into the house, dropping my backpack in front of the couch in the living room, calling out a “hello!” to my mom, who was in the kitchen, and hopping up the stairs two at a time to my room.
As I stripped down for sleep (though it was a good three hours earlier than my normal bedtime, the events of the day had exhausted me), I thought to myself how lucky I was to have a boyfriend- practically fiancee- that loved me so much, even if he did mess up every once in a while. After all, we loved one another, and that was really all that mattered, right?
As I slipped into unconsciousness, a rebellious tear of loneliness and despair slipped down my cheek. That night, I dreamt of ice cold arms holding me, caging me, and no matter what I would do they would never let go, never be warm.
I was alone, lover of solitary ice, and would remain so forever.