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December 9-December 15, 2007

December 9, 2007

“So you're going to bring the poster board, and Nick's going to bring the index cards to hand out to the class,” Emma says, listing these points off on her fingers as we walk down the sidewalk, headed from the library, toward her place.

“And you're going to have the little squares of paper, in case he forgets them,” I add in.

“Correct. And then we all know what we're going to say.”

“I can't speak for Nick or Claire—” I start.

“I know Claire's part of the presentation, in case she flakes out.”

“And if Nick flakes out, we'll just make it clear it's his own fault.”

“Bingo.”

I chuckle as we leave the campus area, getting into the neighborhood just off of it. Emma doesn't live so far from Teri—a block and a half away at best. I think I might stop over at Teri's after I walk Emma home. She said she was going to be up late studying, and I wonder if I'd be interrupting if I went there, or if she would be happy to see me.

I look over at Emma as she yawns, her face growing cat-like for a second. “You know, I miss this.” I say it before I have time to second guess it, and decide it isn't the right thing for me to say.

Emma smiles and nods, looking away. “It was fun working with you, Preston . It's good to have someone you know you can count on.”

I want to tell her I wasn't referring to group work—that what I really miss is the two of us hanging out. I'm not even sure what saying that would mean. I don't mean that I miss our relationship. At least, I don't think that's what I mean. There are just certain pieces of Emma that I miss—the way she yawns, the way she laughs, the way she looks when she sings on stage. I open my mouth, trying to figure out a way to say all of this.

A car stops beside me before I can get the first word out. A window comes down, and I stoop to look inside.

“Hey Bud,” Emma says, stepping sort of between me and the car.

“Fancy running into you here,” Bud says. Some smoke flows from the car, and he casts the butt of his cigarette out into the snow. “Can I give you a lift?”

“Always,” Emma says.

Bud cracks this sort of sickly smile, then turns to me. “How ‘bout you, fella? Need a ride?”

Emma scurries to the far side of the car, to climb into the front passenger seat. I raise my hand. “Na, I'm good, man. Thanks, though.”

Bud nods, Emma pulls open the car door. “See you tomorrow, Preston ,” she calls out, and ducks into the car.

                                                                                                                                                                        “Have a good night, Emma,” I say. She shuts the door before I can finish, and I'm certain she didn't hear me. 

December 10, 2007

“And so, there's the possibility that the novel is not only a social commentary for the time it was written, but also prophetic piece, warning about future issues of social justice that the author anticipated in the years to come,” Nick says, finishing his piece of the presentation.

Emma and I spoke first in the presentation, in no small part to demonstrate that we had done our fair share of the work, and that if the rest of the group didn't live up to what we did—well, that wasn't our fault.

I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise when Nick performed well enough in his role. After all, I reason, as an SA officer he hasn't tried to hide that he's a politician. By nature, he can BS his way out of a situation like this, creating the illusion he knows what he's doing. To his credit, he actually did seem to know the material, and Jones may not have any idea of how many of our meetings he missed, or that he admitted to not having finished reading the section of the book we're presenting on until yesterday morning.

Claire is on last. I wasn't sure what to expect from her either, but once she gets going, you would think she's an accomplished scholar. I think of her singing background, and imagine that has something to do with her level of comfort in front of people. Beyond that, though, she seems to understand the text surprisingly well—worlds better than she did the night before, when we were suggesting topics for her to speak on, and I was trying to clarify the broader themes of the book.

If anything, I feel like I'm learning something from Claire here, and it looks like she understands the book much better than I could.

                                                Jones looks on, smiling as she makes another point, and nodding his head slowly.

December 11, 2007

“Are you doing all right, Dad?” I ask over the phone. He sounds pretty out of breath, and it's sort of strange to hear him like that.

He laughs. “Yeah, Preston , I'm fine.” He stops, inhaling and exhaling loudly. “Sorry—I thought I had caught my breath before I called you. Guess I'm in worse shape than I thought.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just lugged in a Christmas tree. And I've got to say, it was easier to bring these things in when I had you and your brother lending a hand.”

I chuckle. “You got a real tree again?”

“Ah, it's been a couple years. I sort of missed having one around. That, and it's not like I'll be alone for the holiday—other people will get to enjoy it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I say. “Make sure you let me help you get rid of that before I get to school, though.”

“You can count on that.” Dad laughs, still breathing heavily. “But that's actually the reason I'm calling. I wanted to see when you're headed home.”

“A week and a day,” I say, reading the outside cover of one my books for Jones's class. “I've got my last final next Wednesday at 8 a.m. , and I'm planning to hit the road that afternoon.”

“Next Wednesday, huh? Isn't that a little late?”

“You're telling me,” I say, tossing the book into a brown paper bag. I'm going through all of my books for the semester, deciding which ones to keep, and which ones to sell back to the college bookstore, for what little they'll give me. “I have a test Thursday, and nothing up until that last final.”

Dad clicks his tongue. “I'll never understand how colleges do their scheduling.” He exhales, his breath beginning to even out. “Anyway, the other reason I called was because I'm going to visit Darryl Goodman tomorrow. I wondered if there was anything you wanted me to say.”

A rush of memories from last summer fill my head. It's funny how you can have an entirely separate life at home. It's been months since I've so much as thought of Darryl, or Valerie. My mind leaps to wondering what I would do if I ran into Valerie over the holidays—what either of us could say.

I pick up another book, holding it over the bag, while I weight it in my hand. “Well, you know, just tell him I said hi, I guess. Hi, and Merry Christmas.”

“I'll do that, Preston ,” Dad says. “I'll do that.”

December 12, 2007

“Mr. Burns, how are you doing?”

I turn, and, despite the salutation, am a bit surprised to find Jones standing beside me. I know kids develop this mindset around their teachers, where they can't conceive of that person existing outside school. I guess what I'm feeling is a milder version of that, where it feels sort of bizarre to run into Jones outside of class.

I glance behind me, and take a step to keep in line, here at the Student Center café, then turn back to him. “How are you doing, Dr. Jones?”

“Not bad. Better when I finish grading papers.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose that would put a damper on the end of a semester.”

Jones lifts an eyebrow. “Comes with the territory. Honestly, it's more disappointing just to have the semester end. Had some good classes.”

“Next, please!”

I turn to find that I am, in fact, next in line. I step up to the counter, ordering my coffee and Teri's tea—hers to drink over her late night in the SA office, mine for the cold walk home.

I turn back to Jones as the women behind the counter is pouring my coffee. “Well, for whatever it's worth, I really liked studying with you again.”

Jones smirks. “Good to have you in class too, Mr. Burns. And I should tell you, if you haven't already had too much of my company, I'm having some students over for dinner Sunday night. You should come.”

I'm already a little thrown with seeing Jones outside the classroom. The idea of going to the man's house is sort of intriguing. “Yeah, I think I'm free Sunday,” I say. “Sure, why not.” I turn to pick up the drinks, then turn back to Jones. “What time did you say?”

“I didn't say. Show up around 7. I'll e-mail you directions.”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

December 13, 2007

I stumble, almost falling from my perch on the arm of a couch, as Teri knocks into me, laughing hysterically. “That is so funny,” she says to Nick, before she turns to me. “Sorry about that Preston .”

I smile politely. “That's fine.”

I feel completely out of place here, at this end of semester party, hosted by one of the SA officers. Most of the people around are either from SA, or are friends or significant others of people who are. It's a bit strange to think that I fit that description, myself.

“Why don't you come down here?” Teri asks, peering up at me.

“Not a lot of room on that couch.”

“I could sit on your lap.” Teri says.

“Bow-chick-a-bow-wow,” Nick coos, leaning away from Teri. “This could get interesting.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I'll pass.”

I look away, drinking deeply from my Corona .

I almost regret not taking Teri up on her offer as I look up and see Suzie, the SA president, on her way over to me, a glass of red wine dangling from her fingers. “ Preston ,” she says, “how are you doing?”

“Good,” I lie, taking another hit from the bottle.

“We hardly ever see you around the Student Center anymore,” she says. “You should swing by more.”

I want to tell her the reason I'm not around anymore is because three people in the room voted my newspaper into oblivion, while Teri and Suzie sat by and watched it happen. I take another drink. If I stick around long enough, I just might drink enough to speak my mind.

I open my mouth to give her back the same sort of pleasantries she's given me, when all at once, I can feel my stomach turn.

Tucker appears behind Suzie, hugging her from behind. He kisses her cheek, then turns to me, flashing me his grin. “Hey Presto,” he says, “what's up?”

I'm sure he's just visiting Suzie for the weekend. In this moment, I see the two of them representing everything I hate about SA—everything I had willfully forgotten about over the last half of the year.

I turn my bottle upward, drinking every last drop.

December 14, 2007

Dave wails on his guitar up on stage at the Student Center . Letting that chord hang out he lifts the mic stand, dangling over the crowd, letting his fans sing the last refrain of an Axis original.

“They say I can't change the world
But they'll see
Revolution's coming soon
And it starts with me.”

The audience erupts in applause as he finishes singing. The school has brought some fairly established acts in the Student Center , and not once have I seen a crowd like this show up, and not once have I seen this many people singing along to song after song.

“Very nice, ladies and gents,” Dave says, wiping his brow with the Santa hat and beard he wore at the start of the show. His face was already glistening with sweat halfway through the first song, when he ripped it off. “Good looking crowd out there tonight.”

The crowd screams, clapping hands, clinging on Dave's every word. It's kind of wild to watch, and think how, in a year's time, under Dave's leadership, the band seems to have grown a bigger following than it ever had before. I get to wondering if this tour Dave's been talking about could really take off.

At the side of the stage, I watch as Emma hands Bud a glass of water. He looks at the cup for a second, shrugs, and drinks half of it down. Most Axis shows, it would have been a pint of beer, and I can't help feeling the guys are a little out of place performing on campus. From the crowd's reaction, I may be the only one who thinks that way.

“Dave's kind of cute,” Cameron says. I turn to look at her, eyebrows raised, but her eyes are fixed on stage, where Dave tunes his guitar for the next song. Standing between us, Teri smirks.

“I don't know about you guys,” Dave says, “but I'm getting a little tired.”

The crowd groans on cue.

“You guys tired?” Dave asks the band. They shrug. Dave turns back out to the crowd. “You telling me none of you guys are tired?”

The crowd roars.

Dave casts a finger toward Lenny, the drummer, who counts off the next song on his sticks. A minute, the band has launched into a cover of Kiss's “I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night.” It's the first time I've heard them cover the song, and the crowd literally jumps up down as they near the first chorus.

December 15, 2007

I scratch my head, and watch as a few flakes of dandruff tumble down, white as the snow that lines the grass and sidewalks. I'll take a shower when I get back in. Then I'm determined to hit the library for at least a couple hours.

The library is about the last place I want to be. I finished my penultimate final two days ago, and don't have another one until Wednesday. I feel like being done already, in every way possible. I didn't want to get out of Teri's bed this morning—or this afternoon as it turned out. I don't want to go to the library, and I don't want to go to my last exam. The only place where I can see myself going is back home, to celebrate the holiday.

I sigh, and watch my breath take shape in the cold air outside. It's cold, but not as painfully cold as it's been for the last couple weeks. There's no wind today, and the sun's out. It's about the nicest I've felt at 35 degrees, and it's enough to make me think about studying outside for a minute.

But then, I can still feel my ears beginning to go numb.

I think of Teri, and curling around her in bed this morning. Her bed's too small for the two of us to fit comfortably, but it was still nice just to be with her there, wrapped under blankets, all skin on skin.

I wish I hadn't left.

But then, Teri had some studying to do too.

I head inside Smith hall, making my way down that old familiar hallway. I stop a bit short of our door.

There's a scrunchie on the doorknob.

This was Cameron's sign for me not come in, and I'm tempted to use this as an excuse to turn around and go right back to Teri's. But then, she had to have put it on the night before, and just not gotten around to taking it down since. And besides, I'm sure she's just with Geoff, after some drunken reconciliation following the show. It's not like there's anything I haven't seen there.

I turn the knob and head inside. I freeze at the sight of Dave, spooning with Cameron.

His eyes open, and he reaches a bare arm up to scratch his own head. “Hey there, Preston .”