I had this crazy dream that I was walking down the street wearing a purple felt top hat, twirling an ivory cane in the air, strutting with an amazing air of superiority over my vast domain. I stopped at a street corner, stooped low to pick up a quarter, and then flipped it to some hobo. The coin landed with a ringing sound that reverberated in the bottom of the cup, progressively getting louder until I was consumed by the beat and pitch which pulsated with ever increasing frequency. The noise pierced my body, and I exploded into a million bits – every tiny shard going every which way. I was everywhere, it was cool, and it woke me up.
I hit the snooze button and rolled over to hold Amanda. I wanted to wake her up, but she looked so serene and peaceful. Staring at her beautiful red hair, I started running my hands through and through, feeling each individual strand and feeling as though I was a part of her and her of me. I got bored really fast though. Instead of continuing, I rolled back over and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of the past, about our story, began popping into my head. I wanted to go back with a fine comb and make sure every strand and stitch was in its proper place, undisturbed by time and age.
The famous French mathematician Pierre Simon de Laplace espoused the view that if we knew the position and velocities of all the particles in the universe, then we would know the future for all time. Obviously this view is crap if we are considering the real, physical world. But my memories and ideas are sacrosanct from that chaos. I have a well-fostered, well-cultivated understanding of myself.
I had stalked this girl for the past several weeks. We lived in the same dorm, fell into the same social circles, and became somewhat acquainted with each other. I had a girlfriend at the time. I kept her around as a sort of gag. I did not mean for it to be anything too cold and cruel, and I remained as loyal a friend as I possibly could. I could not help but keep the ploy going; I thought it was too mean to let her in on the joke. Some special adolescent mysticism told me that having a girlfriend was the secret to a more desired match. I valued the poor girl as a commodity, something to be traded for an upgrade. I felt more at ease knowing that I had someone somewhere in the vast plane of space and time to call my own. Perhaps this was my fatal flaw, perhaps I was the victim of too much retrospection and self-reflection, or maybe I needed to get laid in the worst way possible. All the choices seemed to blur into some indecipherable mass. I chose blindly, intuiting every best move with barely any shreds of evidence whatsoever.
I met the girlfriend in high school. I wanted her to believe that we would remain close, even though we would spend over two-thirds of the year without any chance of close, personal contact. Perhaps she was smitten with me – regardless of what it was, I used it to my advantage. Do not be mistaken, I still took pleasure in her company. We kept talking even after I had gone away to college. Our friendship together was deep and meaningful, just some parts I had blurred in an effort to deceive everyone – even myself. My old girlfriend knew it was coming though. She may not have been as naïve as I once thought. The poor girl even went to the length of telling me that she feared losing me to some other girl while I was away. Like Odesseus away from home, I was suspect to the preying, bloodthirsty species that is the other sex. Nevertheless, I believed in my own lie and said that I loved her and said it with a measure of conviction on top of that.
I watched this new girl, this red-headed, green-eyed girl with some detachment. Occasionally she would pass by my open door as I typed away on my laptop, communicating to my girlfriend back home. I would notice her, but we would often miss the opportunity to exchange glances. The communiqué to turn and view got lost in the time it took for her to pass my doorway. Information does not travel instantaneously after all. Like Schroedinger’s cat, maybe she was both behind the door and not behind the door, occupying some quantum state until I took the effort to take a measurement and actually look into the doorway for what I wanted to see – only to be disappointed that she was not there.
I knew her schedule, paused for a moment on a bench on the campus and would wait for her to pass by. I tried to blend in unrecognizable. She had known me for some time, but maybe I had blended in too much in the past. Now I had my opportunity.
I baited my friend Murphy, who had a mild interest in the girl, into getting her to come along with us the next weekend. We would go bowling, as usual, because it seemed like the thing to do. Bowling was the most anti-romantic thing I could think of. No one would ever suspect bowling for anything.
Murphy had some reservations though. He was very suspicious that I would tell him to ask her. Normally I would consult our common friend Isaac on such matters. I knew that if he went along with it, that I could allow my conscience to be clear for at least the evening. I valued his approval, but he rarely ever gave it to me. There was evidence that he alone, of any of my friends, could offer me the pardon I so sorely required.
Murphy was extremely excited after he managed to convince Amanda and one of her friends to go bowling with us. I felt relieved that I would not have to spend another Friday night in front of a computer screen, straining to make out incoherent phrases through the awful glare. However, Murphy caught me at an inopportune moment. I was talking with my girlfriend on the phone telling her about how much I cared for her. I did not care for talking on the phone, especially since my girlfriend at the time was really quiet. Often, I would hear nothing more than a slight warbling on the other side. I could not speak in this crazy tongue, so I feigned surprise or interest with a simple, “wow,” or “no kidding.” I would mix it up to keep things fresh.
We decided to get Isaac to come along with us. He is fat and jolly, like Santa Claus; but he is also deranged and methodical like a serial killer. His presence would provide either interesting fodder for conversation or would create a looming sense of foreboding marked by eerie, uncomfortable, and awkward silence – depending on the type of mood Isaac decided to assume on this evening. The scenario granted by the strange game of Isaac Roulette did not bother me due to a habit of low expectations. Isaac was more than willing to go because he does not get very many opportunities to hang out with girls and have fun at a bowling alley. Well, actually, I threatened to punch him in the stomach – which is not really much of a threat since his outstanding girth provides more than enough cushion to prevent serious damage from attempt at injury made by myself. I am not sure why Isaac acquiesced to my demands, but said acquiescence is of little importance anyway. Oddly enough, Isaac is normally the one to bait us into potentially dangerous situations. I felt like I had an innovative and fresh idea for once. Very exciting.
Amanda and Murphy both had cars, so all the guys loaded up into his tiny, green sports car, while Amanda and her friend Alicia rode together. Murphy is a bad driver because he does not have depth perception. He claims that a certain technique allows him to judge distances; but judging from the fact that he rides the asses of all cars in front of us, I must beg to differ and must admit to a vast fear that wells up inside of me every time I ride with him. Sadly, the choice is not mine for beggars cannot be choosers, as the old aphorism seems to go.
We pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley, The Yorktown Lanes – truly a marvel of modern American society and the epitome of heartless mass consumerism. The regimented form of this leisure activity aches of conformity and is nothing like its predecessor, played on uneven lawns in the daytime by French bourgeoisie ladies. Ideological differences aside, I play the game often anyway with my closest friends because it is fun and there is nothing better to do. The alley was happening on this evening, with the lanes filled almost to capacity. Sounds of heavy bowling balls striking the alley surface with a distinct thud, of balls gathering angular momentum and quickening in pace down the lane, and of loud explosive collisions – each noise occurring in chaotic, nonlinear, all together random succession; yet rooted in the fine and classical mechanics of Newton’s age. All of this occurred over the backdrop of endless, concurrent discussions on anything and everything. Yet, I would not characterize the place as being alive. The unnatural incandescence and heavy tobacco smoke that pervaded the atmosphere filled me with a sense of utter gloom and despair. The scenario did not portend well for me in terms of getting a chance to bait one of our companions into accompanying me down the road of pre-marital, sexual activity, it struck me that the bowling alley was inherently anti-romantic. Amanda and Alicia walked into the alley behind us while Murphy, ever the consummate gentleman, had propped and held the door open for the girls as Isaac and I had both reached the same jaw-dropping conclusion: we were both in way over our heads. At that moment, I had to gather myself in order to take quick to the offensive, so I escaped to the bathroom.
I came back and looked over at Isaac. He was playing one of those games with the big, mechanical arm and all the crazy stuffed animals. The intense look of concentration on his face and fiercely sweaty brow said it all. He was trying to score some points with Alicia. I did not understand Isaac in the least bit. He was a big dork and quite shy, yet oddly enough, he could charm the pants off just about anyone. I walked up behind him, and with each hand I poked him on both sides of his monstrous gut. He leaped up into the air, turned around, and gave me a dirty look. I looked back at him and smirked. I told him to quit being such a tool. He told me that he really liked pink stuffed bunny rabbits and that he thought it would look quite appropriate at the top of his shrine, where we would often gather before imbibing excessively in alcohol. Murphy walked up to where we were at right about then. He did not understand why we were huddled around this ‘chick game.’ He said we were both pathetic. I looked at Murphy and told him that this was all Isaac’s doing and that he was trying to impress Alicia. At that moment, with Murphy’s assistance, I knew that we could get Isaac to do something stupid. I gave Murphy a wink to indicate that we should apply some intensive peer pressure. But the game was off as I soon as I called it on, Murphy was too nervous to do anything fun.
Alicia followed Amanda into the bowling alley. She looked good, but I could not say that I was interested – unless, I had no shot at Amanda I suppose. But I knew that I had a shot at Amanda, and I planned my course accordingly. Alicia had tight curly hair, a little over shoulder length. She was a brunette and was smoking a cigarette. I personally do not smoke, I think it is disgusting; but I could put up with it. She went light with the make-up, which is good. I could not tell you what kind of make-up she was wearing, but it looked fine. At least she did not over-do it. I went up to Alicia and said hi. She smiled and said hi back. I asked her some questions, and she seemed really friendly. I thought she was cool, and I did not mind hanging out with her. She was quite uninteresting.
For as often as I have seen Amanda in the hallway, I knew absolutely nothing about her. I asked her where she lived, and she told me that she was a floor above mine and that she roomed with Alicia. I thought that was cool, and I told her so. Alicia interrupted us; she said that she loved her room and that Amanda was a great roommate. Trying to think way into the future, I realized that Alicia probably liked me as much as I liked Amanda. My dirty mind went straight into the gutter. She was staring right at me, but I tried to ignore her and avoid her gaze. Amanda laughed and said that she tried to be a good roommate. I looked into Amanda’s eyes. They were green and looked particularly bright that evening. She had long, dark eyelashes that looked really hot. She was wearing a white sweater, a pair of blue jeans, and a really cute white, winter hat. I could tell that she had a fairly pale complexion and that she wore some foundation and blush to make her face look darker. I asked Amanda where she was from, and she told me that she was from Illinois. I had never been there, and I told her that. But I also mentioned that I would like to visit there sometime. I’m a big baseball fan; I would like to see Wrigley one day. I asked her if she was a Cubs fan. She said that she did not like baseball all that much. I was disappointed, so I tried to act shocked. She thought I was stupid and gave me a dirty look. That was weird. Amanda left to go to the bathroom.
Alicia gave me a wink. I was taken aback. I told her to come and sit by me and keep me company. No big deal, just friendly conversation – nothing that I would ever have to explain myself for doing. Seeming too obvious is clearly not a good idea. No questions about Amanda would be appropriate. She beat me to it anyway.
“So you like my roommate, eh?”
“What would make you say that?”
“It’s just a premonition. You should watch out, you might not know what you are getting yourself into.”
“Now what is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m telling you to be careful. I bet you have a girlfriend.”
Now that was an awful surprise. I just stared at her with the blankest expression I could conjure up. Maybe no comments or questions were necessary. Warnings don’t just appear out of nowhere. She just nodded her head and smirked. I told her that she better stop that. Not something a good roommate would say. She said that I looked like a lost puppy dog. That made me mad. She said I looked cute when I was mad. That made me furious. She grabbed my hand. I saw Amanda approaching, so I pulled out. What would Murphy say?
“So ladies, how about those Mets?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. What’s a Met?”
“Uh, it’s an expression, I guess.”
“Sure it is boy,” said Amanda.
Only thing I could do was to divert their attention away from my mumbling.
I pointed away towards blank space and exclaimed, “What’s that?”
It worked, they laughed.
Murphy came by and broke our little sortie up. I tried to be the center of attention, and maybe I was. I was not very sure. Murphy told us that we should go up to the front counter and get a lane. I thought that would be a fantastic idea. I fell back and let Murphy lead. We decided to get two lanes for an hour. Any longer amount of time, and I would probably begin to feel greasy and uncomfortably hot. I had gone up to the counter with Murphy to talk to the person about our lane. When I turned around to tell Isaac, Amanda, and Alicia to go and tell that person their shoe size, I noticed that Isaac had the other two wrapped around his finger. I don’t know what he was talking about to them, and I’m fairly sure that it really did not matter what he was talking about. Isaac just had a mystique about him. Perhaps in looking back at that time in my life, I have come to look at Isaac as some legendary figure.
Nevertheless, he would begin talking; and within fifteen minutes, he was seemingly free to manipulate as he pleased. I told them to come up to the counter. They were in uproarious laughter over what Isaac had just said, so they did not hear me. That annoyed me, so I cleared my throat and then informed them in a much a louder tone that we needed to tell the counter lady our shoe sizes. I got a size twelve shoe. Murphy got a fourteen, and Isaac got an eleven. Amanda and Alicia both got a size eight shoe.
In turning around to tell Isaac and the girls to go get their bowling shoes, I had left Murphy to pick up the bill. So when I came back, I tried to assuage his fears and told him that I would pay him back later. I really did not mean to pay him back later, but I thought that it would be nice to at least make him think that I had every intention of paying him back. I liked to toy with his emotions. He looked at me and knew full well what I was up to. I knew that there was no chance that he would call me out on not paying him back, at least that moment. They hardly knew him at that point. Murphy always tried hard to portray himself as the perfect gentleman. He even had a book, The Guide to Everything Gentlemanly. I never put much stock in such books because there were so many more interesting books; spending time over this particular one seemed like a gratuitous waste of time. Anyway, I would much rather watch a James Bond movie. Murphy claimed to be a non-sectarian. I did not know what that meant, and I never bothered to ask. Murphy was always wondering about how he was going to die. He struck me as a very nervous sort.
I walked over to Amanda and noticed a warm friendliness. I feasted on it. I was satisfied in myself because I had just rolled a strike. Maybe she was staring at my ass, I don’t know. But I was going to watch hers. She stood up and placed her small fingers into the small holes of the bowling ball, lifted the ball up, and without a second thought she walked up to the line and made a desperate effort to strike a pin or two. The ball struck dead on the floor; she just dropped it dead and watched the ball rotate unevenly towards the gutter, where it landed with a plop. She dejectedly turned around, and I caught her gaze. I gave her a little smile and tried to cheer her up some. She was miserable. I told her she needed to set herself before rolling the ball. I said I would try to help her out during her next turn. You know, walk behind her and guide her arm and footsteps as she makes her next approach. However, I was certain that I was doomed to mess that up somehow. Being a klutz and overly uncoordinated has many drawbacks, and when I try to explain anything, it often comes out in the most uncertain, convoluted manner possible. Before anything could happen with that proposal, I changed the subject and asked her if she wanted a coke or something. She declined the offer, and we sat talking for a moment. She started asking me a whole lot of questions. If I could have just told a joke or said something funny, I would have felt a lot better about this. Smile and flirt. Open your eyes up big and notice the shapely face with its smooth contours, the hair, feathered and falling down to her shoulders, and a soft, pleasant smile.
We walked over to the coffee shop by the street corner before bringing the evening to a close. We found a big table to sit around near a window, in a room separated from the rest of the café, warmed by a big fire in the fireplace. I looked over at Murph -- he seemed to be troubled because he ended up being the odd man out. He always seems to be the victim of some tough luck, but I was thinking that it was due more to the fact that he always seems to be trying so hard. Maybe this is why his words always come out just a bit more awkward than everyone else’s when there are many people around.
“Murph, do you have a big week coming up?”
“Yeah, I suppose. I have one exam, no big deal really.”
“That’s cool, I’m sure you’ll do great. For what class?”
“Multivariable Calculus – it should not be too bad.”
“Well, that seems interesting. How are you doing in that?”
“I could be doing better.”
“I guess I know how you feel.”
I tried hard, but I was losing Murph in going after Amanda so hard. Whatever happened to, “All’s fair in love and war?” Maybe I’m wrong though. I could have been a two-time loser; after all, I still had a girlfriend. At least Isaac would not be angry with me.
Amanda winked at me. That was pretty cool.
I asked Amanda if she wanted anything, I was going to go up to the counter to get an americano. Amanda said that she did not care for coffee that much. I told her to try a steamer with a shot of syrup mixed in. She said that she would consider it. I coaxed her to get up and come up to the counter with me by making some odd shoulder/ come-hither motion; it ended up looking like I had some odd twitch in my neck. So I did it again with a bit more force, and she just laughed. I started rubbing the back of my neck, and she laughed some more. Apparently making a fool of myself is comedic gold.
“You are such a big dork.”
“Gee, thanks Amanda. I try really hard.”
“No, I like it. What is a steamer anyway?”
“Well, it is just steamed milk, I think. But it is pretty good, and it does not taste like coffee.”
“Well, won’t that just make me feel tired? My mom said that warm milk makes you go to sleep.”
“I guess my mom says the same thing, so if you do not want to have one, you don’t have to get anything.”
“But I do want something. Do you have any other recommendations, kind sir?”
“Well, that’s confidential information. I can’t just give my recommendations out like candy. Why should I recommend something to you?”
“This is not a matter of national security, and no one is going to get shot.”
“Well, of course, but I really don’t know what to recommend. Let me talk to this lady at the counter, and we’ll see if we can get something that you will like. How does that sound? Miss, what would you recommend for this young lady right over here?”
“I would recommend that she hang around some other guy. You are really annoying.”
“That’s awfully blunt of you.”
“I‘m just kidding, but I heard that whole exchange just a moment ago – it was really quite tragic, if you ask me.”
“But that’s just it, no one asked you. In fact, I asked you something entirely different. And you have still failed to answer the question I did in fact pose.”
I noticed that Amanda looked annoyed. Maybe I was being too flirtatious or annoying or something. At any rate, I thought I would benefit from drawing this most recent conversation to a quick close. “I will have a large americano. Amanda, what would you like?”
“I will have a steamer with a shot of peppermint syrup. That sounds good.”
The counter lady rang up the order, and I paid for the both of us. That was when Murphy and Isaac came up to order for themselves. Amanda and I walked back to the table. I asked Alicia if she was going to get anything, and she said that Isaac had offered to get her something. I told her that was good
Amanda and I started talking. She mentioned that she wanted to become a veterinarian. I thought that was interesting and sweet. Not knowing much about the profession, I stupidly said that she must like animals a whole lot. Not wanting to display any indication that I was in fact annoying, she nodded her head and said that she grew up on a watermelon farm. I never really knew anyone that lived on a farm, let alone a watermelon farm; and I told her that. She began telling me about her brothers and how big and strong they were as a result of lifting heavy watermelons all their lives. I acted shocked and told her how I could imagine that they would be. She jokingly remarked that I better not mess with her or she would send her brothers out after me. I laughed and said that I would keep that under consideration and then said that I would never dream of messing with her. Her brothers were named Eli and Harlan – definitely names that are appropriate to big, strong watermelon farmers, I suppose.
I wanted to know what it was like to grow up on a watermelon farm, I thought that was interesting. She said that it was not anything too special and that she did not want to end up working on a farm all her life. I told her I could see why becoming a veterinarian could be a good fit for her, and she seemed to agree. I thought that it was good that she had some idea of a possible career after college. I was just taking random classes at the moment across a number of disciplines. I felt like some misshapen square peg that some poor toddler was struggling to make fit into any hole. I was not used to the lack of ambition within me.
Murphy and Isaac had come back without it coming to my attention. It seemed that Murphy and Isaac and Alicia were having a somewhat interesting conversation. I would not say that any of them were particularly enthralled by each other’s company, but they were having a pleasant time nevertheless. Murphy seemed more relaxed, and that made me feel better about myself, because perhaps he had already gotten over the fact that maybe Amanda did not like him. Unfortunately, Isaac seemed to be losing Alicia’s interest.
Looking at Amanda, I told her how strange it felt to grow up as half-Filipino and half-white, how my mom does not seem to have much of an accent whatsoever, and how humorous it is to hear her struggle over certain words. I told Amanda that I did not identify with being the stereotypical minority. She remarked how she was curious as to my ethnicity because she could not tell just by looking at me. She said that she had been asking people around the hallway for days, but no one had a real, definite answer. Amanda then told me that she really did not want to delve further after asking someone as to my ethnicity because it is embarrassing to appear too interested in a guy. Taking the clear, positive hint with an amount of childish glee, I tried to flirt back and told her that I had noticed her walking by my open door. She said that she never really noticed me looking at her whenever she passed by and then she tried to act like it did not happen too often.
Murphy got my attention and said that now would be a good time to leave. I agreed since I had finished my coffee drink a long time ago. I noticed that Murphy had chewed his stirrer to the point that it was no longer identifiable and that Isaac was spinning his glass around with the glee of a five year old. Apparently, the time to leave had come some time ago. My best friends had driven themselves batty with boredom.
We were walking back to our dorm. Unsure of myself, I asked Amanda if she had a boyfriend. She said she did and that he was in Mississippi somewhere doing something. I said that I had a girlfriend that was far away also. I was not sure what to say about her, so I just said that we were drifting apart. I felt odd saying that because it implied that we had been close at some time. Elaboration on the topic would have been too inappropriate anyway. Amanda changed the subject, much to my relief, by saying that we should all drink. Murphy did not feel comfortable doing so because he wanted to study the next day. I called him a big wuss, but he did not seem to care. When I told him that he needed to learn how to live a little, he looked as though he was about to punch me in the face. So I backed off and told him that it was probably for the best that he not consume alcoholic beverages with us. Terence and Alicia were all for it, so Murphy’s usefulness had seemingly run out anyway. He could do whatever he wanted as far as I was concerned.
Terence seemed to always have a vast supply of alcohol in his room. That was just his style, I suppose. He had managed to arrange a mini bar on a couple of shelves in the corner of his room with a velvet couch and a mini-disco ball hanging from the ceiling. There was an interesting variety up on the shelves -- it seems that he liked rum and vodka a bit and that he had taken the time to have all the different flavors of Bacardi and Absolut. I told him I would pay him back later if he would let me drink some beer. He said that would be fine.
We all sat, drank, and talked for awhile. Alicia remarked on the supply of alcohol that graced my good friend’s shelves. She said that it seemed like an awful lot and was totally unnecessary. She wanted to know if there was any other purpose to it, other than the obvious – being that he was a typical binge drinker with some level of taste and presumed sophistication. I had often wondered the same thing, but thought the answer to be inconsequential. After all, regardless of what drove him to establish this supposed monument, he was still Terence: someone who I had befriended during my college days and someone who I had placed much trust and confidence in. Terence and I seemed to be in the same academic boat – one devoid of choice and responsibility. However, our friendship was more than mere happenstance. There was an odd attraction to him, some deep personal power that belied his girth and devilish grimace. Regardless, I would often be in his company, and he would extract whatever happened to be bothering me with no certain prompting on my part and with a certain mechanical efficiency.
Not all of his advice was exactly golden. He told me to hang on to a struggling relationship with some girl far away, and I trusted his extinct with the thought that perhaps it was a necessary distraction that allowed me to remove myself from that collegiate environment. I was unhappy.
Alicia’s question struck at me oddly. I looked at Amanda, but she was preoccupied with what was in her purse. I did not realize she smoked. She pulled out a pack of Newports, selected a cigarette, and placed it in her mouth. Amanda kept rummaging through her purse and found a cell phone. Clearly, I was no longer the center of attention. I thought perhaps it would be a momentary thing.
I looked over at Alicia and Terence and realized that since Terence had no real explanation for his cache, he had placed some insufferable distance between them. I do not know if I felt any real empathy for my friend. So I did the best thing I could think of.
I quietly turned to Amanda and asked her, “Hey, why don’t we go up to my room and listen to some music?”
“Sure, what do you listen to?”
At that moment I momentarily froze. I had to think. I thought that I had to put some serious thought into this, as though all of history depended on my taste in music. At that moment I came to the realization that I would never be able to have another opinion ever again. This was absurd. I fought the rising tension to a standstill and attempted to regain some semblance of composure.
“How about some Incubus?”
“Ok, I really like that.”
I probably could have said Jefferson Airplane and still would have managed to elicit a positive response. But I could not let the charade die down without seeing where it would lead. Thankfully I did not have far to go, just down a flight of steps. We made up some excuse to our companions.
What would my mother think?
I thought some questions might be imminent. I braced myself for an onslaught. I did not want to be caught unprepared. I watched a really bad B-movie once that featured Steven Seagal. The arch-villain kept saying, “Chance favors the prepared mind.” Instead of preparing myself against anything, I kept repeating the trite movie quote in my head, giving it a mantra-like appeal, calming myself by staying fixated on a singular objective – if just for a moment.
Amanda and I were left alone to talk. I have always had trouble during moments such as these. I froze up, felt tied, and wanted to be left alone. During my most imagined, most vulnerable of moments, I felt nothing but utter impotence and balled up within myself seeking protection from the outside world. So instead of delaying any further, in an attempt to forego any unpleasantness that may or may not arise, I went in for the kiss. I do not think this surprised Amanda in any way. Maybe she expected it; I could never figure that out. At any rate, we were both tipsy, and the inhibitions had clearly lost their sharp edge. We stared at each other for a moment and something like passion took over. I could not be held responsible for anything that happened afterward.
“You have a boyfriend in Missouri?”
“Yeah, he is actually from Cleveland. I met him around here before he transferred out. We keep in touch; it is not really the same though.”
“I guess we are in the same boat then, with the long distance relationships that is. I don’t know if I like it so much anymore.”
“Do you love her?”
I paused and looked as though I was trying to uncover some deep and mystifying truth about the universe, only to come up with some bland response.
“Yes, I do love her.”
Cold and distant was definitely not the image I was going for at the moment. I had no choice but to claim my love for this girl hundreds of miles away.
I asked her if she loved her boyfriend.
“Of course I do.”
We were lying in bed, provided with ample quiet for some self-reflective thought. I could not help it. I began thinking about my girlfriend back home. The one I felt ready to leave behind for good. I tried to come up with some reason not too. Our last summer together was a good one. We spent many nights looking up at the sky on a blanket in the middle of a lawn, alone with no one in our way. Slowly drawn out through frequent conversation, I almost felt like there was a true sense of ‘us’ or ‘we’, just some unidentifiable appendage to who we represented as individuals perhaps. I had no idea what I was going to say to her the next morning. I already had a premonition of how things would end up or at least how I wanted them to end up. I could not account for my maliciousness or selfishness, my girlfriend did all the right things, but that sense of attachment was fleeting. I would carry that guilt for the next year and a half. You should not drag people along as you do -- that stupid sense of irony of yours gets lost on most people.
I had a dream.
The snow began to fall as we stood out on the driveway, middle of suburbia. Quaint and picturesque, the snow draped down upon us, and we were overcome by a slight chill as the midnight air blew by, whipping the white sultry substance between us. We stood there, a small distance between, yet worlds apart. I could feel the great weight of guilt and moral conscience beating down on me; and I could see, really see the disappointment in her face. Before she turned around to get into her car, she placed a small envelope in my jacket pocket. Before I could think twice about it, she was gone – her tires churning slowly through the inches of snow that covered the road. Little reddish dots faded off into the distance, and I stood there to contemplate the moon – grotesquely large and crater pocked, winking down at me and trying to console me.
A long and storied relationship gone, I had torn the pages out one by one to get consumed into the conflagration of angry, obtuse passion. The jealous rage subsiding as the ashes fell to the earth, filling my lungs with the very destruction we had wrought. A bittersweet ending was the least we deserved. Unfortunately, young and beautiful couples are supposed to go through such anxiety.
I woke up startled and amused that my own prose had begun to infiltrate my dreams. There was a bang at the door. I went up to the door without thinking twice about it. I opened it and was greeted by a cold, hard jab to the jaw. Clumsily, stumbling backwards with my arms flailing, I tried to balance myself somehow. Recovering and throwing myself at my assailant, I hoped to land anything. He had stepped backwards, and I hit nothing but the wall on the opposite side of the hall before slumping to the ground as a bloody disgrace. My assailant jumped on my poor, pathetic body which was still reeling from the shock of the initial attack. I heard Amanda drowsily ask what the matter was. The storm of jabs pummeled me from every possible angle – no cross-section was necessary, I was a broad swath of horribly bruised flesh. I could no longer slump any further within myself, any effort to minimize the effects of the blows proved to be hopelessly futile. I gave up.
I cannot possibly remember what it was like to slip into that unconscious dream state. However, I do remember being struck by some sense of desire for some unknown object. Floating in this dreamscape, I floundered towards some sense of self that would continue to elude me even while awake. I wanted my life back, not the one created for me by the definitions of total strangers. I found myself the victim of my own sophistry. I wanted out, I wanted life.
I woke up startled. And then I startled myself again, fearing the prospects of another senseless beating. I did not realize I could play the part of victim so well. I woke up to screaming.
“You are going to come with me.”
“No I am not; I don’t love you, Philip.”
I said to myself, “The hell you’re not going.”
This Philip looked at me, and I came to the awful realization that I was the object of his hate, even though I was not the one who had abused him. No one seemed to care that I was the hapless victim. I looked at Amanda as she sobbed to herself, coiled in the fetal position upon my futon. I felt sorry for her; she just wanted to be out of a bad relationship. I could see that now. I saw more about the lot of us than I would have ever been able to perceive on my own, without the aided eye of simple tragedy. I noticed with a measure of self-effacing irony that I happened to be the elephant in the living room that no one was really talking about. I chuckled to myself; it came out more like some demonic gurgling instead. I hurt. I was angry.
Slowly, I began to recognize this figure before me. He was like that chicken shit kid
I grew up with. The one you befriended out of necessity before discovering the wide world of society at large come high school. You trusted the kid, played all the usual neighborhood games together, and then he had the audacity to act like you were never friends in the first place. You acted like the feeling was mutual, opened a book, stayed at home on the weekends, and thought that at some time the day would be yours. You were a loser.
I was alone. I rolled over onto my stomach, laid my head onto my hands, and fell asleep. I woke up again, and Murphy was bent over me. He was trying to revive me. I looked at him and gave him a confused look. I had no idea what had happened to me. The door opened, and Amanda came in. She was happy to see that I was awake. My head was throbbing. I was not sure how long I had been knocked out, but I felt really embarrassed. Murphy was really upset. I could tell. He paced back and forth several times and said that Isaac and he would go to the lobby to find this guy. That was when I asked Amanda who that guy was. She looked at me with big, sad eyes and said nothing. I knew anyway. There was no need for asking. She left.
Isaac and Murphy came back empty handed. I imagined he was off getting drunk before coming back to find Amanda. Regardless, he might come back. I told them as much, and they seemed to agree. They would stand watch. I looked over at Isaac and scolded him for tempting me to go as far as I did. I knew that he never directly advised me to cheat and be disloyal, but we both knew that was what he meant. I told him that I was once happy. Murphy shook his head and told me how much of a schmuck I was. I agreed. I never listened to Murphy though.
“Let’s go share a drink guys.”
I went up to Amanda’s room the next day. I told her that I wanted to try a first date with her again, just without so much drama. I told her that I talked to my girlfriend, told her about myself, and broke it off. I suggested that she do the same thing with her boyfriend. She smiled at me and said she would think about it.
Ben Folds writes a lot of beautiful music and tells poignant stories and creates wonderful character sketches. On his first solo project, "Fear of Pop," there is a collaboration with William Shatner titled "In Love." This spoken word piece is quite funny and farcical, in that this character seems completely ridiculous. He's knowledgeable of all the self-help books on love and emotion, and he uses this knowledge to seduce a woman who recounts for him all her experiences with relationships. It's completely cruel and unforgiveable that he does this, but the tragic element of the hurt felt at the end of the song by the character himself coupled with his reaction to her words is a farce.
