Archives:
September 9-September 15, 2007
September 9, 2007
I hear laughter from the other side of my door as I come home from work at the front desk. It's girls—at least two of them, and I kind of hesitate at the prospect of meeting one of Cameron's friends. Nonetheless, Teri's supposed to be meeting me here soon to grab dinner, so I go along and head in.
“Hey there honey,” Teri says. She's seated in Cameron's desk chair, Cameron standing on her bed sticking photos to her wall with blue sticky tack.
“ Preston ,” Cameron seconds.
“How's it going?” I say, kind of slowly, more than a little surprised to see it was Teri laughing it up with my new roommate. Not waiting for an answer, I go on, “Sorry if I kept you waiting, Teri.”
“Na, don't apologize,” she says. “I stopped in a little early. Thought I might see if I could meet this new roommate you've been raving about.”
“And here I was, worried you didn't like me,” Cameron says, peering back at me.
I chuckle. “Well, I guess that's all cleared up.” My eyes vacillate between the two of them. “So what were you guys just laughing about.”
Teri waves a hand. “Ah, just girl stuff.”
I squint at the photos Cameron's hanging, to see if I can spot some clue. I'm not sure why I'm so suspicious, but there's something about the two of them getting along that doesn't sit quite right with me—especially after everything Teri's said, and how frustrated she was when I told her about my RA yesterday. The photos don't tell me anything, just generic shots of Cameron with friends, doing tequila shots, posing on the beach, riding in a car.
“So you ready for dinner?” Teri asks.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Cool. Well it was great meeting you, Cameron,” she says. “And you try to stay dry.”
They each giggle a little, as Teri leads me out the door.
September 10, 2007
“So if they don't respond to our billing manager or our advertising manager after two weeks, I should call them?” Gabby asks from her desk.
“It's not a hard and fast rule,” Teri says, “but I found that it worked pretty well. It let the advertisers know that we were keeping track of them, and we weren't just going to give up after they dodged us for a couple weeks.” Teri looks back down at some SA paperwork she's doing at the center table of our office. She looks back up at me. “So what makes it so hard for you to believe that Cameron and I were getting along?”
“It's just that you so were adamant about getting her to move out a few days ago,” I say, pausing to take a sip from my Mountain Dew. “I didn't expect that the two of you would get chummy.”
“Well that's why I thought I'd stop in and meet her. I mean, it's easy to hate someone if you've never met them. I figured I'd might as well give her a chance—you weren't going to get her to leave anytime soon.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Nothing,” Teri smiles, “it's just that if you were so set on getting her out, you could have gone to your RD or the Housing Office. But you only went as far as your RA—”
“Which was my first step. It doesn't mean I wasn't going to do anything else. It doesn't mean I'm not going to do anything else now.”
“So you're committed to getting her out?” Teri asks.
“Well now that the two of you are such good friends, I'm not sure I want her to go.”
Teri sticks her tongue out. “You shouldn't let me decide what you do with your roommate.”
“And maybe you should let me handle it,” I mutter.
“What's that?”
“Nothing, hon,” I say, blowing her a kiss to meet the roll of her eyes.September 11, 2007
“You've got kind of an interesting collection here,” I say, taking a sip from my can of Mountain Dew, as I scan Cameron's collection of DVDs by the fridge. “Eclectic.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Na, not at all. It's just not every day you see Kill Bill Volumes One and Two in juxtaposition with Crossroads,” I say, glancing over at her. “Of course, it's not every day you see a copy of Crossroads lying around, period.”
“Laugh if you want. Britney Spears is a cultural icon for our generation.”
“Right,” I say, nodding as I turn back to the collection.
“And The Karate Kid collection you're sporting is so much better?” Cameron asks, turning to the next page in her Cosmo.
“So you took the liberty of looking through my DVD collection already?”
She shrugs, not looking up from the magazine. “It was a few days before our paths crossed. I wanted to learn something about you.”
“You could have responded to my e-mails over the summer.”
“Well I didn't care then.”
I turn back to her.
“What? What's the point in trying to get to know somebody three months before you meet them? Especially when I figured you'd freak once you knew I was a girl.”
I open my mouth, then chuckle to myself. “You have to admit it's a little weird.”
“Unexpected, maybe.”
“Not as unexpected as this,” I say pulling out her copy of From Justin To Kelly.
“Cultural icons.”
“Interesting excuse.”
“Says the guy with a copy of Dirty Dancing.”
I look away. “That was a gift.”
“Now who's making excuses?”September 12, 2007
I flip the cover of the Window's laser printer back over and press it shut. “All right, Carl, trying hitting print again,” I say, further crumpling in my hands the sheet of paper that had been stuck on a roller moments before.
“Well, Preston Burns, at last I have found you.”
I look up to find Dave standing in the doorway. He's got a deep stubble on his face and longer hair than I've seen on him before, growing much higher than I'm used to seeing on him.
“Dave, how's it going, man?”
“Not bad,” he says coming inside. “Haven't seen you in a while, and it occurred to me the only place where would was this little hole in the wall.”
I shrug, stretching my arms out to the office around me. Dave meets me at the center table and we clasp hands. He looks around the office. “So what? Teri doesn't hang out here anymore.”
“She's actually still here a lot,” I say. “But she's got SA stuff to deal with too now.”
“Ah right, the lure of the dark side. How's that working out for you.”
“Can't complain so far.”
Dave backs away a step, and presses his hands down on the center table, lifting himself up on it for a half second. “Well, part of why I came here was business.”
“Yeah, what's going on man? The band need some coverage in the paper or something?”
Dave chuckles. “Not that kind of business, Presto. I'm talking about the official business of your birthday coming up in a couple days.”
“Ah, that.”
“So what's the story, you have plans?”
I shrug. “Not really. I'll probably get some friends together, go to dinner or something.”
Dave casts his thumb downward. “You're coming to my place then. Bring whoever you want. We're having a little party Friday night. I can't say we scheduled it in your honor, but I'd love to have you there.”
“That sounds cool, man. It'll give me a chance to finally check out your new place.”
“Exactly.” Dave slaps a hand against the table. “Doors open at ten. Make sure you check it out, all right?” he asks, pointing a finger at me.
“You've got it,” I reply pointing back.September 13, 2007
“These pages look really good,” I say, peering from the side of my open copy of The Window, to where Gabby sits beside me, looking at her own copy.
“Ah, I just threw them together.”
“And especially considering that, it's good,” I say flashing a grin.
The office is starting to fill up for the day's meeting. We made it out of the office around 2 a.m. last night, an hour and a half improvement over the week before, showing some sign of hope, though I'm still feeling pretty wiped.
“ Preston , how are you?”
I turn to find Lizzie, the SA president, standing in the doorway. She's clad in a black blouse and charcoal slacks, a copy of The Window tucked under her arm.
“Good. How are you doing Lizzie?”
“I'm doing well, thanks,” she says, pulling the newspaper out. “Great issue today.”
“Thanks. Slow news week, but we did what we could.”
She nods. “There were some things I wanted to talk to you about, concerning the paper. I was wondering if you would have time to sit down next week.”
“Yeah—I mean, is there something wrong?”
Lizzie's eyes dart away from mine. She unfolds the paper a little, removing a little calendar book, which she flips open. “How about Tuesday morning. Say 10 a.m. ?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, that should be all right.”September 14, 2007
“You're sure this is the place?” Brad asks.
“I think so,” Chang says with a nod.
The guys, Teri and I stand on the sidewalk outside of Dave's house, where the sound of The Axis playing one of their originals pulses from within, and silhouettes dance and jump against the window shades
“Well, we'd might as well head in,” I say, leading the way, as the others follow me up the steps to the front door.
One guitar part, then another drop from the song as I come in. Lenny stops banging the drums, and last of all, the bass dies out. Dave steps up to the microphone. “One, two three.”
Without any further warning, the room launches into a rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
It's a little awkward to stand in the doorway as they sing. Before long, Teri, Chang and Brad have all joined in. The room erupts in applause as the song ends. Teri kisses my cheek and Dave points at me from where he stands. “Happy birthday, Preston . Now where were we?”
“Free Bird!” Someone yells out.
“Not in our repertoire,” Dave says, waving a finger. “But we did learn a little Skynyrd over the summer. Boys, let's do it.” Nick begins to play the opening riff of “ Sweet Home Alabama ,” as Tony the groupie, approaches us, a stack of solo cups over his hand.
“All right, kids, that'll be six dollars per cup, all you can drink from the keg. Except you, birthday boy,” he finishes, sort of winking at me.
The guys and Teri pull out their wallets, and I feel kind of bad for not telling them there would be a cover for the party.
The band takes up half the living room with all of their instruments and equipment. Couches and a coffee table are pushed to the walls of a room, a TV pushed to a far corner, facing the wall to make room for the show. The place reeks of beer, and sweat, and for better or worse, you would think you were at a bar.
We're moving toward the band, when Teri stops.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It was a rat.”
“You serious?”
“I'm serious that I just saw a rat run behind that couch.”
“Maybe it's their pet,” Brad volunteers.
“Umm—and what do we suppose that is?” Chang asks, pointing toward the banister of the steps leading upstairs.
It's unmistakably a pair of gray boxer briefs hanging there. My only question is whether they're clean, and there as some sort of a gag, or if someone actually took them off and left them there.
A new odor joins the scene. I look all around me, before I can spot a circle of people, mostly seated in the space beneath the stairs, passing a bong between them.
“Let's just have a drink,” I say, touching a hand to Teri's waist. “Then we'll book it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Chang says looking all around himself, careful about every move he makes.September 15, 2007
I kiss Teri's forehead while she's still lying, mouth wide open, asleep in her bed. I pull the sheet up, over her shoulder, then head out the door as quietly as I can.
We ended up leaving Dave's after about twenty minutes. We stopped at a gas station, where Teri bought us all a case of beer. Between Chang, Brad, and then Teri's roommates, we killed the bulk of it, before Chang and Brad went back to their place, and we settled in in front of the TV at Teri's.
I made up my mind that I'd get some work done today, to stay on top of my class reading. I impress myself by actually getting out of bed before noon , and heading out. I figure I'll call Teri for dinner later on.
It's a beautiful day out—a little chilly as autumn rolls in. It's a funny to think that this is my twentieth autumn on the planet. I'm not a teenager anymore, and it's sort of weird to think about things that way. Does this make me an adult, or does that come with another year, when I can drink, or another year beyond that, when I've finished school?
I head into Smith and walk down the hall, past my old room, leading to my current one. Stepping inside, there's a breeze. Cameron isn't here, but she left the window open.
Heading to my desk, I see an oversized piece of black construction paper. Coming closer, I see it's folded into a card, the front with a complex pattern of white lines, the middle painted in neon green with the words “Happy Birthday.” It's actually pretty artistic—kind of impressive.
Opening it up, it reads:
To my new roommate Preston ,
Wishing you all of the best on your birthday.
-Cameron
I scratch the back of my head, more than a little surprised at the gesture. I'm not even sure how she knew it was my birthday. I stand the card up, reading it over again. Then position it, standing, at a corner of my desk.