Archives:
February 10-February 16, 2008

February 10, 2008

“It's really not funny guys,” I say, a hand on my head, as I sit at a corner of Chang and Brad's coffee table.

“He's right,” Chang says, rubbing at his eye. “We shouldn't laugh.”

“You're right, you're right.” Brad says with a nod, but starts laughing again. Chang is quick to follow.

“So what's happening next?” Chang asks, straightening his face, stabilizing his voice with visible effort. “Does she have to have surgery or something?”

“They don't think so,” I say. “The doctor put the bone back in place, and packed her nose full of gauze to keep her from bleeding. She's supposed to check back in in a couple days.”

“So she has gauze sticking out of her nose?” Brad asks, laughing again.

I open my mouth to speak, but Chang sticks a hand out. “Come on, Preston . I know this sucks, but you have to admit that it's kind of funny. All you do is roll over in bed, and you wind up catching your girlfriend with an elbow that sends her to the hospital.”

“I guess it's funnier if you're not paying for the girl's emergency room bill.”

“She's having you pay for it?” Brad asks.

“Well it's my fault.”

“It's nobody's fault,” Brad goes on. “It's an accident. If she hadn't sat up when you were turning, you never would have clocked her. It's not like you were trying to hit her.”

“So if Chang broke your nose when you guys were in bed, you wouldn't be mad?” I ask.

The two look at each other. “I'd be pissed,” Brad says. “But I'd be pissed at the situation—maybe pissed at Chang for a minute, but it's not like it's something he could help.”

“I think it's nice that you're paying,” Chang says. “But you shouldn't beat yourself up over this.”

February 11, 2008

“Is it somebody who was in another a cappella group?” Emma asks me, a few steps out of McCarthy Hall, as we walk toward our respective afternoon classes.

“I told you, this is Claire's business,” I say, holding back a grin. “I'm not going to tell you who her secret boyfriend is.”

“I'm not asking you to tell me who he is—”

“Right, you're just asking me to tell you everything but who he is, so you can figure it out.”

She looks away. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

I smile. I had almost forgotten how much fun it could be to torment Emma over something like this. “No,” I say, “to my knowledge, he is not now, nor has he ever been a part of an a cappella group.”

“Interesting.”

“What makes that so interesting?”

“You said ‘not to my knowledge,'” Emma says, skipping over a patch of snow on the sidewalk. “That implies it's someone who you don't know that well, or haven't known that long. So I know it's not someone like Chang, or something.”

“I hate to break this to you, but Chang hasn't had much interest in someone like Claire for a while—”

“I was just using him for an example,” Emma cuts me off. “Of course someone like Chang is in school so he wouldn't fit anyway. Which means this mystery man—”

“What makes you so sure it's a man?” I ask, eyebrows up.

Emma opens her mouth wide for a second, then swings out an arm to hit me. “You're so funny.”

February 12, 2008

“Preston nails!”

I roll my eyes at the sound of Nick's voice. Unfortunately, there's no walking away, as I stand at the counter at the Student Center café, waiting for my bagel to finish toasting, and for the guy behind the counter to bring it to me. And so, I turn, leaning back against the counter. “Hey Nick. What's going on?”

“Nothing much. You see what I did there with your name—it's like press-on nails, and your name's—”

“Yeah, I got it,” I cut him off.

“So what have you been up to lately? You know—besides beating up your girlfriend.”

I exhale. “Yeah—we had a little accident there.”

“Hey, it's OK, I ain't here to judge you, buddy. I know, sometimes a girl gets on your nerves a little—”

“I was just rolling over in bed and—” I cut myself short, realizing I really don't have any reason to be explaining myself to this guy. “It was an accident.”

I hear the bagel pop up. Unfortunately, the guy working here is in the midst of taking the next order.

“So hey, I was sorry to hear about your buddy Dave,” Nick goes on. “Do you know if the rumors are true?”

“What rumors are those?”

“You know—that the guy was shooting up heroin, and he ODed.”

“I wasn't there, man. I can't say what happened.”

“Yeah, but you lived with the guy for a couple years, right?” He's got this ridiculous grin on his face, this gleam in his eyes. “You have to have some idea if he was drugging it up.”

“Here you go,” the guy behind the counter says, setting my bagel down.

“Thanks a lot.” I turn to Nick. “So hey, I'll see you later.”

Nick opens his mouth like he's going to say more, but I turn and just start walking away. “I'll see you later, Preston ,” he calls after me. “Let's catch up sometime, OK?”

February 13, 2008

“Hey Preston , hang back for a second, will you?” Professor Benjamin says, as I'm packing up my bag at the end of class.

“Uh, yeah—sounds good,” I say. I turn to Chang. “I'll catch up with you later, all right?”

“Yeah, give me a call about dinner,” Chang says, heading out.

I finish gathering my things and heading toward Benjamin. He sits in an oversized black sweater, brown corduroy pants, black Chuck Taylors, leafing through the pages of a story another student just handed out.

“How're ya doing?” I say, nodding to him as I arrive in front of him.

“Good,” he says, not looking up just yet. “So, Preston , I wanted to ask you what you're plan is with writing?”

“My plan?”

“Yeah,” he looks up, over the brim of his glasses, “where are you looking to go with this?”

I shrug. “I guess I don't really know. I just thought this seemed like a neat class.”

Benjamin sets the piece aside at last. “You've got more raw talent than anyone in the class,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“Well, I don't know about that. I mean, there are other people who have a lot more experience—”

“That's why I said raw talent,” he cuts me off. “You're not as polished as some folks. But you have good instincts. Good handle on dialogue. Good sentence variation. I think this is something you should stick with.”

“Well, thank you.”

Benjamin nods. “You do have to work on removing yourself from what you're writing, a little. It's tougher with this non-fiction stuff. I think your next piece should be something that happened to you a longer time ago.”

“I guess I just figured it would be harder to remember a story like that.”

“It will be, but that's half the point. Your last story—it was too apologetic. You can tell you're still holding a candle for that Elizabeth chick. You need to give your self some distance.”

My mind flashes to Teri, I wonder how she would respond to that criticism of the piece—that commentary that it's obvious I still care about Emma.

I wonder if Benjamin's right.

“Just my two cents, though,” Benjamin says. “You've gotta write what you want to write. Just give it some thought before your next piece, all right?”

“Yeah,” I nod, straightening my bag over my shoulder. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks.”

Benjamin looks back down, flipping through another new piece. I wait to see if he's going to say more, then, seeing he's not, turn and head out.

February 14, 2008

I look down at the design on my tie, black with thin white stripes. Squinting my eyes, the white blurs, thins, and eventually disappears, so that I have to open my eyes all the way again, to assure myself the stripes are there at all.

Teri is still seated at her computer here in the SA office, hand in her head, hitting the mouse against the table. She complained earlier, grumbling about how for all of the student fees, SA should be able to afford functional computers for their board members. I've sat here for almost two hours now. We planned to leave the office at six, stop by her place for her to change, then take the long way around campus, walking to Anthony's, this nice Italian place for Valentine's Day dinner.

If we leave now, we just might be able to make it to dinner on time. At this point, I'm more or less counting on losing my reservation.

A little brown spider crawls along, high on the wall, almost touching the ceiling. He's an intrepid little guy to be out and about at this time of year. For a second, it makes me less inclined to squash him.

I could use something to do, though, and as the spider creeps a bit lower on the wall, I reason it's best to deal with it now, rather than waiting until it's crawling on me, or Teri.

I pick up last week's copy of the student newspaper, with a picture of Dave playing guitar on the front page. I curl it inward, so his photo is just the inside of my makeshift club, then begin to stalk the spider. It takes an upward route, heading back toward the ceiling, well out of reach. I wonder if it has a sense I'm coming for it.

I creep after it, finally climbing up on a work table, in the space between two computers, Teri behind me. I swing the newspaper hard against the wall. Pulling it back, all that remains is the crumpled remains of the dead spider. I look down scanning the room for a tissue or paper towel to clean it off. I spot a roll of Bounty across the way and start to step down.

I half trip over one of the computer keyboards, and have to steady myself so I don't follow the keyboard down to the ground, in its clatter.

“ Preston .” I turn to Teri, where she sits, head in her hand. “I'm trying to work here. If you're going to horse around, could you please just go someplace else.”

“There was a spider,” I say, pointing feebly over my shoulder.

She turns back to her computer. “You're like a frigging child.”

“Excuse me?”

She spins her chair back to me, rolling her eyes. “ Preston , I have a lot of work to do. Can't you just keep yourself occupied and let me finish.”

“I think I've already given you two hours to finish,” I say keeping my voice steady with an effort. “And we're about to lose our reservation.”

“Well I'm sorry that I have a job to do. But I can't just drop everything whenever you want to hang out.”

I hop down to the floor. “Teri, it's Valentine's Day—”

“Which, for grown-ups, is just another day.”

“We said we'd go to dinner.”

“And who was the one who came up with that idea?”

I toss the newspaper hard into the trash, and snatch up the roll of paper towels.

“Good throw stuff. Why don't you just hit me again?”

“That was an accident.”

“An accident that kept me in the emergency room until 3 in the morning, so I was tired the whole next day, which is what put me behind in the first place.”

I set the paper towels back down. “I was up late too,” I say. “And I'm sorry I hit you. But if you can't handle your workload, maybe you need to drop something instead of blaming me.”

“You think I can't handle my workload? Preston , all you have on your plate is class and the RA job. It can be harder if you're actually busy.”

I take a deep breath. “All right, well I'm going to get out of here.” I pick up my pea coat, plugging an arm into one sleeve.”

Teri sighs. “All right. I'll just call you when I'm done.”

“Maybe you shouldn't bother.”

“Excuse me?”

I know if I'm ever going to retreat, now's the time. If I don't, there's no telling how far we're going to go.

It's already started

“Don't bother calling me tonight. In fact, don't bother calling me tomorrow either.”

“Be careful about what you're saying, Preston .”

“Why?”

Teri brushes some hair from her face. “You know if you walk away, I'm not going to come running after you. If you want to walk away—I'm not going to stop you.”

I nod. “Maybe that's the problem.” I walk to the door and swallow hard. “I'll see you around, Teri.”

February 15, 2008

I didn't call Teri today. She didn't call me.

I find myself walking around campus tonight. It's cold, and I'd only meant to go to the Student Center café and back. A cup of coffee in my hand, I feel myself grow bolder, ready to face a late night chill.

Leaving the Student Center , I remember all the times Teri and I left together—as members of The Window staff, then her with SA and me with the Window, then just her with SA. I remember leaving here laughing, holding hands. I remember times when we used separate doors, leaving space between us.

I remember leaving alone last night. I don't know when Teri left.

It seems every way I look, there's a piece of Teri and I—a path we walked, a place we ate. The dorms where I lived, the dorm where we sat, waiting for a ghost to appear. Before long, I realize, I'm headed toward Teri's apartment.

I alter my path. I'm going someplace else—anywhere else.

When I look up, I see Teri, walking with some guy.

I take a step toward her but the girl turns, laughing. It wasn't Teri at all, just another girl with long blond hair. She pulls on a ski cap, hiding her head from the cold.

I think of all the fighting we've done over the last few months. Is it just months, or whole seasons—half a year? When do the arguments become what defines a relationship—and should that point be the breaking point?

It's one thing if it's time for the two of us to be through. But I don't want to be a quitter.

I think about my new year's resolution—how I promised myself that I wouldn't let the little things get to me. I wonder if I should have walked out yesterday, or if it was all just little things.

Maybe the little things were reason enough to leave.

I take a sip of hot coffee, singing my tongue. The cup is still steaming in the cold air, as I walk on, trudging a new path in the thin layer of snow on the pavement.

February 16, 2008

“Five for five,” Chang says, holding his hand up. “You getting scared, Presto?”

I toss the little foam basketball back to him, where he sits across the room. “Still got five more shots to go.”

Chang lines up again, taking another shot at the hoop, hanging from the back of my door. It falls right in. “I'm telling you, I'm on fire today.”

“So anyway,” I go on with my story, “after that, I just walked out.”

“So now it's just a stand off—see who blinks first?” Chang asks.

“I'm not sure it's like that,” I say, watching as Chang fires again. This time, the ball bounces high off the rim, and I catch his rebound, and throw it back to him. “I mean, we have our fights and everything. But the way we left—I think we might really be through.”

“How you feeling about that?” Chang asks, taking another shot, and banking it in.

“I don't know. I mean, it's sad and all, don't get me wrong. But in a way, it sort of feels right.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“What do you mean by that?” I hold onto the ball after it falls through the hoop.

“It's just—come on,” Chang says. “It's not like you guys have been having such a great time lately. And then she doesn't even show for Dave's funeral.”

“Well she was busy that day.”

“And what if one of Teri's best friends died, and you were busy.”

I chew a little on my lower lip. “I guess I probably would have made it work,” I say, lobbing the ball back to him.

Chang nods, lining up his next shot. “I think you would have too.”