Archives:
December 10-December 16, 2006

December 10, 2006

“So the doctor said you're coming along really quickly,” Teri says, sitting by my bedside. She raises a couple books to where I can see them. “So I brought these for you.”

I pick up the reader from Hancock's class. “What—you didn't think I could handle picking up the books until now?”

“No,” Teri smiles, “the doctors said you shouldn't be reading—that you're eyes weren't ready, or something, or that it would give you a headache. I tried to bring these to you the first day you woke up.”

“Well, you really know how to lift a guy's spirits,” I say, leafing through the pages.

She shrugs, looking down. “I don't know. It's just that you were always reading those books while we were on the floor, or while we were in the office. I know you care a lot about staying on top of your homework, so I figured you'd want them—”

“And I do,” I say with a chuckle. “My old man was talking about me not finishing up the semester. But I can't do that. After all the work I've done this semester, I can't just throw that away.”

“Yeah, that would be really frustrating,” she says. She bends over, pulling something else from the bag. “I brought your cell phone charger too. I figured maybe we could get you back in touch with the world.”

“Good call.” I watch as she plugs in my phone for me. “So tell me—how'd you get your hands on all of this? The guys let you into my room?”

She nods. “You've got some really good friends there. They've been here a lot while you were out—looking after me and stuff.”

“Looking after you?”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“Na—it's just that I shudder to think what ‘looking after' someone would look like to those guys.”

Teri giggles. In that instant I notice how tired she looks—the way her eyes droop. I feel bad about how much time she must have wasted on me in the last week. But then, I appreciate it. “They're not so bad. They'd give me their sweatshirts if I got cold, or get me snacks from the vending machine—that sort of thing. Never woke me up if I fell asleep in the room.”

“I'd be worried about what they did to you while you were asleep.”

“Don't think much of your friends, do you?”

I wave my hand. “I've got the best friends in the world. And part of that's—” I trail off as my phone lets loose a tinny melody.

Teri looks at the caller ID screen. “It's Matt—that's your friend from home, right?”

“My best friend.”

Teri hands me the phone. “I'm gonna let you take this.”

“Na, that's all right.”

Teri gets up. “No, talk to your friend. I have to get back to campus anyway.”

“All right.” I flip open the phone as she heads to the door. “Hey, Teri?”

“Yeah?” She turns around in the door way, and as she does, some hair falls loose from her pony tail, brushing down over her face.

I smile. “Thanks.”

December 11, 2006

It's always strange coming back to a part of your life that you've left behind. There's the sensation of returning home after a long time away, or of seeing an old friend. But there are some things you take for granted, and never expect you'll have to return to in such a way.

The first time I step out into sunlight is a shock.

It's early afternoon when they release me from the hospital. My father walks out the door by my side, and I feel a sort of strange dynamic between us. I remember leaving the elementary school with him and my mom after a play when I was in elementary school, or after a track meet in junior high. I remember leaving my high school graduation ceremony, or riding home with him the first time I came home from college. It's like just walking outside today is another milestone, and I can feel my father beaming as he watches me go.

It's a little tough walking, not so much from my injuries, but because I'm stiff from not walking outside my room until now—not walking at all until yesterday morning.

The doctors warned me time and again that I've got to get a lot of rest for at least the next couple weeks. Dad's staying around until mid-week in case I change my mind about going back to school. I think he knows I won't give in willingly, but he's staying in case I need him.

The path ahead is pretty daunting. There's only one issue of The Window left, and I can't imagine that I'll have much of a role in it now. I'd like to at least be around the office, though, and catch up on what's been going on. I wonder what the staff's done to cover for me. I wonder what they've been reporting on.

The bigger concerns rest in my classes, though. I've got three final papers I'm way behind on now, and at least two final exams on the horizon. I don't even know what to study. I'm going to have to see what kind of extensions I can get, and where I'm going to have to scramble to get back on pace.

For now, I climb in the passenger side of my father's car, as he takes me back to school.

December 12, 2006

“Hey Professor Hancock,” I say, peeking into her office.

“ Preston ,” she says, beaming. “Come on in here. How are you?” The smile fades a little as I step inside and she can see my whole face, including the black eye and bruises on the left side of it. “Oh, Preston .”

I put up a hand. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

“I heard you were in a coma.”

I shrug and give the sort of half smile that's as much as I can give without it hurting right now. “But it looks really bad, right?”

Hancock doesn't smile, but rather stretches out her hand. “Have a seat, please.”

I sit down. I remember the last time I was here, arguing about my paper, just not getting Elsa's Town quite yet. Hancock doesn't seem so bad now, but then, that perception could change in a matter of minutes.

“So I wanted to talk to you,” I start. “After everything that's happened, I'm sort of behind now. And besides that, I'm working a little slower than I usually would.”

“Of course.”

“I saw on the syllabus that we have the final coming up next Monday. I've the weekend and all, so I probably could catch up—”

“The final's three short essays, and I'm giving it as a take home exam,” Hancock breaks in. “And it'll be due Monday.”

“Ah.”

“How much time do you think you need?”

“I don't know.” I shift. “A couple extra days maybe?”

“The eighteenth is the last day of finals. I can give you until then. Or if you need the time, you can do it over the winter break.”

“But that's after the semester's over. You would have to give me a grade before that.”

“I'd give you an incomplete for now,” she says. “Then I'd change it next semester.”

“Sounds like hassle.”

Hancock folds her hands on her desk. “I'd say you've been through a hassle on your end already.”

“I'll get it to you by the eighteenth.”

“You're a good student Preston —you've shown me that you really care about learning this semester.” She looks away for a second. “You have to do what you think is right. But don't push yourself too hard. That's one of the most important things for you to learn.”

December 13, 2006

“It's the best picture we could find of you,” Sam says as I read over last week's issue of The Window.

“Should have gone on Facebook.”

“Ah everyone's seen that picture anyway, given that half the school has now written on your wall.”

“Ah, yes, the ‘Get Well Preston' special.”

“Gotta appreciate the support.”

“Yeah,” I say, turning the page. “Fifty-odd people who wouldn't have recognized me before, and probably won't so much as say hi to me on the street after the winter break.”

Sam shrugs. “Everybody gets their fifteen minutes. Just too bad you had to get yours this way.”

I set the paper down. “The layout's pretty decent here. You do it?”

“Some of it. Teri helped out some, when she wasn't off visiting you at the hospital. Carl too.”

“Carl?”

“He's not bad at layout.”

I remember running against Carl for the news editor position last spring. He's been a decent writer for me ever since, but it's strange hearing about him working on my section in an editorial way.

“Don't worry,” Sam goes on. “You're position's safe. As long as you want it, you'll still be News Editor next semester.”

“So I'm not it for this last issue.”

“It's Wednesday. The last issue's halfway to bed already. Besides, I'm guessing you're not supposed to take any long nights for a while.”

“Yeah,” I lean my head in my hand, my elbow propped on the big table in the middle of the office.

“You all right?”

“I'm OK. It's just frustrating. I lose a week of my life. Then I'm working in slow motion, and everyone's telling me to slow down more. It's like, how the hell am I supposed to catch up?”

Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. “Easy there, Presto. You'll catch up. And in the meantime, don't worry about us. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah.” I look away. “Yeah, you're right.” I get up from the table. “Speaking of which, I oughta get back to the dorm and hit the books.”

“All right. We'll see you for the meeting tomorrow right?”

I nod. “You can count on it.”

December 14, 2006

“News?” Sam asks from the front of the office.

I look out at “Well, I don't have much to report—aside from what you can read here,” I say holding up the paper to a few laughs. They ran a big story about me last week, but, I guess out of personal respect, kept news on me to a blurb in this issue, just saying I was conscious again, and back on campus. “But I suppose I should turn things over to everyone else to report on my section. I look around me until I spot Carl. “Carl you got anything?”

Carl shifts in his chair, a little uncomfortable, but smiling. “Umm—no, not a lot. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week, for a good issue. Be sure to keep coming next semester.”

I almost feel like an outsider the meeting. It's strange because this office has been like home this semester, second only to the suite.

It's nice to talk to everyone again, though, and to here them wishing me well. Plus, things are starting to get to the point where people aren't just pitying me, but are starting to joke around, and fill me in on things I've been missing.

I turn to Teri. Of everyone, she's the person who feels most familiar. I've liked spending time with her semester. She's funny and nice, and good at all of the work she does with the paper. Besides that, I'm surprised by just how much time she spent in the hospital.

And I'm surprised at how pretty she is. I wonder why I didn't notice it before—or if I somehow just forgot about it over the last week.

“Sports,” Sam goes on, “What have you got?”

December 15, 2006

Tonight, I spend my first night out since the accident.

I've come to think of the events that led to my hospitalization as an accident because I can't explain them. Everything I remember or have been told about the situation indicates that someone or some group of people beat me up. While I may have been a random victim, there's not much evidence that anything about the attack was an accident. In lieu of any memories, though, it's easier to think about the night in that context.

I stand here, Chang on one side of me, Teri on the other, each having made a promise not to let me walk home alone tonight—each trying to make light of it, but each too visibly worried to pull it off. I appreciate the sentiment, and wouldn't want to go on my own. At the same time, I worry about the way they stick with me—worried they'll cost themselves a fun night worrying about me.

It's a little overwhelming at this house party. I haven't been around this many people or this much noise since I woke. It's a little strange to be in this setting, sipping from a bottled water, while everyone else has a beer in hand. I'm not supposed to drink yet, and honestly can't imagine wanting to for a little while yet. Regardless of all the pieces that don't seem to fit, I didn't want to miss the party tonight—just Dave's second show.

The band tunes up now on a much smaller stage than they did for their debut, playing to a crowd about half the side. I suppose the show at The Hammerhead was pretty big by the standards of a college band, and they can't expect for them all to be like this.

Regardless of the size of the audience, Dave works the crowd like a pro. Gone are any of the pre-show jitters I saw the first time around. Here to stay is the animated personality, the rock star.

They play a rock-heavy set—basically the same songs as last time, with some rearrangement. And as they enter the home stretch, there's a pause. Dave swings so it hangs behind him, and steps up to the mic.

“So as some of you may have heard, a very close friend of mine has been going through some tough times. Guy got jumped by somebody, beat into a coma.” Dave stops for a second, wiping sweat from his face. “And that was a little hard for me to accept, because this guy's one of the best friends I've ever had. He's a person who believed in me, and who helped motivate me to get with this band in the first place.” There's a spattering of applause, but he raises his hand to silence them. “The man's name is Preston Burns. And I want to dedicate this—one of his favorite songs—to him.”

There's some more clapping as the band begins to play, and a few people who know me turn me way, nodding, waving. Chang pats me on the back.

It's a few moments before I recognize the song.

I touch your hand
I touch your face
And wonder how
We got to this place

The Axis is playing “Falling Too Deep,” the annoying song that Emma made me listen to, and arranged for her a cappella group. It sounds horrible, and some of the crowd actually groans.

I can't help laughing. Dave hates the song as much as I do, and is subjecting his band, and this crowd to it is about the biggest rib he could play on me. In that sense, I eat it up. I flash Dave the thumbs up sign, as he launches into the chorus.

December 16, 2006

“Still grinding away, I see?” Chang asks, coming back into our room.

“You know it,” I say. I don't bother looking away from my computer screen. I would estimate I'm about halfway done with my take home test for Hancock. Once I finish this, I have the last page and a half of another paper to do, and one last test on Monday, before I can leave.

Chang doesn't have to wait as long. His semester is done. He hung around last night for the Axis show, but he's had his bags packed since yesterday afternoon, and is hitting the road today. “You gonna be all right here on your own?” he asks.

“You worried about me getting lonely?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.” I lean back in my chair and turn to face him. “And, yeah, I'll be fine. Gonna be working on all of this for the next couple days, then I'm heading back too.”

Chang nods. “All right. Just don't push yourself too hard.”

“I'm gonna be fine. And I don't think Dave's leaving until tomorrow anyway. He'll keep me in line until then.”

Chang chuckles. “He'll keep you in line if he ever wakes up, is more like it.” It was a late night for Dave with the band and company. Chang sticks out his hand, and I shake it. “I'll see ya in a couple days, all right?”

“You got it.” With that, Chang picks up his duffle bag and begins to wheel his suitcase out.

It's silent in the room. I turn back to my computer screen, stretch my fingers, and get back to work.