Strider
09-27-2003, 10:36 PM
Yeah, I churned this out last year, too. You know what to do. :)
Oh yes, and I would like to warn, once again, against a bit of swearing through the story. Otherwise, it should be okay.
________________________________________ __
Chris turned the key, opened the door, and entered his dorm room triumphantly. He felt good, and imagined that there might be 10,000 strangers waiting to stand up and applaud his bold homecoming. Realistically, he didn’t expect anyone to be in the room, and he was right. Everything was just the way he had left it before leaving for class, right down to the open bag of Oreos on his mini-fridge and the overflowing pile of old newspapers sprouting out from one of the wastebaskets. The only thing that was different was the room’s lighting, but that was only because it wasn’t eight in the morning anymore. Despite the lack of real thunderous clapping at his arrival, he still bounded towards the back of the room – his side – riding his current emotional high.
It was only Thursday afternoon, a little bit past 2:30, and Chris still had an entire day of class to look forward to tomorrow. In his mind, though, there was really only one thing standing between him and the paradise that is the weekend. He had planned all day on polishing off the one thing that needed to be done for Friday, simply because he had been too lazy recently to really put forth a load of effort until now. That wasn’t normally his style of work, but he didn’t think his teacher would mind, as long as he got everything done. It was their job to grade him on his effort, wasn’t it? If his effort wasn’t the greatest, then he wouldn’t get the greatest grade. Whoop-de-freaking-doo, he thought, I’ll create somethin’ that’ll blow him away, anyway. With that, he slid his backpack off of his back, kicked off his shoes, and grabbed his keyboard as he sat down in front of his computer. This is to be the greatest story ever.
The screen saver died and the monitor came to life as he slightly moved his mouse. Microsoft Word sprang up at his command, bringing with it an electronic blank page. Chris placed his hands on the correct keys, ready to blaze through his assignment. This’ll be done in no time. :bou::bou::bou::bou: yeah. Everything he needed for his greatest story yet was in place.
He sat momentarily, staring at his blank page. His fingers lightly tapped the home keys, but did not type anything. The cursor blinked at him, on and off, on and off, beckoning him to write. “Write something. Write anything, guy!” He stared at the blank page long enough to slightly blur his vision, and when that happened he looked down at his keyboard, as if waiting for words to magically form themselves. It didn’t work; the only words Chris coaxed out of his keyboard were “qwertyuiop,” “asdfghjkl” and “zxcvbnm.” Realizing his current efforts were fruitless, he got up from his chair and walked away from the computer to pace the room.
“Damn, this sucks,” he muttered. Normally, most of his stories came from what he called “divine inspiration.” They had all been decent products, but none of them had really been true labors of love. This story, Chris had concluded about two days prior, was going to be the end-all-be-all. It was going to be something that everyone in the class absolutely adored and his teacher would use as an example of greatness for years to come.
“That’s pretty lofty there, Chris,” his roommate Glenn had said at the mention of these expectations, “That’s very, very bold of you. Any ideas of what this ‘end-all-be-all’ story will be?” He had made the quotation gesture with his hands as he quoted Chris, and Chris had promptly given him the finger as part of his response to the sarcasm.
“Watch the sarcasm, :skull::skull::skull::skull:er. I can definitely dish it better than I can take it.”
“Well, yeah, everyone already knows that. But, you didn’t answer my question.”
“If you have to know . . . no, I haven’t had any really great ideas yet. It’s not due until Friday, so I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
“You always do. You’ll have to let me know what you come up with, I’d like to read it.” That was the end of that, and he and Glenn had promptly shifted the focus of their conversation to something completely different. The specter of his friend’s comment had loomed over him since then: You always do. So far, he hadn’t. With less than 24 hours to complete a story, this was a big problem.
There were plenty of things strewn about the dorm room, and chances were that something would stir some thought in Chris’s mind. It’s a matter of statistics. I’m bound to come across something that’ll provide material, right? The room wasn’t big, and there wasn’t much pacing for Chris to do. On Glenn’s side of the room – the front half – Chris saw a chaotic mess, which mostly consisted of performance music paraphernalia and clothes. There’s never any method to his madness, he thought, Poor sap always means to clean and never—
“There we go! Cleanliness could work. God knows I was never clean as a kid,” he said to himself. His teacher always said to write about what you know, and he certainly knew a lot about being dirty. Almost instantly, several plotlines came into mind, and Chris walked back to his computer and sat down. The blank page was still there, and the cursor was blinking away as patiently as ever. Without hesitation, Chris began to type, “Chris Lawden, English 207 . . .” He typed about four lines of narration and stopped to look at it:
“My room used to be dirty when I was a kid, I won’t deny that. So what? Every kid’s room was dirty when they were young. Most parents would usually let it slide until they figured their child was old enough to pick up after his or herself. Unfortunately, my own folks were not your generally benevolent parents. They made their point on cleanliness very early in my life . . .”
As he read, his face acquired a pained expression. “Dear Lord, this bites,” Chris groaned, his burden instantaneously becoming a little harder to bear. He threw his hands at the computer and loudly said, “What the hell am I going to do?” The numerous inanimate objects in the room stayed silent. His breath let out a forceful, discontent sigh as he deleted the text he had written. It was a crappy idea to begin with, he thought, but it doesn’t look like I have much else.
The vast area of blank space on his monitor screen began to annoy Chris, so he threw his head back and glared at the white ceiling before closing his eyes. “Don’t let this get to you, Chris,” he whispered to himself, “You’ll come up with something. You’ll come up with something. You’ll come up with something . . .” The barely audible words turned into a silent mantra as Chris moved his lips slightly and worked to calm down. Without thinking, his thoughts turned to his girlfriend Ann, a person to whom he had written numerous “beautiful poems,” but also a person whom he had not yet included as the basis for any character in a story.
He opened his eyes to see the ceiling, and once again spoke to himself, “Why didn’t I think of that before?” Ann had always told Chris how happy she would be if he could work a character like her into one of his stories. He had always intended to do just that, but had never had a perfect opportunity until now. “Geez, Kapler said the only requirement was that the story had to be 10 pages. This is perfect!” Heaven knew he could create a literary vision of beauty to stand next to Aphrodite and Juliet; he was always telling her just how beautiful he knew she was in his eyes, which was “more than she would ever know.” Ann graced a few dozen pictures in an album he always kept with him, and he also had her figure etched permanently into his mind’s eye. Chris made a mental note to think of ways to describe his new character as a textural tribute to his lady, and set ahead to construct the basis of a plot line to set it in.
He began to type without a clear sentence structure about the possibilities he might use: “Guy sees a girl in a coffee shop. . . she’s the most beautiful damn girl he’s ever seen. . .explore his thoughts as the main focus? Make flashbacks, perhaps his heart was broken before and created mistrust or he’s just plain shy. . . details: She has glasses, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, winning smile, etc. etc. . .” Chris’s chain of thought continued for about 20 minutes as he typed everything that came to mind. When he was finished, he looked his thoughts over and saw just how incoherent they really were. “Hmm. This is interesting,” he spoke to himself, realizing that the daunting task of making sense of a page and a half of ramblings was not going to be easy. “Alright, let’s get to gettin’.”
Another 20 minutes passed as he read. Chris checked his digital clock, which read “3:44.” He had been home for a little over an hour, and had accomplished nothing, and that thought frustrated him. Working with a sense of urgency for the first time, he began to bang out a rough outline for his story. As he typed, everything became perfect again, until—
“I alone love you, I alone tempt you, I alone love you, yea-he-eah!” The neighbors on the other side of his bedroom wall began to blast Live loud enough to hear through the walls. The bass through their subwoofer was turned up enough to make the walls shake, along with his computer desk. The change bowl on Glenn’s desk rattled, and Chris seethed. This certainly wasn’t the first time that the endearingly-named “idiot neighbors” had jammed their tunes at obscene volume levels; they were known to cause disturbances as late as three in the morning on school nights, much to Chris and Glenn’s dismay. Glenn was the one who resolved most of the situations between the two of them and their pot-smoking, Jack Daniels-drinking nemeses, because Chris would have simply gone and knocked some heads together. Without Glenn’s presence, Chris would have to do his best to remain civilized and handle the situation himself. He got up out of his chair as his desk continued to rumble, and grabbed his keys as he slipped on his flip-flop sandals and walked out into the hall. Twelve feet later, he was at his neighbor’s door, knocking on it.
A few seconds passed, and there was no response. :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing loud music, Chris thought. He gave another try, this time pounding on the door with the bottom of a clenched fist. This elicited a response, as Chris was able to hear the music turn down. The door slowly opened, and a grungy face peered around to look at Chris in the hall.
“Ah, uh, yeah? What’s up?” the neighbor grinned lazily as he finished his question. Chris guessed he was high, drunk or both. None of the possibilities would have surprised him.
“Your music is way too loud, man,” Chris replied, “I’m trying to write a paper right now and—”
The guy let out a lazy chuckle to acknowledge Chris’s problem. “Aw, a paper? Oh, dude, I’m sorry, man. Yeah, I’ll keep it down.” Chris had enough time to let out a thanks before the neighbor closed the door.
“Jesus Christ, guy. . .” Chris muttered, walking back to his doorway and letting himself into the room again. His own room was silent, and as he sat back down he was able to regain his concentration. Once his outline was finished, he looked at the clock again: “3:59.” The time didn’t bother him as much as before, because his constant typing had provided a sense of peace.
Then, the doorknob began to make noise as a key was inserted and turned. The door flew open. Glenn was back.
“Yo!” Glenn said as he shrugged his backpack off like a mountain shakes loose boulders. After placing the backpack on the ground, Glenn’s spirits seemed to lift, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. He walked over to the sink near Chris’s bed and nodded as he began to fill a plastic cup with tap water. “What’s up?”
“Ehhhhhhhhh.” Chris replied. Glenn had been trained to expect this response when Chris was under stress, “It’s been kind of nightmarish, you know? I’ve been trying to work on a story for tomorrow . . .”
Glenn took a sip of water and looked over at Chris, “Ah, yes. Your end-all-be-all, I remember. How’s it coming along?” Chris rolled his eyes in response, “Oooh, that bad, huh?”
“You have no idea. Then again, for a while, neither did I. Then, when I did come up with an idea, it took me forever to do so. And when I started to expound on my idea, the neighbors started up with the loud music and . . . I’m rambling because I’m :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing flustered. I have next to nothing done, and I have to have 10 pages by tomorrow. Life isn’t exactly peachy here. What about you?”
Glenn seemed to perk up at Chris’s question. “Great. I had a great practice, I haven’t had any conflict or paranoia among music people today, and . . .” He paused, which elicited a raised eyebrow from Chris. That persuaded Glenn to continue, “I’m going over to have dinner at Belinda’s and Terri’s place tonight.” Glenn beamed with pride as Chris looked back at his computer screen to continue working, dismissing it and filing it under “ooh-that’s-nice” in his mind. Glenn had more, though, “They asked me to see if you wanted to come over, too.”
Chris paused his typing and looked back at Glenn, who had clearly pasted an exaggerated smile on his face. This was the face Chris came to translate as an equally exaggerated “Please?” Chris summoned another raised eyebrow in question, “Did they tell you to ask me, or did they tell you to tell me to come whether I like it or not?”
Glenn took a last sip of water and poured the rest down the sink. “Okay, they told me to tell you to come. But that’s only because you never do anything!”
“I don’t do anything because I don’t want to. I like being by myself, for the most part, you know? And I don’t even know them, anyway, they’re your friends to begin with, so why do they want me there?”
“That’s because you’re my friend, too. You and those two,” Glenn paused to collect his thoughts, “are two different circles of friends. I want the circles to meet sooner or later, they want to meet you and, you know, legitimately hang out with us.”
“Okay, that’s nice. But, I don’t want to hang out with them.” Glenn frowned at this suggestion and continued to plead his case.
“Come on, Chris! They’re picking up Chinese take-out. Imagine having something other than canned goods or junk food or sandwiches. Reeeeeal fooooood. . .” He held out the last phrase in coaxing, as a parent would entice a toddler into obeying. Unwilling to try and hold out any longer, Chris caved in.
“Alright, alright. I guess I’ll go with you. You have to promise that I get back at a decent hour, because I have to finish this freakin’ beast,” Chris gestured toward his computer, presenting the fact that he had only about one half of a page, and that he still had a long way to go. “I told Ann I’d try to talk to her later this evening, too, because she’s had a lot of work to do today, too. We haven’t had a chance to talk since Tuesday. So I have two priorities that need to be taken care of, okay?”
Glenn agreed, “Cool. I’ve got a couple of things that I need to run back to campus for, so I’ll be back in a while. I can come back and pick you up, or you can meet us over there . . .?”
Chris thought about this. It’s only ten minutes across campus. I could use the exercise, anyway. . . “I’ll meet you over there. I could use the exercise.”
That comment made Glenn laugh, “A’ight. Well, I’ve got to get going for now, but I’ll see you over there around 5:30 or so. That’s what Terri said.” As he made his way back out the door, Chris lifted an upwards-pointed thumb over his computer desk so that Glenn could see his acknowledgment. “Cool. Later.” The door shut behind Glenn, and now Chris was by himself again.
Chris glanced at the clock again. The red numbers glowed to indicate it was now after four o’clock. He thought to himself, Can I really afford to be wasting time? He didn’t want to let Glenn down, though, because Glenn had been urging him for quite a while to come over and have dinner with the three of them. “Some damn fine pasta, I’m tellin’ you,” Glenn would always say. Well, I’ll have to eat dinner sooner or later. With that sense of closure, Chris refocused on his paper.
In the next hour, Chris worked non-stop. The length of his story grew from less than a page up to a respectable four-and-a-half pages. The story was taking form just as he had hoped: A man sees a girl in a coffee shop, and he wants to get to know her better. There wasn’t much dialogue, with the exception of what Chris had in mind for the end of the story. Most of the prose focused on what is going on in the man’s mind and the surroundings of the café, up to the point where he determines to talk to this girl.
As for Chris’s mind, it was firing on all cylinders up until five o’clock, which was when he had determined to take the trek across campus and arrive a little early. His wrist-watch beeped him, telling him to let the story go for now. He silenced the watch and saved his work, then got up to put his shoes on and grabbed a windbreaker. Once prepared, he shoved his keys in his pocket, turned on his cell phone and clipped it to his side and walked out the door.
* * *
“. . . So then I told him, ‘Dude, you need to shut up!’”
The four sat around a simple wooden table, while Belinda was talking up a storm with Glenn and Terri. Chris, for the most part, sat quietly and observed the banter. At hearing of Chris’s visit, Belinda had dropped her original plan of buying Chinese food and had made some of her “damn fine” pasta, instead. The plate she had served Chris was now barren, with only a bit of spaghetti sauce and a couple of noodles to serve as evidence that there had been anything there at all. C
Chris glanced around at all of the other plates, and noticed his was the only one that was clear of food. The other three had been conversing so much that they had eaten much slower than he had, as evidenced by the healthy portions of cooling pasta left on their plates. It seemed clear to him that their conversation wasn’t going to let up soon, so he decided to chime in. He didn’t want to leave so suddenly, but he had no other choice.
As Terri was talking about something pertaining to their music classes, Chris said, “Ah, if you don’t mind, I’ve really got stuff I should be doing—”
Almost immediately, Terri turned to him and responded, “Oh, Chris! You can’t stay a while? We’re having a lot of fun!”
Chris thought about commenting on the irony of that statement, since he wasn’t personally having any fun whatsoever. Glenn didn’t give him a chance, though, since he spoke up, “Yeah, man! The story can wait, can’t it?”
Then, Belinda said, “A story? Oooh, what’s it about? Tell us!”
Chris looked at the wall clock: 6:41. I can’t afford to stay any longer. Must employ escape plan. He had no idea how his excuse might come across, but he had no other choice. Chris responded, “Well, I don’t know. I’m not even half done yet. I guess you’ll never know unless I go and finish it,” He looked at Glenn when he finished this statement, who promptly responded with a smarmy “whatever, dude” smile. “Honestly, I still have a lot of work to do on it, and I really don’t want to be up until past midnight working on it.”
The plan worked to perfection. Terri, clearly disappointed at Chris’s imminent departure, offered to help him out the door. As he walked out the door back toward home, Terri yelled after him, “I want to see the story when it’s done!” Chris simply waved back in acknowledgment, realizing he didn’t have any more time to waste.
He walked across the campus at a quickened pace, and soon his legs were beginning to feel strained. That wasn’t important to him, though, as he pushed onwards at the fastest pace short of running. It was already night time, and the orange glow of light posts and the white light of the moon to the west provided the only light. No one else seemed to be around, which only served to unnerve him and made him wish to get home faster. As he closed in, his building became visible through the trees, and so he slowed down his pace a bit.
He checked his watch once again by activating the Indiglo: 6:57. I have to call Ann at 8:00, she should be home by then, he made a mental note. He didn’t get to see Ann a lot, since she went to school down in Los Angeles while he was here in the Bay Area, and so he treasured their conversations. There was no telling how long he’d be on the phone with her, but that was one of the important things he looked forward to everyday, so he didn’t mind. The story would get done at all costs, even if I have to pull an all-nighter, he thought. He finished these thoughts as he walked into his building toward his room.
About ten feet from his door, Chris heard the faint sound of his cell phone’s ring. It always annoyed him that his phone was so quiet, because he missed a lot of calls from that problem. He got lucky, and caught the call while it was still ringing.
“Hello?” Chris reached into his pocket and grabbed his keys to enter the room.
“Hey Chris, it’s Glenn. I need you to do me a favor.”
Chris rolled his eyes as he opened the door, “That depends on what it is.”
“I need you to call a store for me. Bailey’s Music in Walnut Creek. I need to see if they have a kind of reed that Belinda needs.”
Chris’s face scrunched at this suggestion. He kicked off his shoes and took off his windbreaker before he sat down on his bed. “She can’t do it herself?”
“Well, her phone is dead right now. It’s charging. Besides, dude, it’d only take about two or three minutes to find out.”
“Glenn, that’s beside the point. That’s two or three minutes I could be working. God knows I can’t type and talk on the phone at the same time.”
Glenn’s voice seemed to tense up a bit, “Chris, come on. I know how important the story is an—”
“No, Glenn, obviously you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me to do silly favors. I’m not going to do it.”
“Well, you know, if you had started on the story sooner, you mi—” Glenn was beginning to articulate his words very clearly, which was a sign to Chris that he was getting upset. But at the thought of a lecture, Chris had hung up, and he could only imagine how livid Glenn would be when he came home later. Reeds aren’t my damn problem, the story is. With that, Chris sat down in front of the computer and recalled the file. Besides a couple of juveniles in the hallway and the steady sounds of typing, everything was quiet. His work was beginning to take shape:
“After eight months of memories he had shared with her, she who he considered his first true love, she confessed that didn’t love him. After countless pleasant dinners, nights out on the town, and mornings awakening together in bed, she still did not love him. Those words echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but mull that moment over again and again as he silently observed this new woman’s actions. She was now reading a copy of the day’s Chronicle as she sipped her coffee, and soon he began to imagine the endless possibilities of happiness. All he had to do was take a chance. . .”
Chris paused after a while and read all that he had just written. Every time he tapped the page down key, he read more and more of what he considered his best work yet. By all accounts, he loved what he had transcribed, and couldn’t wait to see the end. Then, the phone rang and he jumped. It was proof of just how enveloped he was in his effort, because he had lost track of time: 8:18. “:bou::bou::bou::bou:,” he whispered to himself. He had forgotten to call Ann like he had planned to, and there was no doubt that it was she who was calling now. Better late than never, I suppose, he thought. He picked up the phone, “Hello?”
An all-too-familiar feminine voice responded, “Hey, sweetie!” It was Ann, and Chris couldn’t have been happier if he had tried. “You know . . . you were a little late in calling,” she laughed as she said this, obviously trying to put up a mockingly annoyed front. It didn’t work.
“Hey, hon! I’m really sorry about that, I’ve been really busy. You remember that story I told you about, right?”
“Oh, there’s no reason to be sorry! We’re still talkin’ anyway, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, that’s true. How was your day?” Chris closed his eyes and relaxed, letting the conversation take over. Talking to her was like clockwork and, like usual, there was never a silent moment between the two of them. I can hold off on the story for a little while, Chris thought. As they talked, all of Chris’s worries melted away, and there wasn’t a thing in the world he cared about more than his lady.
* * *
“No way, sweetie. It’s all about Wendy’s!”
“Ehh, well, I’m still not so sure about that. When I think ‘best burger ever,’ I think of Jack In The Box. Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger. Say no more. I win.”
“Ha! Jack In The Box is not the best burger ever.”
“You just wait. Next time I go down there and see you, I’ll prove to you once and for all that Jack In The Box rules all.”
“Hm! If you say so. . .”
“I do say so.”
“Alright then. . . Oh, geez, it’s getting late already! I must have lost track of time, it’s already past ten o’clock.”
Chris opened his eyes in surprise. Without thinking, his attention turned to his clock: 10:24. “Oh, damn! I wasn’t paying attention, either. I’ve still got a lot of work to do on the story, too.”
Ann reacted with a bit of hew own surprise, “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you for so long! I forgot you still needed to finish that! I have class at nine in the morning tomorrow. . .”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, love. You need your sleep. I’ll get to my own, eventually.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Well, it’s on me for putting it off for this long already,” Chris chuckled as he said this, knowing that he would likely be going to be early tomorrow night to catch up on the sleep he would be missing tonight. “You don’t worry about a thing, babe. I’ll get it done. And, I’ll also find a bit of time to talk to you tomorrow!”
Ann’s voice picked up at that suggestion, “Great! That definitely sounds good to me. I hope you have sweet dreams. I love you!”
Chris smiled. He couldn’t get enough compliments from her, “I will! I love you, too, hon. G’night!”
“Mmmmmuah!” Ann made a “kissy” sound, “Good night!” With that, he hung up the phone, a little sadder now that his lady was going to sleep. It didn’t take long to pick himself up again, because he still had a story to finish.
In the time between arriving at home and talking on the phone, the size of the story had swelled from just under five pages to upwards of eight pages. The end was near, and it was a welcome sight. As Chris typed the last two pages, he began to tie up all of the loose ends that his story had left dangling. Remembering everything that Kapler had taught him, Chris pounded away at the keyboard, and the story slowly became more and more refined. “I might just be able to get to sleep before midnight,” he said to himself, “And nothing says I can’t get up early and work on it.” He typed and silently hoped that the situation wouldn’t come to that, the story had to be done tonight. However, with all of the things that had happened so far in the day, Chris couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some sort of ill omen in the air. Thursdays are never this crappy, he thought, something truly has to give.
After a while, the idiot neighbors began to blast their music through the walls once more. It was after quiet hours, but Chris didn’t want to deal with it. He was close enough to the finish line where the noise didn’t matter. The constant typing continued, giving no quarter to any distractions in the area. Eight pages became nine, then ten, and then eleven. The story was magic in front of his eyes, and Chris couldn’t wait to share it with everyone else in the class. He didn’t bother to save his work as he began the last page of text. I’ll be done soon, he thought, I should be alright. Soon after, he heard the familiar movement of the doorknob and the consequent groaning of the door as it opened. Glenn was home and, unlike usual, did not say anything as he walked into the room. Chris guessed that Glenn was still mad about the fact that he was hung up on, and his guess was validated.
“You know, I don’t like being hung up on.”
“Well, you know, I don’t appreciate being lectured by my :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing roommate.”
“I wasn’t trying to lecture to you, I was jus—”
“No. Glenn, you were preaching to me. That just bugs me.”
“I’m sorry if I came across that way, but I was trying to prove my point.”
“Whatever. It’s not like it would have made a difference either way. I wasn’t going to make that phone call for you no matter what you said.”
It was clear that comment hit Glenn hard, as he visibly winced. Instead of firing back, Chris watched Glenn walk over to behind his desk. He was out of sight, so Chris couldn’t tell what he was doing. Suddenly, there was a click; the story faded to black on the monitor and the computer gave a squeal as it slowed down. Glenn had shut off the surge protector, and everything plugged into it had died, including Chris’s computer.
Chris, stunned at this development, became very temperamental, “You :skull::skull::skull::skull:er! What the :bou::bou::bou::bou: was that for?” Glenn didn’t say anything, and instead looked briefly at Chris as he grabbed a couple of books and headed for the door. “You’d better :skull::skull::skull::skull:in’ say something! I had a :bou::bou::bou::bou:load of work unsaved, so you’d better pray the system salvages it.” Glenn maintained his silence and continued out into the hallway. “Alright, then, I see how it is. You’d better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Glenn simply closed the door politely, which enraged Chris. “Oh, that just—” Having been pushed too far, he got up out of his chair and stormed out of the room after Glenn.
A couple of people in the hallway did their best to stay out of Chris’s way because he certainly looked like a crazed person. His expression of anger was made of steel and didn’t change except to shift his eyes and acknowledge people as he walked by. As he threw the entrance door to the building open, he saw Glenn a good distance ahead of him. Glenn walked and greeted people outside as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “So, he wants to play the innocent,” Chris muttered to himself, and then yelled “HEY, ADOLF STALIN, GET BACK HERE.”
Glenn responded, but he only turned his head. He pointed at himself, as if to suggest “who, me?” Chris took his opportunity to speak again and pointed straight at Glenn, “Yes, you, the dip:bou::bou::bou::bou: who is currently pointing at himself. Get back here.” A couple of people sitting a small distance away snickered among themselves, which pleased Chris and made Glenn acquire his own angry expression. Grudgingly, Glenn walked back as Chris walked forward a few more steps. The two stood a foot from each other and simply glared at one another for a minute. Chris tilted his head slightly, in deep thought, and then closed his eyes before he blurted out, “Alright, who the :bou::bou::bou::bou: do you think you are?”
“I asked you for a small favor, Chris. A SMALL favor. You somehow turned that into, ‘Oh, sorry, that’s two or three minutes I could be working.’” Glenn talked in a mocking manner, and Chris remembered that was a comment he had made over the phone.
“There are other solutions, you know. Or, did you somehow lose your intelligence by socializing as much as you do?” Glenn began to speak again, but Chris cut him off, “You know, Glenn? She couldn’t plug her phone into a charger or something? She couldn’t borrow Terri’s phone? I’m not even gonna mention your phone because it’s so :bou::bou::bou::bou:ty. . .”
“Shut up, Chris! Shut up!”
Chris smiled slightly, “You guys didn’t even think of that, did you? Just as I thought. . .”
Glenn fired back, “You deserved what you got. I don’t run around hanging up on people—”
Chris snorted and then laughed, “Jesus, Glenn! What did I do, honestly? I didn’t make a phone call for you. So what? I hung up on you. I was justified in hanging up because you were bitching at me. Besides that, I don’t see anything. I haven’t even seen you for the better part of the day, and now you get pissed off because of one or two small things. Tsk tsk. . .” Glenn stayed silent, looking like he was trying to find the ultimate comeback and failing. Chris continued, sticking his finger in Glenn’s face and inviting Glenn to challenge him as he hissed, “You’d better pray to heaven that my paper is still there. If it isn’t, rest assured I will strike back. I know of a thousand ways I can hurt you, and you know it, too.” With that, Chris turned and walked away back to the room. He didn’t look back to see Glenn standing much less confident than he was before.
When Chris re-entered the building, a few people stared at him. Obviously, they had seen what had just gone on, but he paid no attention to them and focused on getting back to the room. He stepped back into the room and it was the same as he had left it, minus one antagonizing roommate. He slowly made his way back to his chair and reached down to restart his computer. It told him that it wasn’t shut down properly, but Chris didn’t care. When it was fully running, it made a small statement, saying it had recovered most of the story, but that was only eight pages. This wasn’t the greatest news in the world, and Chris grimaced as he realized he’d be retyping a few pages. He brought the document back up and began to recall what he had written:
“He realized he had been sitting and thinking about her for well over 20 minutes. This couldn’t be any simple attraction, he thought, there must really be something there for me. If I don’t take a chance now. . . “I might never see her again,” he whispered to himself. It was becoming obvious that he had nothing to lose in asking for her company. After a bit of nervous hesitation, he made his way over to her table. . .
‘Um, hello.’ He said shyly. She looked up at him, noticing through his posture that he was nervous. She smiled and slightly blushed. ‘I’ve, uh, I mean. . . I just noticed you from across the café,’ he pointed over to his table, his coffee and jacket still in place. ‘I just saw how, uh, nice you looked and such. . .’
‘Really?’ she replied, clearly surprised. ‘I had noticed you, too. You certainly did look deep in thought. Was that because of me?’
‘Well, yeah. But, um, nothing bad, of course.’
She smiled, ‘You did all that thinking because of me? I’m flattered!’ He sheepishly smiled as she continued, ‘Well, what were you thinking about?’
He thought for a moment, then responded, ‘Perhaps, I could move my stuff over here, and then tell you?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said. He walked back to his original table and picked up his things. I was right, he thought. He walked back over to the lady’s table, aware that he was leaving more than just his old seat behind.”
Chris clapped his hands. “And that is a wrap!” he said to himself. It was after 11:30, and he felt the weight of drowsiness fall onto his shoulders as he sat back and relaxed. Remembering Glenn, he saved his work three times. He was done, and he would take it to class tomorrow. With a sense of finality, he turned off the music, and changed into clothes to go to sleep. After checking over the last half-page one last time, he closed the program window and turned off the monitor. Fully prepared to rest, he got up, turned off the lone shining light, and crawled into bed.
* * *
As Chris walked into his creative writing class, he felt an overwhelming sense of nervousness. Is Kapler really going to like my story? He thought. It didn’t make any difference now, because there was no time left to make any changes. Sure enough, Kapler asked him for the assignment at the door. With great hesitation, Chris handed him the story. The professor skimmed it over, noticing its size.
“Wow. 12 pages, Chris? That’s quite a bit of writing,” Kapler remarked.
“Yeah, I was up for a long time last night finishing it up.”
“Well, I’m sure the product will be well worth the effort. I’m sure it’s an example of greatness!”
“Here’s hoping you think so, Mr. Kapler,” Chris replied, crossing his fingers. Kapler’s comment emboldened him, and the apprehension vanished. As he took his seat, he replayed the compliment over and over in his head. An example of greatness. I like the sound of that. Finally content, he focused on the beginning of Kapler’s lecture, leaving the worries of grading for another time.
Oh yes, and I would like to warn, once again, against a bit of swearing through the story. Otherwise, it should be okay.
________________________________________ __
Chris turned the key, opened the door, and entered his dorm room triumphantly. He felt good, and imagined that there might be 10,000 strangers waiting to stand up and applaud his bold homecoming. Realistically, he didn’t expect anyone to be in the room, and he was right. Everything was just the way he had left it before leaving for class, right down to the open bag of Oreos on his mini-fridge and the overflowing pile of old newspapers sprouting out from one of the wastebaskets. The only thing that was different was the room’s lighting, but that was only because it wasn’t eight in the morning anymore. Despite the lack of real thunderous clapping at his arrival, he still bounded towards the back of the room – his side – riding his current emotional high.
It was only Thursday afternoon, a little bit past 2:30, and Chris still had an entire day of class to look forward to tomorrow. In his mind, though, there was really only one thing standing between him and the paradise that is the weekend. He had planned all day on polishing off the one thing that needed to be done for Friday, simply because he had been too lazy recently to really put forth a load of effort until now. That wasn’t normally his style of work, but he didn’t think his teacher would mind, as long as he got everything done. It was their job to grade him on his effort, wasn’t it? If his effort wasn’t the greatest, then he wouldn’t get the greatest grade. Whoop-de-freaking-doo, he thought, I’ll create somethin’ that’ll blow him away, anyway. With that, he slid his backpack off of his back, kicked off his shoes, and grabbed his keyboard as he sat down in front of his computer. This is to be the greatest story ever.
The screen saver died and the monitor came to life as he slightly moved his mouse. Microsoft Word sprang up at his command, bringing with it an electronic blank page. Chris placed his hands on the correct keys, ready to blaze through his assignment. This’ll be done in no time. :bou::bou::bou::bou: yeah. Everything he needed for his greatest story yet was in place.
He sat momentarily, staring at his blank page. His fingers lightly tapped the home keys, but did not type anything. The cursor blinked at him, on and off, on and off, beckoning him to write. “Write something. Write anything, guy!” He stared at the blank page long enough to slightly blur his vision, and when that happened he looked down at his keyboard, as if waiting for words to magically form themselves. It didn’t work; the only words Chris coaxed out of his keyboard were “qwertyuiop,” “asdfghjkl” and “zxcvbnm.” Realizing his current efforts were fruitless, he got up from his chair and walked away from the computer to pace the room.
“Damn, this sucks,” he muttered. Normally, most of his stories came from what he called “divine inspiration.” They had all been decent products, but none of them had really been true labors of love. This story, Chris had concluded about two days prior, was going to be the end-all-be-all. It was going to be something that everyone in the class absolutely adored and his teacher would use as an example of greatness for years to come.
“That’s pretty lofty there, Chris,” his roommate Glenn had said at the mention of these expectations, “That’s very, very bold of you. Any ideas of what this ‘end-all-be-all’ story will be?” He had made the quotation gesture with his hands as he quoted Chris, and Chris had promptly given him the finger as part of his response to the sarcasm.
“Watch the sarcasm, :skull::skull::skull::skull:er. I can definitely dish it better than I can take it.”
“Well, yeah, everyone already knows that. But, you didn’t answer my question.”
“If you have to know . . . no, I haven’t had any really great ideas yet. It’s not due until Friday, so I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
“You always do. You’ll have to let me know what you come up with, I’d like to read it.” That was the end of that, and he and Glenn had promptly shifted the focus of their conversation to something completely different. The specter of his friend’s comment had loomed over him since then: You always do. So far, he hadn’t. With less than 24 hours to complete a story, this was a big problem.
There were plenty of things strewn about the dorm room, and chances were that something would stir some thought in Chris’s mind. It’s a matter of statistics. I’m bound to come across something that’ll provide material, right? The room wasn’t big, and there wasn’t much pacing for Chris to do. On Glenn’s side of the room – the front half – Chris saw a chaotic mess, which mostly consisted of performance music paraphernalia and clothes. There’s never any method to his madness, he thought, Poor sap always means to clean and never—
“There we go! Cleanliness could work. God knows I was never clean as a kid,” he said to himself. His teacher always said to write about what you know, and he certainly knew a lot about being dirty. Almost instantly, several plotlines came into mind, and Chris walked back to his computer and sat down. The blank page was still there, and the cursor was blinking away as patiently as ever. Without hesitation, Chris began to type, “Chris Lawden, English 207 . . .” He typed about four lines of narration and stopped to look at it:
“My room used to be dirty when I was a kid, I won’t deny that. So what? Every kid’s room was dirty when they were young. Most parents would usually let it slide until they figured their child was old enough to pick up after his or herself. Unfortunately, my own folks were not your generally benevolent parents. They made their point on cleanliness very early in my life . . .”
As he read, his face acquired a pained expression. “Dear Lord, this bites,” Chris groaned, his burden instantaneously becoming a little harder to bear. He threw his hands at the computer and loudly said, “What the hell am I going to do?” The numerous inanimate objects in the room stayed silent. His breath let out a forceful, discontent sigh as he deleted the text he had written. It was a crappy idea to begin with, he thought, but it doesn’t look like I have much else.
The vast area of blank space on his monitor screen began to annoy Chris, so he threw his head back and glared at the white ceiling before closing his eyes. “Don’t let this get to you, Chris,” he whispered to himself, “You’ll come up with something. You’ll come up with something. You’ll come up with something . . .” The barely audible words turned into a silent mantra as Chris moved his lips slightly and worked to calm down. Without thinking, his thoughts turned to his girlfriend Ann, a person to whom he had written numerous “beautiful poems,” but also a person whom he had not yet included as the basis for any character in a story.
He opened his eyes to see the ceiling, and once again spoke to himself, “Why didn’t I think of that before?” Ann had always told Chris how happy she would be if he could work a character like her into one of his stories. He had always intended to do just that, but had never had a perfect opportunity until now. “Geez, Kapler said the only requirement was that the story had to be 10 pages. This is perfect!” Heaven knew he could create a literary vision of beauty to stand next to Aphrodite and Juliet; he was always telling her just how beautiful he knew she was in his eyes, which was “more than she would ever know.” Ann graced a few dozen pictures in an album he always kept with him, and he also had her figure etched permanently into his mind’s eye. Chris made a mental note to think of ways to describe his new character as a textural tribute to his lady, and set ahead to construct the basis of a plot line to set it in.
He began to type without a clear sentence structure about the possibilities he might use: “Guy sees a girl in a coffee shop. . . she’s the most beautiful damn girl he’s ever seen. . .explore his thoughts as the main focus? Make flashbacks, perhaps his heart was broken before and created mistrust or he’s just plain shy. . . details: She has glasses, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, winning smile, etc. etc. . .” Chris’s chain of thought continued for about 20 minutes as he typed everything that came to mind. When he was finished, he looked his thoughts over and saw just how incoherent they really were. “Hmm. This is interesting,” he spoke to himself, realizing that the daunting task of making sense of a page and a half of ramblings was not going to be easy. “Alright, let’s get to gettin’.”
Another 20 minutes passed as he read. Chris checked his digital clock, which read “3:44.” He had been home for a little over an hour, and had accomplished nothing, and that thought frustrated him. Working with a sense of urgency for the first time, he began to bang out a rough outline for his story. As he typed, everything became perfect again, until—
“I alone love you, I alone tempt you, I alone love you, yea-he-eah!” The neighbors on the other side of his bedroom wall began to blast Live loud enough to hear through the walls. The bass through their subwoofer was turned up enough to make the walls shake, along with his computer desk. The change bowl on Glenn’s desk rattled, and Chris seethed. This certainly wasn’t the first time that the endearingly-named “idiot neighbors” had jammed their tunes at obscene volume levels; they were known to cause disturbances as late as three in the morning on school nights, much to Chris and Glenn’s dismay. Glenn was the one who resolved most of the situations between the two of them and their pot-smoking, Jack Daniels-drinking nemeses, because Chris would have simply gone and knocked some heads together. Without Glenn’s presence, Chris would have to do his best to remain civilized and handle the situation himself. He got up out of his chair as his desk continued to rumble, and grabbed his keys as he slipped on his flip-flop sandals and walked out into the hall. Twelve feet later, he was at his neighbor’s door, knocking on it.
A few seconds passed, and there was no response. :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing loud music, Chris thought. He gave another try, this time pounding on the door with the bottom of a clenched fist. This elicited a response, as Chris was able to hear the music turn down. The door slowly opened, and a grungy face peered around to look at Chris in the hall.
“Ah, uh, yeah? What’s up?” the neighbor grinned lazily as he finished his question. Chris guessed he was high, drunk or both. None of the possibilities would have surprised him.
“Your music is way too loud, man,” Chris replied, “I’m trying to write a paper right now and—”
The guy let out a lazy chuckle to acknowledge Chris’s problem. “Aw, a paper? Oh, dude, I’m sorry, man. Yeah, I’ll keep it down.” Chris had enough time to let out a thanks before the neighbor closed the door.
“Jesus Christ, guy. . .” Chris muttered, walking back to his doorway and letting himself into the room again. His own room was silent, and as he sat back down he was able to regain his concentration. Once his outline was finished, he looked at the clock again: “3:59.” The time didn’t bother him as much as before, because his constant typing had provided a sense of peace.
Then, the doorknob began to make noise as a key was inserted and turned. The door flew open. Glenn was back.
“Yo!” Glenn said as he shrugged his backpack off like a mountain shakes loose boulders. After placing the backpack on the ground, Glenn’s spirits seemed to lift, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. He walked over to the sink near Chris’s bed and nodded as he began to fill a plastic cup with tap water. “What’s up?”
“Ehhhhhhhhh.” Chris replied. Glenn had been trained to expect this response when Chris was under stress, “It’s been kind of nightmarish, you know? I’ve been trying to work on a story for tomorrow . . .”
Glenn took a sip of water and looked over at Chris, “Ah, yes. Your end-all-be-all, I remember. How’s it coming along?” Chris rolled his eyes in response, “Oooh, that bad, huh?”
“You have no idea. Then again, for a while, neither did I. Then, when I did come up with an idea, it took me forever to do so. And when I started to expound on my idea, the neighbors started up with the loud music and . . . I’m rambling because I’m :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing flustered. I have next to nothing done, and I have to have 10 pages by tomorrow. Life isn’t exactly peachy here. What about you?”
Glenn seemed to perk up at Chris’s question. “Great. I had a great practice, I haven’t had any conflict or paranoia among music people today, and . . .” He paused, which elicited a raised eyebrow from Chris. That persuaded Glenn to continue, “I’m going over to have dinner at Belinda’s and Terri’s place tonight.” Glenn beamed with pride as Chris looked back at his computer screen to continue working, dismissing it and filing it under “ooh-that’s-nice” in his mind. Glenn had more, though, “They asked me to see if you wanted to come over, too.”
Chris paused his typing and looked back at Glenn, who had clearly pasted an exaggerated smile on his face. This was the face Chris came to translate as an equally exaggerated “Please?” Chris summoned another raised eyebrow in question, “Did they tell you to ask me, or did they tell you to tell me to come whether I like it or not?”
Glenn took a last sip of water and poured the rest down the sink. “Okay, they told me to tell you to come. But that’s only because you never do anything!”
“I don’t do anything because I don’t want to. I like being by myself, for the most part, you know? And I don’t even know them, anyway, they’re your friends to begin with, so why do they want me there?”
“That’s because you’re my friend, too. You and those two,” Glenn paused to collect his thoughts, “are two different circles of friends. I want the circles to meet sooner or later, they want to meet you and, you know, legitimately hang out with us.”
“Okay, that’s nice. But, I don’t want to hang out with them.” Glenn frowned at this suggestion and continued to plead his case.
“Come on, Chris! They’re picking up Chinese take-out. Imagine having something other than canned goods or junk food or sandwiches. Reeeeeal fooooood. . .” He held out the last phrase in coaxing, as a parent would entice a toddler into obeying. Unwilling to try and hold out any longer, Chris caved in.
“Alright, alright. I guess I’ll go with you. You have to promise that I get back at a decent hour, because I have to finish this freakin’ beast,” Chris gestured toward his computer, presenting the fact that he had only about one half of a page, and that he still had a long way to go. “I told Ann I’d try to talk to her later this evening, too, because she’s had a lot of work to do today, too. We haven’t had a chance to talk since Tuesday. So I have two priorities that need to be taken care of, okay?”
Glenn agreed, “Cool. I’ve got a couple of things that I need to run back to campus for, so I’ll be back in a while. I can come back and pick you up, or you can meet us over there . . .?”
Chris thought about this. It’s only ten minutes across campus. I could use the exercise, anyway. . . “I’ll meet you over there. I could use the exercise.”
That comment made Glenn laugh, “A’ight. Well, I’ve got to get going for now, but I’ll see you over there around 5:30 or so. That’s what Terri said.” As he made his way back out the door, Chris lifted an upwards-pointed thumb over his computer desk so that Glenn could see his acknowledgment. “Cool. Later.” The door shut behind Glenn, and now Chris was by himself again.
Chris glanced at the clock again. The red numbers glowed to indicate it was now after four o’clock. He thought to himself, Can I really afford to be wasting time? He didn’t want to let Glenn down, though, because Glenn had been urging him for quite a while to come over and have dinner with the three of them. “Some damn fine pasta, I’m tellin’ you,” Glenn would always say. Well, I’ll have to eat dinner sooner or later. With that sense of closure, Chris refocused on his paper.
In the next hour, Chris worked non-stop. The length of his story grew from less than a page up to a respectable four-and-a-half pages. The story was taking form just as he had hoped: A man sees a girl in a coffee shop, and he wants to get to know her better. There wasn’t much dialogue, with the exception of what Chris had in mind for the end of the story. Most of the prose focused on what is going on in the man’s mind and the surroundings of the café, up to the point where he determines to talk to this girl.
As for Chris’s mind, it was firing on all cylinders up until five o’clock, which was when he had determined to take the trek across campus and arrive a little early. His wrist-watch beeped him, telling him to let the story go for now. He silenced the watch and saved his work, then got up to put his shoes on and grabbed a windbreaker. Once prepared, he shoved his keys in his pocket, turned on his cell phone and clipped it to his side and walked out the door.
* * *
“. . . So then I told him, ‘Dude, you need to shut up!’”
The four sat around a simple wooden table, while Belinda was talking up a storm with Glenn and Terri. Chris, for the most part, sat quietly and observed the banter. At hearing of Chris’s visit, Belinda had dropped her original plan of buying Chinese food and had made some of her “damn fine” pasta, instead. The plate she had served Chris was now barren, with only a bit of spaghetti sauce and a couple of noodles to serve as evidence that there had been anything there at all. C
Chris glanced around at all of the other plates, and noticed his was the only one that was clear of food. The other three had been conversing so much that they had eaten much slower than he had, as evidenced by the healthy portions of cooling pasta left on their plates. It seemed clear to him that their conversation wasn’t going to let up soon, so he decided to chime in. He didn’t want to leave so suddenly, but he had no other choice.
As Terri was talking about something pertaining to their music classes, Chris said, “Ah, if you don’t mind, I’ve really got stuff I should be doing—”
Almost immediately, Terri turned to him and responded, “Oh, Chris! You can’t stay a while? We’re having a lot of fun!”
Chris thought about commenting on the irony of that statement, since he wasn’t personally having any fun whatsoever. Glenn didn’t give him a chance, though, since he spoke up, “Yeah, man! The story can wait, can’t it?”
Then, Belinda said, “A story? Oooh, what’s it about? Tell us!”
Chris looked at the wall clock: 6:41. I can’t afford to stay any longer. Must employ escape plan. He had no idea how his excuse might come across, but he had no other choice. Chris responded, “Well, I don’t know. I’m not even half done yet. I guess you’ll never know unless I go and finish it,” He looked at Glenn when he finished this statement, who promptly responded with a smarmy “whatever, dude” smile. “Honestly, I still have a lot of work to do on it, and I really don’t want to be up until past midnight working on it.”
The plan worked to perfection. Terri, clearly disappointed at Chris’s imminent departure, offered to help him out the door. As he walked out the door back toward home, Terri yelled after him, “I want to see the story when it’s done!” Chris simply waved back in acknowledgment, realizing he didn’t have any more time to waste.
He walked across the campus at a quickened pace, and soon his legs were beginning to feel strained. That wasn’t important to him, though, as he pushed onwards at the fastest pace short of running. It was already night time, and the orange glow of light posts and the white light of the moon to the west provided the only light. No one else seemed to be around, which only served to unnerve him and made him wish to get home faster. As he closed in, his building became visible through the trees, and so he slowed down his pace a bit.
He checked his watch once again by activating the Indiglo: 6:57. I have to call Ann at 8:00, she should be home by then, he made a mental note. He didn’t get to see Ann a lot, since she went to school down in Los Angeles while he was here in the Bay Area, and so he treasured their conversations. There was no telling how long he’d be on the phone with her, but that was one of the important things he looked forward to everyday, so he didn’t mind. The story would get done at all costs, even if I have to pull an all-nighter, he thought. He finished these thoughts as he walked into his building toward his room.
About ten feet from his door, Chris heard the faint sound of his cell phone’s ring. It always annoyed him that his phone was so quiet, because he missed a lot of calls from that problem. He got lucky, and caught the call while it was still ringing.
“Hello?” Chris reached into his pocket and grabbed his keys to enter the room.
“Hey Chris, it’s Glenn. I need you to do me a favor.”
Chris rolled his eyes as he opened the door, “That depends on what it is.”
“I need you to call a store for me. Bailey’s Music in Walnut Creek. I need to see if they have a kind of reed that Belinda needs.”
Chris’s face scrunched at this suggestion. He kicked off his shoes and took off his windbreaker before he sat down on his bed. “She can’t do it herself?”
“Well, her phone is dead right now. It’s charging. Besides, dude, it’d only take about two or three minutes to find out.”
“Glenn, that’s beside the point. That’s two or three minutes I could be working. God knows I can’t type and talk on the phone at the same time.”
Glenn’s voice seemed to tense up a bit, “Chris, come on. I know how important the story is an—”
“No, Glenn, obviously you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me to do silly favors. I’m not going to do it.”
“Well, you know, if you had started on the story sooner, you mi—” Glenn was beginning to articulate his words very clearly, which was a sign to Chris that he was getting upset. But at the thought of a lecture, Chris had hung up, and he could only imagine how livid Glenn would be when he came home later. Reeds aren’t my damn problem, the story is. With that, Chris sat down in front of the computer and recalled the file. Besides a couple of juveniles in the hallway and the steady sounds of typing, everything was quiet. His work was beginning to take shape:
“After eight months of memories he had shared with her, she who he considered his first true love, she confessed that didn’t love him. After countless pleasant dinners, nights out on the town, and mornings awakening together in bed, she still did not love him. Those words echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but mull that moment over again and again as he silently observed this new woman’s actions. She was now reading a copy of the day’s Chronicle as she sipped her coffee, and soon he began to imagine the endless possibilities of happiness. All he had to do was take a chance. . .”
Chris paused after a while and read all that he had just written. Every time he tapped the page down key, he read more and more of what he considered his best work yet. By all accounts, he loved what he had transcribed, and couldn’t wait to see the end. Then, the phone rang and he jumped. It was proof of just how enveloped he was in his effort, because he had lost track of time: 8:18. “:bou::bou::bou::bou:,” he whispered to himself. He had forgotten to call Ann like he had planned to, and there was no doubt that it was she who was calling now. Better late than never, I suppose, he thought. He picked up the phone, “Hello?”
An all-too-familiar feminine voice responded, “Hey, sweetie!” It was Ann, and Chris couldn’t have been happier if he had tried. “You know . . . you were a little late in calling,” she laughed as she said this, obviously trying to put up a mockingly annoyed front. It didn’t work.
“Hey, hon! I’m really sorry about that, I’ve been really busy. You remember that story I told you about, right?”
“Oh, there’s no reason to be sorry! We’re still talkin’ anyway, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, that’s true. How was your day?” Chris closed his eyes and relaxed, letting the conversation take over. Talking to her was like clockwork and, like usual, there was never a silent moment between the two of them. I can hold off on the story for a little while, Chris thought. As they talked, all of Chris’s worries melted away, and there wasn’t a thing in the world he cared about more than his lady.
* * *
“No way, sweetie. It’s all about Wendy’s!”
“Ehh, well, I’m still not so sure about that. When I think ‘best burger ever,’ I think of Jack In The Box. Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger. Say no more. I win.”
“Ha! Jack In The Box is not the best burger ever.”
“You just wait. Next time I go down there and see you, I’ll prove to you once and for all that Jack In The Box rules all.”
“Hm! If you say so. . .”
“I do say so.”
“Alright then. . . Oh, geez, it’s getting late already! I must have lost track of time, it’s already past ten o’clock.”
Chris opened his eyes in surprise. Without thinking, his attention turned to his clock: 10:24. “Oh, damn! I wasn’t paying attention, either. I’ve still got a lot of work to do on the story, too.”
Ann reacted with a bit of hew own surprise, “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you for so long! I forgot you still needed to finish that! I have class at nine in the morning tomorrow. . .”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, love. You need your sleep. I’ll get to my own, eventually.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Well, it’s on me for putting it off for this long already,” Chris chuckled as he said this, knowing that he would likely be going to be early tomorrow night to catch up on the sleep he would be missing tonight. “You don’t worry about a thing, babe. I’ll get it done. And, I’ll also find a bit of time to talk to you tomorrow!”
Ann’s voice picked up at that suggestion, “Great! That definitely sounds good to me. I hope you have sweet dreams. I love you!”
Chris smiled. He couldn’t get enough compliments from her, “I will! I love you, too, hon. G’night!”
“Mmmmmuah!” Ann made a “kissy” sound, “Good night!” With that, he hung up the phone, a little sadder now that his lady was going to sleep. It didn’t take long to pick himself up again, because he still had a story to finish.
In the time between arriving at home and talking on the phone, the size of the story had swelled from just under five pages to upwards of eight pages. The end was near, and it was a welcome sight. As Chris typed the last two pages, he began to tie up all of the loose ends that his story had left dangling. Remembering everything that Kapler had taught him, Chris pounded away at the keyboard, and the story slowly became more and more refined. “I might just be able to get to sleep before midnight,” he said to himself, “And nothing says I can’t get up early and work on it.” He typed and silently hoped that the situation wouldn’t come to that, the story had to be done tonight. However, with all of the things that had happened so far in the day, Chris couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some sort of ill omen in the air. Thursdays are never this crappy, he thought, something truly has to give.
After a while, the idiot neighbors began to blast their music through the walls once more. It was after quiet hours, but Chris didn’t want to deal with it. He was close enough to the finish line where the noise didn’t matter. The constant typing continued, giving no quarter to any distractions in the area. Eight pages became nine, then ten, and then eleven. The story was magic in front of his eyes, and Chris couldn’t wait to share it with everyone else in the class. He didn’t bother to save his work as he began the last page of text. I’ll be done soon, he thought, I should be alright. Soon after, he heard the familiar movement of the doorknob and the consequent groaning of the door as it opened. Glenn was home and, unlike usual, did not say anything as he walked into the room. Chris guessed that Glenn was still mad about the fact that he was hung up on, and his guess was validated.
“You know, I don’t like being hung up on.”
“Well, you know, I don’t appreciate being lectured by my :skull::skull::skull::skull:ing roommate.”
“I wasn’t trying to lecture to you, I was jus—”
“No. Glenn, you were preaching to me. That just bugs me.”
“I’m sorry if I came across that way, but I was trying to prove my point.”
“Whatever. It’s not like it would have made a difference either way. I wasn’t going to make that phone call for you no matter what you said.”
It was clear that comment hit Glenn hard, as he visibly winced. Instead of firing back, Chris watched Glenn walk over to behind his desk. He was out of sight, so Chris couldn’t tell what he was doing. Suddenly, there was a click; the story faded to black on the monitor and the computer gave a squeal as it slowed down. Glenn had shut off the surge protector, and everything plugged into it had died, including Chris’s computer.
Chris, stunned at this development, became very temperamental, “You :skull::skull::skull::skull:er! What the :bou::bou::bou::bou: was that for?” Glenn didn’t say anything, and instead looked briefly at Chris as he grabbed a couple of books and headed for the door. “You’d better :skull::skull::skull::skull:in’ say something! I had a :bou::bou::bou::bou:load of work unsaved, so you’d better pray the system salvages it.” Glenn maintained his silence and continued out into the hallway. “Alright, then, I see how it is. You’d better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Glenn simply closed the door politely, which enraged Chris. “Oh, that just—” Having been pushed too far, he got up out of his chair and stormed out of the room after Glenn.
A couple of people in the hallway did their best to stay out of Chris’s way because he certainly looked like a crazed person. His expression of anger was made of steel and didn’t change except to shift his eyes and acknowledge people as he walked by. As he threw the entrance door to the building open, he saw Glenn a good distance ahead of him. Glenn walked and greeted people outside as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “So, he wants to play the innocent,” Chris muttered to himself, and then yelled “HEY, ADOLF STALIN, GET BACK HERE.”
Glenn responded, but he only turned his head. He pointed at himself, as if to suggest “who, me?” Chris took his opportunity to speak again and pointed straight at Glenn, “Yes, you, the dip:bou::bou::bou::bou: who is currently pointing at himself. Get back here.” A couple of people sitting a small distance away snickered among themselves, which pleased Chris and made Glenn acquire his own angry expression. Grudgingly, Glenn walked back as Chris walked forward a few more steps. The two stood a foot from each other and simply glared at one another for a minute. Chris tilted his head slightly, in deep thought, and then closed his eyes before he blurted out, “Alright, who the :bou::bou::bou::bou: do you think you are?”
“I asked you for a small favor, Chris. A SMALL favor. You somehow turned that into, ‘Oh, sorry, that’s two or three minutes I could be working.’” Glenn talked in a mocking manner, and Chris remembered that was a comment he had made over the phone.
“There are other solutions, you know. Or, did you somehow lose your intelligence by socializing as much as you do?” Glenn began to speak again, but Chris cut him off, “You know, Glenn? She couldn’t plug her phone into a charger or something? She couldn’t borrow Terri’s phone? I’m not even gonna mention your phone because it’s so :bou::bou::bou::bou:ty. . .”
“Shut up, Chris! Shut up!”
Chris smiled slightly, “You guys didn’t even think of that, did you? Just as I thought. . .”
Glenn fired back, “You deserved what you got. I don’t run around hanging up on people—”
Chris snorted and then laughed, “Jesus, Glenn! What did I do, honestly? I didn’t make a phone call for you. So what? I hung up on you. I was justified in hanging up because you were bitching at me. Besides that, I don’t see anything. I haven’t even seen you for the better part of the day, and now you get pissed off because of one or two small things. Tsk tsk. . .” Glenn stayed silent, looking like he was trying to find the ultimate comeback and failing. Chris continued, sticking his finger in Glenn’s face and inviting Glenn to challenge him as he hissed, “You’d better pray to heaven that my paper is still there. If it isn’t, rest assured I will strike back. I know of a thousand ways I can hurt you, and you know it, too.” With that, Chris turned and walked away back to the room. He didn’t look back to see Glenn standing much less confident than he was before.
When Chris re-entered the building, a few people stared at him. Obviously, they had seen what had just gone on, but he paid no attention to them and focused on getting back to the room. He stepped back into the room and it was the same as he had left it, minus one antagonizing roommate. He slowly made his way back to his chair and reached down to restart his computer. It told him that it wasn’t shut down properly, but Chris didn’t care. When it was fully running, it made a small statement, saying it had recovered most of the story, but that was only eight pages. This wasn’t the greatest news in the world, and Chris grimaced as he realized he’d be retyping a few pages. He brought the document back up and began to recall what he had written:
“He realized he had been sitting and thinking about her for well over 20 minutes. This couldn’t be any simple attraction, he thought, there must really be something there for me. If I don’t take a chance now. . . “I might never see her again,” he whispered to himself. It was becoming obvious that he had nothing to lose in asking for her company. After a bit of nervous hesitation, he made his way over to her table. . .
‘Um, hello.’ He said shyly. She looked up at him, noticing through his posture that he was nervous. She smiled and slightly blushed. ‘I’ve, uh, I mean. . . I just noticed you from across the café,’ he pointed over to his table, his coffee and jacket still in place. ‘I just saw how, uh, nice you looked and such. . .’
‘Really?’ she replied, clearly surprised. ‘I had noticed you, too. You certainly did look deep in thought. Was that because of me?’
‘Well, yeah. But, um, nothing bad, of course.’
She smiled, ‘You did all that thinking because of me? I’m flattered!’ He sheepishly smiled as she continued, ‘Well, what were you thinking about?’
He thought for a moment, then responded, ‘Perhaps, I could move my stuff over here, and then tell you?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said. He walked back to his original table and picked up his things. I was right, he thought. He walked back over to the lady’s table, aware that he was leaving more than just his old seat behind.”
Chris clapped his hands. “And that is a wrap!” he said to himself. It was after 11:30, and he felt the weight of drowsiness fall onto his shoulders as he sat back and relaxed. Remembering Glenn, he saved his work three times. He was done, and he would take it to class tomorrow. With a sense of finality, he turned off the music, and changed into clothes to go to sleep. After checking over the last half-page one last time, he closed the program window and turned off the monitor. Fully prepared to rest, he got up, turned off the lone shining light, and crawled into bed.
* * *
As Chris walked into his creative writing class, he felt an overwhelming sense of nervousness. Is Kapler really going to like my story? He thought. It didn’t make any difference now, because there was no time left to make any changes. Sure enough, Kapler asked him for the assignment at the door. With great hesitation, Chris handed him the story. The professor skimmed it over, noticing its size.
“Wow. 12 pages, Chris? That’s quite a bit of writing,” Kapler remarked.
“Yeah, I was up for a long time last night finishing it up.”
“Well, I’m sure the product will be well worth the effort. I’m sure it’s an example of greatness!”
“Here’s hoping you think so, Mr. Kapler,” Chris replied, crossing his fingers. Kapler’s comment emboldened him, and the apprehension vanished. As he took his seat, he replayed the compliment over and over in his head. An example of greatness. I like the sound of that. Finally content, he focused on the beginning of Kapler’s lecture, leaving the worries of grading for another time.