Archives:
October 7-October 13, 2007

October 7, 2007

Teri and I sit across from one another at a little table at the café in the Student Center . She sips from a paper cup of New England clam chowder, while I chew through an over-toasted panini sandwich.

It was kind of strange how things went this afternoon. I got a call from Teri while I was at work at the Front Desk. She was a little reserved over the phone, but didn't make any mention of the issues between us. There were no apologies or explanations. No accusations or complaints. It was sort of as though she was just offering a peace, putting the last week behind us, without anyone taking the blame.

There's a part of me that almost wants to fight, just to have things out.

More than anything, I suppose I'm grateful we don't have to resolve our issues. I'm worried about what it would mean for us if we did talk everything out. I wonder if one of us would have to lose the argument, and if the either one of us could get past that. Or I worry we never could come to an agreement, and that an argument about The Window and SA would mean the end of our relationship.

For now, we sit, both a little on the quiet side. Teri has her hair tied into a braid behind her. There's one lock that's loose hanging over her forehead. I wonder if that's intentional, or if she even knows it's there. It looks nice.

“How's your sandwich,” she asks, looking down, then blowing on a spoonful of soup.

“It's not bad,” I nod, “and how's the soup?”

October 8, 2007

It's a rainy day, and I sit in my chair in Jones's class, soaked, cold and doing all I can to keep from shivering, as water continues to drip from the ends of my hair.

I run a forearm over my forehead to dry off a bit as Jones starts in for the day. Emma's next to me, as usual, a red, rubber lined rain coat hanging over the back of her chair, a red and white polka dot umbrella dripping water to the floor behind her. She, herself, is dry.

I think back to Friday night, watching her and Bud make out on stage.

I struggle to place why seeing them together bothered me so much. I suppose a part of it's the fact that I don't care much for the guys in the band, and I do like Emma—making it tough to comprehend why they would be together. I suppose a part of me is jealous of the guy. There's a certain brand of jealousy a guy's always going to have about his ex-girlfriend, even if you don't have any inkling of getting back together.

Emma chews on the end of a pen, causing it to wave up and down. She looks back and forth between Jones, her notebook and her copy of the novel we're reading from.

I wonder how long she's been with Bud. I think back to the summer when Emma caught me on Instant Messenger, and how she seemed to be excited to see me when I walked in on the first day of class. I wonder if Bud was a part of that—if she saw the connection between Bud and Dave, and so me, and was ready to let all of our troubles flow under the bridge.

I wonder how long Dave's known they're together.

I look away from Emma, down at my book, trying to regain some focus before I drive myself insane.

October 9, 2007

I sit in my desk chair in the room. The first time I can remember, mid-way through the semester, I'm not behind on a thing. There's no paper to be written, no reading to catch up on. At best, I could get ahead, but given that I don't see my schedule picking up much in the days to come, I can't really motivate myself to move in that direction.

And so, I flip through television stations, the images of daytime soap operas and old movies flashing before my eyes.

The doorknob turns and Cameron comes in the room. “ Preston ,” she says, dropping her keys in her purse, “Didn't expect to see you here. You're never here when I come in Tuesdays.”

I shrug. “No newspaper. No place to be.”

Cameron chews on her lower lip. “Yeah, I suppose that's right.” She moves quickly to her laptop, flipping it open and opening an Instant Messenger window. She types something in rapidly.

“Hope I'm not messing up any plans.”

“No. Nothing important, anyway.”

I mute the TV. “Well, really, if you needed me to go or something, just say the word.”

“Na. Ryan usually comes over,” she glances at her watch “about 15 minutes from now to—you know.”

I chuckle. “I can head out then.”

“No really, it's fine,” she says, typing something else. “I'm actually getting kind of tired of that routine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Getting kind of sick of Ryan, actually.”

“Ah,” I raise my eyebrows, “anything you wanted to talk about.”

She shrugs. “Not really. He's just starting to feel like a chore, you know? And this means I'll have time to—” she breaks off, and starts typing again. “No, I do not want to come your place instead.”

“Poor guy,” I say with a smirk, putting the TV sound back on.

October 10, 2007

“Is something wrong?” Teri asks, sitting across from me, at the same table in the Student Center café where we ate dinner on Sunday. She's wearing a red, sleeveless top and charcoal slacks, a little dressy for the SA meeting she's on her way to when we finish dinner.

“Na,” I say, picking the top of my sandwich up so I can remove the peppers from my it. The things are kind of gross, and I make a mental note not to order this sandwich again.

“You seem quiet,” Teri says, eying me kind of funnily. “You sure there's nothing up?”

I shrug. “I've just been bored.” I look down, keeping my eyes fixed on my sandwich. “You know, since there's no paper to put together.” I don't say anymore because I'm not looking for an argument—not looking to assign blame, and I feel like we're both still a little on edge about the whole situation.

“Well, I was actually thinking about that,” Teri says carefully. “And I know The Window doesn't have a budget right now. But SA does provide every organization with free web space. I mean, I know it's not the same, but have you thought about just having the paper online.”

I finish chewing a bite of the sandwich. “We uploaded the articles from that last issue we were working on. But I don't know, you know how the website goes. We only get like 50 hits a week.”

“True. But without the print edition there, that would be the only news source for people to read. And without the print edition to worry about, you could concentrate more on the website—give it a facelift or something.”

“It's an idea,” I say. “I'm just worried about it being wasted effort, though, if we can't get readership up.”

Teri shrugs. “It's better than nothing.”

October 11, 2007

“So Presto, what's up with the meeting?” Rich asks, playing with the end of his water bottle.

I look around me. Only six out of our ten board members are here. “I was hoping everyone would get here before we get down to business,” I say, glancing at my watch, “but I guess we might have everyone's who's going to show.”

I look to Gabby, who nods. She's the only one I've already spoken to about what I'm going to share.

“As you all know, we don't have a budget to work with right now,” I say. “But we do have free web space.”

“Is that why you asked us to come in?” Carl asks. “To revive the web page?”

I nod. “I was sort of leading up to that, but yeah, that's basic gist.”

“No one even knows the website exists,” Carl says. “There's no point doing it without the newspaper.”

“Well that's what we're interested in changing,” I go on. “I'm not trying to kid anyone about this. This wouldn't be business as usual, picking up where we left off. This would, in a lot of ways be starting over.”

“It'd be starting over, period,” Carl says. It's funny—he was usually really quiet when we were working on staff before. It seems as though what we're doing now is different enough for him to feel like he's not anyone's subordinate. I'm kind of sorry this is what it took to get him to speak up. “It's a whole other media outlet. We'd might as well just start up a Live Journal about news at Taylor .”

“We still have the Window name,” Gabby says. “That gives us credibility. And we're still an SA organization, so we still have computers and an office.”

“But we don't have money,” Carl says. “We won't even get our crappy old stipends for working on this.”

“And if the money is all you're after, maybe you shouldn't be a part of this,” Gabby replies.

Carl raises his eyebrows, looking around the table for a second. “All right. See y'all around.” With that, he's up and out the door.

I look to the rest of the people around the table. No one else makes a move. “OK,” I say. “So here's what I'm envisioning.”

October 12, 2007

“So you're living with a chick?” Matt asks over phone. It's a little tough to hear him as the wind blows hard against me, pushing my jacket wide open. I pin the phone between my shoulder and the side of my head, so I can zip up. “And the newspaper no longer exists. How long has it been since we last talked?”

“A lot can happen in a month and a half,” I say. “But for the paper, we're actually gonna go ahead with the web version.”

“That's cool. I'd guess most people get their news online nowadays anyway—what with CNN.com, and sites like that. No need to carry around a paper or anything.”

“You may be right. Anyway, the website's gonna need some work. That and we're going to have to get the word out about it,” I say, glancing at my watch. I should be able to make it to Jones's class right on time. “So anyway, what's new with you?”

“Not so much over here. Class has been kicking my ass. Who knew those upper level courses were actually going to be harder, you know?”

“The things they never tell us.”

“I've been good, though. Actually been talking to Julie a lot.”

“Uh oh.”

Matt chuckles. “Don't worry, it's good news lately. I think as long as we're not actually in the same place it makes it easier for us to get along.”

“Hey Preston ,” I hear behind me. I turn to see Emma there, as we near the building for class.

“Hey Emma, what's up?”

“Emma?” Matt asks. “Let me guess, in sticking with the theme of changes, the two of you are back together—maybe engaged?”

“Hardly, dude. I gotta run.”

“All right, tell Emma I said hi.”

“You got it. I'll see ya, man.”

October 13, 2007

“What's your book about?” Teri asks, sitting on the opposite end of her couch from me.

“I'm not really sure yet.”

“That good?”

I shift, sitting up straighter on the couch. “It's not that. It's just that it's complicated. There are three narrators so far, and each part is really stylized. It's just sort of hard to wrap my brain around it.”

“Gotcha. Well, it sounds more interesting than comm. theory.”

“I guess it might be,” I say, glancing to my side. We have a TV edited version of Dodgeball on on mute. I'm feeling a bit lazy today, and want to just reach over for the remote and turn the volume up, forgetting about work.

Teri tosses her book on the coffee table at her side. “I'm just feeling unmotivated lately. I mean, it's just like I'm over reading, and writing papers, and going to classes.”

“Guess it's a good thing you're a senior then,” I say, putting the book, still open, face down on my lap. “As opposed to me, with another full of year of this ahead of me.” In reality, I can't complain. As unmotivated as I feel today, I still have The Window back, in a sense, and things seem to be all right with Teri again. For what troubles I do have, they're nothing a nap or an added dose of work ethic won't take care of.

Teri twists her hair around her finger. “Of course after college comes looking for a job.” She reaches behind her, grabbing her water bottle. “I guess it's all down hill from here.”

“You paint a pretty bleak picture.”

Teri sets her bottle down, keeping the water in her mouth for a second before swallowing it down. “What do you say we break for dinner early.”

I toss my book from my lap to the floor. “Sounds like a plan.”