Archives:
April 22-April 28, 2007
April 22, 2007
I return to the suite from work at the Front Desk to find Dave playing the final chords of “Meant To Be.”
A girl in a pink t-shirt claps her hands. “Yay,” she giggles, “that was so pretty.”
“Yeah,” Dave says, scratching his head. His hair's a mess and he's wearing a wrinkly blue t-shirt and gym shorts. I get the feeling they both just got up, and Dave is continuing to work through the motions from the night before. He must like this girl.
“Jade,” Dave goes on, “This is my buddy, Preston . He lives here in the suite.”
“Hi,” she says, before leaning her nose into Dave's cheek. She whispers to him, but it's still audible, “Let's go back to your room.”
“Why, baby?”
“We haven't showered. I'm embarrassed.”
“Jade, this is my second year living with this guy. There's no need to be embarrassed.”
“Yeah, really, it's okay,” I say. “And besides, I'm heading out in a minute to meet Teri for dinner.”
“Teri's his girlfriend,” Dave explains.
“Is she pretty?”
“Not as pretty as you,” Dave says, kissing her cheek as she giggles some more. “All right, let me play another song for you.”
“Did you write this one too?”
“Na, this one's a cover?”
“A cutter?”
Dave shakes his head and brushes her hair back with his fingers. This girl must have been fantastic in bed. “It's a song by Ray LaMontagne.”April 23, 2007
“ Preston !”
I look behind me as I walk down the hall of the Student Center , toward the Window office. Tucker's there, speeding up his step to catch up with me. I stop, leaning against a wall for a moment. “Tucker, what's going on?
“Not too much, Preston ,” he says, reaching out his hand as he comes to a stop. I shake it, despite lacking any real interest in engaging Tucker today. “It's been a while since we last talked. I just wanted to see how you're doing.”
“I've been doing pretty well. How about you?”
“Good, good,” he says with a nod, putting on a smile. “So I wanted to say that I noticed you didn't sign up for the SA elections.”
“Yeah, Tucker,” I cut in before he can go too far. “I thought about it, and I really appreciate that you went out of your way to talk to me about it. But, in the end, I decided that the paper is the best place for me.”
“Even with Teri running for SA?”
I nod, not liking that he even asked that. “We each have our own goals. She's going her way, I'm going mine.”
“Well, if it helps, I did want to make one last pitch—”
“I don't think it's going to help, Tucker. I've made up my mind on this.”
He raises a hand. “Then I'll make this quick. I've got some pull in this election. It's too late to get your name in the ballot, but if you'd like to be considered as a write-in candidate, just say the word. You can at least be competitive for any position besides president.”
“Thanks, Tucker,” I say, increasingly certain that not a word I say is getting through. “I'll let you know if I change my mind.”
Tucker raises both hands, stepping back. “That's all I ask. Thanks for your time, Preston .”April 24, 2007
I stand in line in the gymnasium, with about 20 people ahead of me. Tonight is the night to sign up for on campus housing for next year, and as I wait, I can't help questioning my decision not to accept the RA position.
I feel like I may be the only sophomore who doesn't have plans for next year in place already. I've got a pretty good lottery number to pick my room, but it's almost a waste, because I don't have anyone to make a decision with.
The line moves pretty quickly. Soon I've made my way to one of three registration tables, sitting in a steel folding chair across the table from a middle-aged woman with long brown hair and glasses, typing on a laptop. “What's your name?” she asks, without looking up.
“ Preston Burns.”
She types something. “Number 107?”
“That's right.”
“All right. Are you pulling in a roommate?”
“No, I'm actually just signing up for a space on my own.”
“Okay.” She types again. “All of the singles that are still open are reserved for students with medical needs. Do you any preferences for location or room type?”
“I'm thinking a double—something near the Student Center . Preferably the first floor.” Someplace near the office, for those late nights. Someplace that will be easy to move into.
“All right,” she says, before reading from her screen, “We have spaces available in Bower Hall, and nearly the full first floor of Smith.”
“I thought Smith was all freshman.”
“They're integrating it this year.”
“Oh.” For a moment, I consider whether that might be worth an article in The Window. Beyond that, I'm kind of intrigued by the prospect of moving back into the dorm where I lived freshman year. I think about my own old room, but then my mind shifts. “I don't suppose room 127 is still open?” Room 127 was the spot at the end of the hall. For no clear reason, it was bigger than any other room in the building and had a personal bathroom—not to mention being on the side of the building closest to the Student Center .
“Both beds are still open. Shall I sign you up for one?”April 25, 2007
“One of the key things you're going to want to do,” I say, checking my e-mail to see that a writer still hasn't turned in an article about the SA elections, “is to give your writers an early deadline. Even if you don't need the articles for layout until Tuesday night, tell them you need them by Tuesday morning, or even Monday night.” I sign out of my e-mail and go back to my layout file. “That way you have time to get on them about turning the story in before they actually put you in a serious time crunch.”
“Makes sense,” Carl says, nodding, looking at the screen.
“So I'll let you have your choice,” I go on. “You can call the delinquent writer, or you can get some practice picking and placing photos for the section.”
“Well, I think I remember how to put photos in,” he says, rubbing his chin. “It's just a drag and drop from Photoshop, right?”
“More or less,” I agree. “Why don't you go ahead and make the call. You can get the number from the contact list over on the bulletin board.”
Carl pulls out his cell phone and heads over. I'm glad he has a basic understanding of the computer work from having helped out when I was out of commission in December. It puts him a little ahead of the game, and it means that I'm welcome to maintain control of my own photo selection for this week's issue.
It's a bit strange to train Carl, as I remember competing with him for the News Editor position a year ago. It's not that I don't want him to succeed—it's just odd to prepare him for success after trying so hard to prove, at one time, that I was more qualified than him. Going into tomorrow's election day at the paper, it appears we'll each be running for our position of choice unopposed—Carl taking on my old role, while I look to take over.
“Hello?” Carl says, still looking at the bulletin board as he talks into his phone. “Yes, this is Carl from The Window, and I'm calling for the news section. We wanted to know if you have that article about the SA elections done?”April 26, 2007
“Any further questions?” Sam asks, as I stand in front of the staff. When no hands go up, Sam continues, “All right, Presto, please step outside.”
I head out into the hallway. It's ordinary procedure for an election at the paper that candidates will go the front of the room to introduce themselves and answer questions from the group. After that, the candidates head out of the room so the board can discuss who they want to elect, leading into the actual vote.
Though I recall it being awkward trying to make conversation with Carl when we ran against each other for the News Editor position, standing out here alone isn't so much better.
I think of having a seat out here, but then imagine that someone will come out to welcome me back in the office in any minute. After all, it's not as though they have to choose between candidates for this race. It's a question of whether they think I'm the guy for the job or not.
As a minute passes, I wonder what they could be talking about on the other side of the door. I suppose they can't just make the decision in a snap. The position is a pretty big deal and demands some consideration. It only makes sense that they would take some time to weigh my pros and cons.
But then I wonder what the cons would be. I've worked as closely with the paper as anyone besides Teri and Sam themselves. I like to think I've done a good job, and broken some big stories.
I think about what I would do if they don't vote me in. Would I continue working with the paper? I suppose I could take on another position, or go back to being News Editor. But then who would lead the group?
The door rattles, then opens.
Teri pops her head out. She smiles. “Come on back in here, Mr. Editor.”April 27, 2007
“Relax, it's just ten more minutes.”
“I know,” Teri says, reloading the SA homepage again. The Student Association held its board elections online for the first time this year, and for the first time, the results are going to be announced on the web as well. The results are scheduled to go up at 3 o' clock, sharp.
Teri's been refreshing the page every five to ten minutes since 2.
She leans back from the screen. “Popcorn.”
I hand her the big plastic bowl full of popcorn, as she starts to shovel it into her mouth by the handful.
“You might want to chew.”
“I eat when I'm nervous.”
“I just don't want you to choke.”
“I need to stop.” She sets the bowl down and grabs the napkin next to her, wiping the butter from her hand. She refreshes the page again, and it still hasn't changed. She grabs the bowl, taking another handful, before she lets the popcorn drop back down, and reaches for her bottle of water instead.
I think of how it's kind of strange that, just a day before, I found myself in the same situation as Teri, waiting to hear the results of my own election, to determine what next year would look like for me. I ran uncontested. Teri's running against a guy much less qualified than her. Basically, we've each waited for confirmation of something we probably should know.
Another few minutes pass. I remember the minutes I spent waiting in the hallway outside the Window office and how, in that little time, I came to doubt myself. I think of how awkward I felt, standing on my own, just waiting for that door to open.
I look at Teri, sitting at her computer, fidgety as I've ever seen her. She takes a another sip of water, and sets the bottle down, reaching back toward her mouse. This time I hug her from behind and put my hand over hers. We move the cursor together.
The results are up.
I can feel Teri's body relax. I curl around her to see her face, and the smile waxed on it, before I go ahead and kiss her cheek.April 28, 2007
I open my bedroom door, stepping out into the common room a little past noon . Chang's already out here, laptop on the center couch cushion, pen between his teeth, textbook on his lap.
“Early day?” I ask, heading to the fridge.
Chang takes the pen from his mouth and rubs his eyes. “Early day, and it's going to be a long one. Let the end of the semester begin.”
“Yeah, I hear you on that. Most of my stuff's due finals week, though, so that sense of urgency hasn't quite hit me yet.” I pull out a carton of milk, pop it open, and give it a sniff. “Oh God, this is nasty.” I close it up and take a look at the date. “Use by April 2. Why am I the only one to catch this?”
“You're the editor,” Chang says, beginning to type something. “You've got the eye for detail.”
“More like the nose.” I set the carton down on the fridge and consider whether I want a bottle of water or a can of Mountain Dew. In a minute I've got the can in hand. “Well, there is a light at the end of the tunnel from all this finals crap. Another few weeks and we're back to Shermantown for three months.”
“Correction—you may be headed home, but I'm headed to Maine .”
“ Maine ?”
“I've got a camp counselor gig lined up.”
“Camp counselor, huh? So you and Matt are both pulling that on me this year.”
“Guess so. I've got two weeks off, then I ship off for fun in the sun with the kids.”
I cut a sip of Dew short, belching. “Since when do you like working with kids?”
He shrugs. “Didn't have any other plans, and then Brad sort of sold me on it.”
“So you're working with Brad?”
“I am indeed. The camp's just an hour from where he lives, somewhere out in the woods. Figure it'll be a nice getaway for a few months. Give me a chance to clear my head and stuff.”
“Yeah, it sounds like a good deal.” It does sound pretty good, even if it does get me thinking. I remember hanging out with Chang last summer, and welcoming him into the suite at the start of this year. I was little disappointed when Chang told me he planned to live with Brad next year. Put that together with his new plans for the summer, and I can't deny I'm starting to feel a little left behind.