Archives:
October 22-October 28, 2006
October 22, 2006
“But it's just hard to fit the puffy ones in your mouth,” Teri says, popping a Cheeto into her mouth as we sit in the Bower sixth floor lounge again. “So I like the crunchy ones.”
“I just feel think the puffier ones have a better texture to them, though. The other ones are too rough.”
“To each their own I guess,” she says. “I usually don't go with cheese doodles at all, though, because you always get orange crumbs all over yourself.”
“That's why I'm Chex Mix man myself,” I say, holding up the little bag I picked up from the vending machine downstairs. “No mess. Plus, the variety of chex, peanuts, pretzels, these little bagel chip things—”
“You sound like an ad.”
I shrug. “I just love the chex.”
“So I can see,” she says with a smirk. “So speaking of ads, you know of any businesses around town who might be looking to put some ads in our paper?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You know about the change with SA—not letting us sell ads to other student groups and all, but still making us raise the same money.”
“Right.”
“Well, to make up for the loss, we had to raise our rates for outside businesses—then we lost enough customers to even out, so we still aren't meeting the quota.”
“Shouldn't the ads manager be dealing with this?”
“Right, because Brad's competent enough to comprehend this whole mess.” Teri rolls her eyes. “But now this is everyone's problem—everyone who wants The Window to last past this year.”
“I hear ya. I'll keep an ear out on it.”
It's funny sitting in lounge here for so long. I'm starting to recognize the people who live here as they pass by, on their way to the bathroom, or on their way out to class. There are the occasional few heading toward the elevator with the laundry baskets, ragged sleeves hanging over the sides.
It's pretty boring.
“So how long do you think we should keep this up for?” I ask.
“You don't have to stay. I just thought it would be better for the both of us to be here to cover this thing.”
“Yeah, I know. And I'm not gonna leave you here. I'm just saying that it doesn't look like we're getting—”
I stop at the sound of a shriek from down the hall. In a second, we're up, following the sound. A girl stands outside the ladies room, still holding the door open as water comes out. “It's flooding,” she states the obvious, looking up at us with a mix of horror and disgust, as a low stream of water cascades out, soaking her and the hallway carpet.
Teri takes out her camera.October 23, 2006
“It's funny that in all the time we've been here, we haven't met the RA yet,” Teri says as climb the stairs in Bower Hall, avoiding the early afternoon traffic at the elevator.
“Yeah, you'd think he would have asked us to leave by now.”
“Which is probably indicative of his worth as an interview.”
“How's that?”
“If we're not seeing him, he's probably not around the floor much, or doesn't leave his room. Either way, he probably can't tell us anything helpful about what's going on.”
“Well he's still the authority figure on his floor,” I say. “So if we're going to write a story about this, we've gotta at least say we tried to get a hold of him.”
As I've noticed in passing before, Anthony's door isn't like that of a traditional RA—not littered with flyers and notes of affirmation for all of the residents. Instead, his door has only a black piece of construction with “RA ANTHONY” chalked onto it, and a schedule listing the RA on duty. Teri snaps a picture of the door.
I knock on the door, and a moment later, Anthony pulls it open. He's a big guy with a shaggy beard and a mop of brown hair, clad in a black t-shirt and jeans, a chain at his side. “What's up?” he asks.
“We're with The Window—the student newspaper,” I say. I've never gone to someone's door like this, looking for comment, and I find it a little awkward. “We were wondering if we could talk to you about what's been going on your floor.”
“What's been going on?”
“Well, the couch out the window, the bathroom flooding. Those things—and we've heard some talk of a ghost.”
I half expect Anthony to close his door, or to break out laughing. He smiles, but that's as far as it goes. “You cats are more enlightened than most reporters. I like that. Come on in.”
We do head in. The lights are off and his shade is drawn, blocking what light would come in, leaving only the glow of his computer screen. He gestures toward a worn, brown leather couch, out of place in the dorm room, and we take a seat there.
“So what are you wondering about?” he asks, sitting in his high-backed computer chair.
I nudge Keri to get her in the conversation. “Well—being the authority figure on the floor,” I can feel her sideward glance, “what kind of explanation can you offer for all of the strange things that have been happening?”
“Just a bunch of crazy kids playing pranks before Halloween—that's what you're expecting me to say, right?”
“We're not expecting anything,” Teri says, a little timid.
Anthony chuckles, leaning back. “That's good. I like that. So I'll be straight with you. I believe that we're dealing with a bona fide ghost.”
We're quiet as I write down the quote, verbatim. I clear my throat. “And how would you support that claim?”
“I just believe in that sort of thing. And the signs we're seeing haven't exactly been subtle. There's a ghost, and it looks like he's pissed.”October 24, 2006
“I'm just saying that the RA's only feeding the hysteria,” I say as Teri and I make our way upstairs for an abbreviated visit to the sixth floor of Bower. “I mean he's a creepy guy, and he's probably acting that way consciously. And when he says he believes there's a ghost, he's just gonna make the younger kids on the floor believe it.” I open the door to take us out of the stairwell, and hold it for her.
“Well this is interesting,” Teri says, stepping through the door.
I follow her gaze as she walks up to a yellow flyer on the wall.
HALLOWEEN PARTY ON A HAUNTED FLOOR
HALLOWEEN NIGHT – BOWER, FLOOR 6
“Feeding the hysteria?” Teri asks.
“Sounds about right.”
“ Preston !”
I turn to find Barry walking toward me.
“Barry, what are you doing here?”
“This is my other building—I'm Senior RA for McSavage and Bower, so I help lead both the staffs.”
“Good stuff.”
Barry turns and sees the flyer. “You believe this guy, Anthony?”
I chuckle. “We met him yesterday. We're up here to report on all the strange stuff going on up here.”
“And let me guess, he told you there's a ghost.”
“Something like that.”
Barry shakes his head. “He's not even supposed to talk to the media. Any requests for comment should go straight to my supervisor.”
“So Anthony's not a stellar RA?” Teri asks.
Barry gives us a tired a smile, then reaches out his hand. “I'm sorry, I'm Barry.”
“Teri.”
“And no—Anthony's an all-around pain in the butt,” Barry goes on. All he wants is attention, and this party's a perfect example.”
“But what's the harm in having this party?” Teri lifts the camera from her chest, aiming for a picture of the flyer. “I mean, it's in the dorm so there's no alcohol or anything. It's probably the safest place for someone to be on Halloween. Unless, of course, you are worried about a ghost.”
“I'm not worried about a ghost,” Barry says. “I'm worried because someone, or some group of people on this floor are making trouble. You know that flood in the bathroom?”
We nod.
“It was caused by a towel wrapped up to cover a shower drain. The shower overflowed onto the floor—that was the whole issue. There's nothing ghostly about it—it's someone being a jerk. And with that kind of stuff going on, I don't feel it's safe to get a huge crowd of people here, especially with everyone there thinking there's a ghost or something.” Barry shakes his head. “And Anthony doesn't care one bit.”
October 25, 2006
“So let me get this straight,” Sam says, proofreading the news section here in the Window office. “You guys stake out the dorm for a full week and you don't even have a story to show for it?”
“We told you,” Teri starts, “we're going to have the story written after Halloween. There's nothing real to report now.”
“A couch out a window? A flood? That's news,” Sam says. “And people aren't going to care about the rest of it after Halloween. People want to read about this stuff going into the holiday—maybe even go to that party because of our story.”
“We've got enough news anyway,” I say. “And we're running Teri's photos of the flood and the couch to get people interested for next week.”
“And what if nothing happens on Halloween?” Sam asks.
“Then that's the story. Ton of people turn out, only to find no climax at all—just a series of weird events leading up to a standard res life program.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Sam says, turning to the next page. “Sometimes I wonder why I let you people work for my paper.”
“Because you've got other people lined up to do our jobs?” Teri asks.
Sam shrugs. “Might as well start recruiting. You know, in case the ghost gets you.”October 26, 2006
Teri and I take the day off from Bower Hall today, both of us tired from the week and a late night in the office.
I should spend this extra time catching up on homework. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to focus on reading while we're staking out the floor—always distracted by something funny Teri says, or by watching the people walk by us, and I'm starting to get behind on my reading.
Besides that, I ought to clean my room. It's funny what a mess it can become when you don't spend time there, but each day I haven't done much more than sleep and change there, and now my clothes are falling into clumps at the head and foot of my bed.
Otherwise, I could spend this evening making plans for the weekend. I want to find something to do tomorrow night to relax for a while, and maybe be social.
Instead of using this time more constructively, though, I sit in front of my computer. Teri e-mailed me the pictures she's been taking over the course of the week. Amidst the random shots of the hallways, doors, the two of us and the lounge, are photos of the couch that crashed through a window, and pictures of the flooded bathroom.
I wonder if this all is adding up to something, or if we're wasting our time.
I wonder what's coming next.October 27, 2006
“We've gotta do something tonight. I'm not spending my night at some res life haunted house,” I say as Chang tosses the foam basketball to me. I fire away, and my shot rolls off the rim.
“I hear that,” Mike says as Chang recovers the ball and sends it out to Dave. “I hear Phi Kapp is having an open tonight. Five dollars at the door—two if you come in costume.”
“Could be fun,” Chang says.
“What are we going to do for costumes, though?” Dave asks.
“You can strap on your guitar,” Mike says. “And we can be a band.”
“Not exactly a costume for me,” Dave says, “Thought it's nice that you want to play pretend.”
“Hey, if you guys wanted to dress up like basketball players, I'd break out the jerseys,” Mike says, knocking in his shot.
“I'm not so big on the group costume idea,” Chang says, tossing the ball back to Mike. “I mean, do we really want to be those guys?”
Mike shrugs. “I was just going for simple.”
“Well how about we worry about ourselves,” I say. “And aim to leave at 11.”
*
“And what are you supposed to be?” Emma asks coldly. I spotted her alone in a corner, and thought I'd say hi, so I waded my way through the crowd, teetering on unsteady legs, more than a few drinks in me. I didn't expect this sort of reception.
“A Ghost Buster,” I say, lifting the squirt gun I have duct taped to my back pack. It's a simple enough costume—tan collar shirt I borrowed from Chang and a pair of khakis, plus my makeshift proto-pack.
“Right,” Emma says, unamused.
“And you're Little Red Riding Hood?” I ask.
“Was it that obvious?” she asks, looking up at me from the cover of a red hoodie.
“Not very original.”
“Sorry.”
“What's wrong?”
“What do you think?”
Emma hasn't talked to me this way since we were a couple. There's a certain level of thick-skin that comes with intimacy. I'm not sure we're there any more. I lean back. “I don't know. Why don't you tell me?”
“What were you doing with that girl?”
“What?”
“That girl you were with in my dorm.”
“Teri?” I laugh. “I work with her at the paper.”
“So you're just co-workers?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what were you doing in the dorm?”
“We were tracking down a story about the sixth floor, if you must know. A story about the ghost.”
“You've gotta be kidding me.”
Balancing out, I let my defenses drop for a second. “What does it matter to you anyway?”
“I just thought—” she trails off and turns her cup upside down, chugging down what's left of her beer.
“You thought what?”
“I thought we had something going again.” She turns to me, then looks away. “We were hanging out a lot again. And I thought maybe that meant something.”
“We were working on a project together.”
“I know.” Emma flips her hands in the air, sending the cup flying as she walks away from me.
“Wait.” I walk after her. “So you're mad at me because you thought I had something going with someone, which I didn't, and because you thought we had something going—”
“Which we don't?”
I raise my hands, splashing some beer from my cup. I've probably had a couple more than I should anyway. “I don't know, Emma.”
“Did you want to have something going?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
It's definitely the beer. It can't be anything else.
I kiss her.
Emma untucks my shirt, and presses her hand underneath, onto my chest.
I kiss her hard, pushing her against the wall.
October 28, 2006
“Well, well, well—good morning, Mr. Burns!” Mike says eating a bowl of cereal in the common room while Chang changes TV stations. I hold my head.
“Morning guys,” I say, staggering straight to our mini-fridge. I grab the first bottle of water I can find and nearly drain it.
“So spill the beans,” Mike goes on, “What happened last night?”
I scratch the back of my head. “I'm honestly kind of fuzzy on the whole thing myself.”
“Well if it helps refresh you at all, I saw Emma leaving this morning,” Mike says.
“Is that so?” I don't recall Emma leaving—I doubt I even woke up. I'm not clear on last night at all, but the strands of blond hair I found in bed this morning confirmed what I could remember.
“It was a little awkward,” he says with a smile. “You could tell she was in a hurry. I said hi, and she sort of smiled then rushed to the door.”
“And that's when I woke up,” Chang says. “When I heard the door close.”
“I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to make you stay out here.”
Chang waves his hand. “It's about time you two hooked up again. Claire said she's seen it coming all semester.”
“So you guys saw us at the party?”
Mike laughs. “I think you'd be hard pressed to find someone who didn't see something,” Mike says. “Of course, who would have recognized you in the Ghost Buster get up?”
“Right, because your basketball player costume was so deceptive?”
“Either of you guys know what happened to Dave last night?” Chang asks.
“Caught up with one of the guys from his band,” Mike says with a wave of the hand. “Didn't see him after. Now come on, Presto, spill.”
“It was just one of those things,” I say as vaguely as I can. Truth be told, I'm not sure how I feel about what I can remember, though more of the night's starting to come back to me. I remember walking through the door to our suite, sweeping Emma in my arms. I remember kissing her while I spun her around, and clumsily setting her down outside my room, before we went inside to spend the night.