The Excess Road
By Joshua Lee Andrew Jones
Published by Joshua Lee Andrew Jones at Smashwords


Copyright 2010 Joshua Lee Andrew Jones




The Wisdom of Excess 
by William Blake
Exuberance is Beauty.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
The soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings



Chapter One: All at once upon a time.

Wessex College
Virginia
May, 1994

Hallucinations suck.
Hallucinations in the shower suck worse.
As I soak under the warm spray with my head down, hair in my eyes, everything gets heavier like gravity got stronger around me and nowhere else. This is a warning and there’s nothing I can do. My fist cocks back and I punch through the column of water. Below the showerhead, my scarred knuckles meet the wall and the thud rumbles through the empty stalls. Blood drips down the tile.
Before the change, I looked forward to showers where the world fell away down the drain. No murders, no cops, no Rascal, no Professor Campbell and no red dots appearing right before my eyes. A shower was a shower, safe and warm, but now it’s not safe.
Nowhere is safe.
The spray narrows with a quick spin of the metal knob that’s hot to the touch. It squeaks to a halt and the shower head cuts off the stream. Pruned hands cover a face that I don’t recognize and then glide over the top of my head to swipe away the excess water. The empty shampoo bottle and sliver of green soap are abandoned by the drain.
Outside of the stall I expect to hear random conversations that only college guys can have about sex or back hair, but a thin silence hovers like the steam. Water drips from the showerhead with the rhythm of a slow heartbeat and the stall door creaks shut as I step out under the flickering of the florescent lights. One last clean towel hangs uneven on the wall-hook and it tumbles off with a weak tug. Soaked toes slip over tile and grout.
The vent fan in the changing area hums with a slow suction but the windows above the steel frame are fogged up with a grainy mist. I walk off and sling the plush towel over my shoulder. The mirrors above the sinks are fogged up too. Didn’t think I was in the shower that long.
“Hello. Anyone there?”
No reply.
The scent of bleach burns my nose as I take the corner and pass by the urinals fresh with blue cakes. The bathroom hasn’t been this sterile since before the first day of classes.
Half-way down the hallway, I wrap the towel around my waist after leaving a trail of slick footprints behind on the recently polished floor, polished to a high shine. With each step, spotty moisture evaporates and cools my bare chest and back.
The Southern air hits me as I cross the threshold into my box of a room. The single window is open to air out the accumulated scents of my freshman year. One swollen hand grips the terrycloth and the other slams the thick window shut to keep out the muggy air. With a short yank of the chord, the plastic blinds zip down to the windowsill and banish the night from my dorm room. 
Almost everything is packed and ready to go for tomorrow’s last goodbye but next to the closet in my cubbyhole sits my guitar string ring, the copy of Less Than Zero I’ve been trying to read all year, and the unopened letter from her. I should toss it. Nothing she could have written will make me forgive her for killing him. I pick up the coiled ring and spin it on my finger.
The smell of stale pizza lingers around the stack of dead pizza boxes in the corner so I chuck them like Frisbees out into the white hall.
In this fragile space, problems surround me and I can’t feel the things I’m supposed to feel. The only person who can understand is gone and he isn’t coming back. Wish I could just start over but not here in the sticks. I mean Appalachia is pretty in spring, thick greenery rolls for miles, buttercups and violets have been resurrected from the dirt, but the numbness lives here in the foothills.
I want out.
When I stepped on campus a little over eight months ago, I thought it’d be no task to find a girlfriend, and that’s really all I wanted, but Wessex College isn’t what I thought. Hell, I’m not who I thought. I think I’m Joaquin Chandler but I can’t be certain of that anymore. Oh well.  Ninety-four has been one insane year so far. I look at my digital clock resting alone on the floor.
It’s 8:30 PM.
Time to head to the parties.
I scan over the thin carpet blotted with angry brown stains and look by the suitcases for the garbage bag with a red twist tie that holds my half-clean laundry. The tie gives a good fight but with a final hard spin, loaded with spite, it surrenders and I rescue a black t-shirt from the compacted mass of clothes. It slips on without dragging the wet off my shaggy hair but the collar rides too close to my throat. With a hard stretch, it releases and gives me slack. Wearing all black makes things easy.
Still damp, I leave my vacant dormitory behind and trek uphill across the main campus that is groomed as well as any English garden but braids of looping sidewalks knot up the lush lawn dotted with stone benches. The contours of the night sky above are flat and fuzzy circles of stars flicker on the surface. As I pass by Donner Hall, a set of twin towers where a dream almost came true, the slow groan of the Appalachian breeze is overtaken by the putter of a golf cart getting louder and louder. I look over my shoulder to see a security guard racing toward me.
He pulls out in front and jams on the brake. As he approaches through the deep twilight, I can see the sweat stains under the arms of his white shirt. The uniform chokes back his roundness.
“What you doing here?” he asks.
“I am a student,” I say.
My ID card slips out of my pocket and I show him.
“Oh, shouldn’t you be gone?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I say.
“Fine. Good night,” he says and putters off.
At least there’s no trouble and I really don’t want any trouble tonight, but I’m sure Justin is out. Doesn’t matter, I must find Elyssa. Might not survive this and my brassy nerves are uncoiling just thinking about telling her how I feel. The guitar string ring spins with a few flicks of my thumb.
Pushing through the humid wall of evening, I make it off campus and walk over to the collection of maple lined streets nicknamed Fraternity Row. Under dim stretches of streetlight I stalk the party where I hope she’ll be. Maybe telling her how I feel will exorcise the demons? The anxiety attacks and hallucinations are getting worse.
I can’t believe this happened to me.
Fraternity Row is dead. Most under-classmen left but the summer heat arrived in this part of Virginia born of early May. Cigar and cigarette smoke tinted with weed cascade by in the damp air as I turn the corner. A charged crowd gathers outside the Victorian home that was transformed over the neglected years into a party house for college kids. I bounce around the edges and head up the walkway.
Strange, there is no music.
I continue my push up to the porch and inside is packed body to body. The smell of sweat mixed with beer envelopes me. I don’t see Elyssa but my adversary throughout the year stands in my path, the only path, within the riotous space. Justin sips a plastic wine glass bubbling with champagne and is surrounded by his posse of thick necked frat boys. He sees me, an eyebrow lifts, and he shakes his head. Tufts of dirty blonde hair brush across his forehead with each short shake.
I drift through open pockets of space between people and avoid a group of trashed seniors singing cheers to graduation. A girl with tear smeared mascara crosses my path and sniffles. People cry for different reasons I guess, but I can’t cry at all now. Wish I could but everything inside is wound up too tight. In a blue bin filled with gray water, cans of cheap beer bob through the ice. I swipe one and crack it open.
My freedom is nowhere to be found.
Through the bustling crowd, a blur of blond hair zigzags towards me. They are not the locks I’m looking for, but I’m glad to see them nonetheless. Luke with his Manhattan swagger pops through, puts his hand on my shoulder, and leads me back out to the front porch where empty beer kegs clutter the corners.
The scent of apple blossoms drifts by.
“I’m graduating kid,” Luke says.
“Yes, I know,” I reply.
“I’m sorry about Tim. I know you guys were buds,” he says.
“Yeah, we were.”
His eyes tear up and sparkle in the thin street light. He wipes his face with his Phillies Blunt t-shirt.  
“It’s just madness man. You find anything new out about it?” Luke asked.
“No. Pretty sure the cops are closing the case. I know some people think a drug dealer killed them but we all saw the fights they had,” I say.
“Yeah, I saw Erin smack him at that party. Vicious. But on a positive note, I’m happy you stayed to party with old Luke one more time,” he says.
“Me too, have you seen Elyssa?”
“No Joaquin, I haven’t.  I wanted to say…” bass beats from the stereo inside blast through the house and shake the porch so he yells, “I just wanted to say if you need me, call me. You have my home number.”
“Thanks.”
“I know it’s hard for you to celebrate but let’s get shattered before the cops shut this place down,” he says.
“In a minute,” I say, force a grin and watch him nod to the music as he slips back inside.
I slide down onto an empty wine crate below the window, rub my sweating face and wonder where she could be?
“Hey Joaquin,” a male voice comes from the front door and I swivel to see Justin, no posse, staggering toward me.
“I do not want any trouble,” I say.
“No, no trouble. Besides Elyssa and I were a fling. No hard feelings?” he asks.
I envision punching him in the face so hard his teeth crack.
“No hard feelings,” I say.
“Sorry about your bud Tim. He was a good dude. Can’t believe she killed him like that,” he says and sips his champagne.
“Me either. Have you seen Elyssa?” I ask.
“What? No, she was going to stay but left,” he says and sips his champagne.  
“Oh.”
“Later dude,” he says, chugs the rest of his drink and walks back inside to be consumed by the party.  
The beer burns my tongue and the foam sets a ring around my mouth. My stomach clenches up. The air is thick and it’s hard to take a deep breath. I gaze at the cones of light flickering from the lamp posts down to the street glazed with ancient asphalt. My stomach muscles cramp and send shooting pains through my chest. An attack is coming and as I blink away the humid night the impish hallucinations, the little red dots, appear and cover the deck.
There is only one way to deal with the flashbacks. I get up, ram my way through the party, take as many beers as I can carry and shuffle out to the backyard. I drink. I drink faster. I drink them all. A pile of cans sits at my feet and I wait for fuzzy headed relief.
The eager call of nicotine whispers into my ear. With shaky hands, I try to light a smoke under the seething canvass of evening. The lighter flicks but will not come to life. I hold my breath and the flame ignites. The cigarette burns as the comforting smoke slithers away in the breeze. Spinning the guitar string ring with my thumb soothes me as the trembling moments soon fall away into the night.
I failed once again.


Chapter Two: Nice doggie.
No idea how I got there, but my brick dorm lodged in the hillside above the back parking lot is right front of me. Over the roof, the rising light on the horizon casts over the campus. Down the sloping sidewalk, I slip to the west wing’s side entrance. It’s unlocked for the first time in weeks. Cool air floods by as I trip inside. The heavy door slams behind me and seals with a thump. An echo bounces up the stairwell and lingers for a few unnatural seconds.
The grated steel tips of the stairs clack like tap shoes under my toes. A two part sigh descends from the second story landing. I whip a look up and Jack, the last person I want to see, is standing in the entranceway to my hall.
Hobbling up the last few flights, I lift my chin and stare at my RA Jack. Dressed in his Sunday best, arms bound across his chest, he glares through me. 
My ears get hot.
“Joaquin, remember help is here. You’re a good guy who got caught up in things out of your control,” Jack says.
“Control is an illusion. You must have missed that philosophy class Jack,” I say.
With my last burst of energy, I bound up the last two stairs and stand face to face with him.
“I don’t believe that. You don’t believe that. We have control over our choices,” he says.
“Also illusion.”
“No, God gave man freewill, the ability to choose,” he says.
“I am not getting into the freewill thing. Why are you up?” I ask.
“I always get up at this time. If you ever happened to get up at a reasonable hour you might… I’m sorry. This isn’t the time for that,” he says.
“How very adult of you,” I say.
“Just wanted to tell you again, you’re a good person with tons of talent. I heard you and George play guitars. Don’t let it slip away,” he says, opens his arms and rushes forth to hug me.
He smells like mint toothpaste and I smell like a bar.
“Thank you Jack. Goodbye.”
The embrace ends with him stepping back wiping his eyes.
“Good bye Joaquin. Remember God has not abandoned you.”
Slipping by, hands in my pockets, I stumble to my room that only a few days ago was a laundry hamper. Cool fluid darkness greets me.
Along the bare walls, garbage bags filled with laundry huddle next to taped up moving boxes. Two suitcases by the door are packed and stacked. The copy of Less Than Zero is still in the cubbyhole. I fall face first onto my dented mattress as the coils cringe with metal creaks. My shoes won’t slide off. I reach for the sheet cowering at my feet. The sheet drapes across my back as I drill my head into my pillow. 
Sleep cannot be denied. 
Car doors slam out on the parking lot and stir me from my slumber in what seem like moments. After counting ten, I stop. The sheet is on the floor and my jeans are twisted cutting off the circulation to my groin. My beer stained t-shirt chokes me. Both dingy garments spin back into place as I roll out of the central pit of my bed and go investigate.
Through the bug splatter on the outside of the second story hallway window, I watch a mob of reporters assembling below. The parking lot is full of news crews running around battling for space. I wonder why they’re here now? Been a while since the shootings. My stiff neck cracks as I scan the view and spin my guitar string ring.
The hilltop campus cut out of the Appalachian foothills seems smaller. Surrounding the window frame, the ivy clasping the brick façade flutters in the breeze dappled by the delicate perfume of apple blossoms and honeysuckle in bloom.
I shield my face from the sun with my left hand. Images of when the dean called us to the conference hall invade me. As I raise my right hand to block the rest of the light, the window comes alive and acts like a movie screen replaying the events. The dean tells us about the murder and George slumps to the floor. The shock on everyone’s faces is as clear as my reflection.
The images fall away.
Everything changed so much with two shotgun blasts.
The voices of the news crews scampering down on the lot penetrate the window. I squint and lean in closer to watch. There is a media circus setting up but no tents or elephants just lighting reflectors and white news vans cramping the lot. Male reporters, tan as toasted almonds, battle for elbow room and the right shot. A solitary female reporter claims her area with a smile. They hold their microphones tight like lion tamer’s whips ready to crack the Big Top sky above.
I place my palms on the window warm as sex. The ammonia vapor from a recent cleaning burns my eyes. Down on the curb, a few crewmen stand arms crossed while lit cigarettes dangle from the corners of their mouths. The others sit and fan balmy air on their flushed faces with fleshy hands. Most look as if they are in various stages of heatstroke. It’s way too hot for early May.
“GO!”… “GO!” comes from below as two crews break off and race around the side of the dorm. 
Nothing back there but Collin’s field.
My stomach braids up in knots upon knots. A cold tingle wrenches my spine. I bang on the window with my right hand and give them the finger.
“Hey you bloodsuckers! Get the fuck out!”
One reporter looks up at me with molten disdain in his eyes. I pound the window. It wobbles under my fist.
I slide back and close my eyes to clear away the ammonia sting.  When I open them, hundreds of flashing red dots appear on the surface of the window and zip back and forth. Some dots pop and others stop and bleed. Another attack claws at my mind. The world around me warps, walls twist and melt as the widow bubbles and expands. The air becomes heavy in my lungs. My chin drops.
“Damn it!”
I take a deep breath and exhale in staggered pulses. My body shudders and the red dots vanish. The attack stalls. At least now I can go see what the news crews are up to behind the building. I look back to the handprints left on the glass and pivot around with my thumbs hooked in the belt loops of my jeans. The soles of my shoes scuff the polished floors.
As I enter the lifeless north-south corridor connecting the halls, I lift my right arm straight out. My hand brushes across the red and green construction paper fliers taped to the white wall advertising tutors and house rentals. They fall to the ground like autumn leaves. Greeting me in the east wing is a fog of fumes. The thick scent of bleach seeps out from under the bathroom doors beside me.
Before reaching the windowsill covered with dead flies, I gaze up to the clock hanging above. The WES of WESSEX COLLEGE is gone and a deep crack crawls across the protective plastic casing. The hands are frozen at noon.
Through the window, I see the reporters on the field wiping sweat from their brows. Cameramen stabilize their footing, stepping back and forth, side to side. The sound of choppy engines starting up rolls off the brick building and the noise builds. One reporter with neatly quaffed blonde hair gives the cut signal across his neck as a campus grounds crew pass behind him on riding mowers.
I hunch over, tail between my legs, and make my way back down the barren hallways. As I walk by a bathroom, I bump into a cluster of black garbage cans. A copy of the last college paper, The Wasp, sits on a mound of trash. I stop, look around, and stretch the collar of my white t-shirt falling across me like a sheet on a broom handle. With a snatch, I skim the front page.
The paper scatters as it floats down to the floor.
“At least they did not write anything about her. Tim you sure pissed people off, but you were never afraid. Stood up to Rascal and never flinched. How did you and Erin get in so deep?”
The rubber soles of my shoes send chirps down hall as I lumber forward and a low pitched bark echoes back from around the bend. My eyebrows lift.
With heavy steps, I make the corner and see two cops and a golden retriever in front of my door. Why are they here? I answered their questions.
My back cracks as I straighten up. I look the taller cop in his mirrored sunglasses. As I reach them, my hand extends so the dog can sniff it. The front rows of dagger teeth become visible as it growls and spits a hard bark at me. Hot spikes of adrenaline course through my blood and a bead of sweat begins its journey from my forehead down to my nose.
My hands shake.
“No,” the stout cop commands and jerks the leash.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“Mr. Chandler, we want to verify that the information you gave us is correct,” the tall one says.
“Nothing has changed,” I say.
“Can we talk in your room? Don’t want any pesky reporters eavesdropping from around the corner.”
“Sure.”
I look at the graffiti sprawling across the door in black marker as it squeals open. They enter the darkness with dubious grins and I realize what they are doing. A drug dog is now in my room. I see it sniffing like a coked up demon. They are looking for evidence to connect me to Tim and Rascal. Holy shit. The letter.
My body becomes light as if filled with helium as I enter and flick the switch on the painted cinderblock wall. The dog is in a sniffing frenzy.


Chapter Three: Flash forward, flashback
The cops are cardboard cutouts until the dog finishes searching.  No rights are read. I step out into the bright hall and give the dog space to exit my room. The letter was address side down.
The tall cop slips a piece of folded paper out of his pant’s pocket and gives it to me. My hands shudder as I unfold and read.  He eyes me the whole time. On the paper are my home address, phone number and my mother’s name. I hand it back with a nod.
“It is all correct,” I say.
The cop yanks the leash. The dog’s nails scrape and clack the floor as they trot off. As they reach the stairs, the tall cop looks over his shoulder. I spin my ring.
“You fit the description of a person spotted with Mr. Baumgarten entering a know drug factory. Keep your nose clean boy. I’ll be seeing ya,” he says and points.
He disappears into the shadow filled stairwell.
I hear van doors slam and engines rev. Through a dusting of yellow pollen on the glass, I witness the vans trail behind the unmarked police car. That was why they were here. Cops tipped them off. They wanted to capture a cuff and stuff. Am I a suspect? No, I have an alibi. Maybe they found something else?
Down the squiggle of a hillside road, one white van drives up against the traffic of the fleeing circus caravan. The new comer pulls in right below the window.
“Must have got the time mixed up,” I say and exhale a patch of fog onto the window.
A three person crew exits. Leading the group is a statuesque woman in a power suit and hooker heels. Her light weight charcoal skirt accented by cement colored pinstripes swings as a silent bell ringing the rhythm of her steps. The camera man lugs a shoulder mount video camera as he squints in the furious light. Bringing up the rear is a shaggy guy toting a silver lighting reflector. Electrical cords drag behind him. I rub the rough sandpaper stubble on my chin and go grab a plastic cup, fill it at the water fountain, descend the stairs and propel myself into the curious day.
I step out into a laser beam. My chest rises and falls in the rubbery hot air. I slide my way to the corner and watch them set up. The shaggy guy wipes his face with his collar as he pants. He doesn’t see me. The sidewalk is a skillet.
“Bro, you want some water?” I ask. He twists around and drops a cable.
“Shit. Uh, no thank’s man.”
He looks at the cup as if it was covered in herpes.
He bends down to pick up a black cable.
“Sure? Hot as hell out here.”
“No, thanks. Didn’t think I’d see any students around today. I thought ya’ll left.”
“Most did.”
“Hey, you know the students involved?”
“Thought I did,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Sorry to bother you.”
After tossing the water on the sloping sidewalk between my dorm and Whitney Hall, I pat the corner of the brick building as I round it and walk to the side entrance. With a click, I wrench the heavy fire door open but I don’t go through. The door crashes into the frame. Creeping back on tip toes, hidden by the shade of the building, I slip back to listen to the reporter perform her report. Above, two ravens call to each other and hop along the tops of the old growth trees bordering access road. The reporter uses her hand as a visor while rotating up to look at the canopy.
“Fucking scavengers,” the cameraman says.
The birds go silent. She snaps back into place with a toss of her hair. She stares directly into the lens of the camera as her forehead begins to perspire and they begin to shoot.
“I’m Elizabeth Hundley. The tragedy that changed the landscape of this quiet Appalachian community comes to an end as drugs and violence claim more victims.”
 “Comes to an end? Not even close,” I whisper.
“Caw, caw, caw,” cascades down from the periwinkle sky.  I cover my eyes, peer to the heavens and see the ravens circling above. The crew pays them no mind as a glimmer of silver on the ground garners my attention. A foil wrapper with a half-eaten granola bar lies next to their gear.
“Stop,” Elizabeth says and she looks up.
As if on cue, the ravens dive bomb her and then rise with swift wing beats. She recoils as white liquid feces splatters on her shoulder. The shaggy guy and the cameraman jump back and muffle their laughter as she whisks off her jacket and flees into the van.
That was funny. I should be laughing.
Back in my hallway, I stare at the “It’ll be okay” graffiti messages on my door. The hinges grind and squeal. The room feel strange empty and looks like the jail cell but with a built in wall desk and two closets.
“Please God, no flashbacks in the car,” I say.
I stuff the letter into my pocket and check my wallet to see if I have any cash left over. The brown leather wallet sticks in my back pocket and I pull out the only thing that never leaves me with a tug. The edges are worn to a light tan and the colors of the inlaid sun are gone but it held up pretty well considering it’s been in my back pocket since I was twelve. Three dollars left, makes sense, and the photo in the credit card sleeve is there. It takes two sturdy tugs to slip out.
My family is still visible in the creased photo but the background shot of the Grand Canyon faded. Mother is posing with her Farrah Fawcett haircut and Hunter, chubbier than I remember, looks like he just cried and there is father with his hands on my shoulders peering off into the distance. I must be five in this picture. My baby boy blonde hair hadn’t darkened yet.
I can’t believe this picture held up for so long.
My feet slide as I make my way on the tile floor to the window and put the photo back in the sleeve. The wallet weighs down my pocket. The lot is empty now.
For some reason, I feel like I should say something to this tomb like I owe it an apology. I start pacing and the hard footsteps echo in spirals down the hall.
“I tried. Sorry.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms but the mute hall isn’t chilly. I spin my guitar string ring.
“What am I going to do Tim? What the fuck am I going to do?”
My numb fingers rub my temples as I pace faster and scuff the floors as I walk back over to the window. The yellow streams of sun are calming as they crisp my skin.
I wait.
I spin my ring.
   Over the serpentine slope of the college’s access roads the same type of sedan my mother always rents pulls into view. As the car pulls into a space below, I see my mother’s young boyfriend William in the passenger seat.
“Fuck a duck!”
Why is he here? Damn, now I have to talk to him. Hustling down the stairs, jumping every few steps, I fall into the fire door and tumble out into the thick light. With hands in my pockets, I saunter over to greet them.
  William, an ex-country club tennis pro who let himself go, pops out of the car. He flips back his curly blonde hair and says with a half-grin, “Hey hey there sport, how’s it hanging?”
“Fine,” I reply.
My mother exits the car and scans the grounds as if she was on a Secret Service detail but wearing a Channel suit. She walks to me and a thin smile forms as she runs her fingernails through her hair and says, “How are you?  You’re face is so lean and ashen.” She sighs. I snicker and say, “Better.”
A brief lean in hug is all either of us can muster and I lead them inside. The loading of brown boxes and garbage bags into the car is swift with few words said. My guitar fits in the trunk.
The air outside is suffocating and alive with flies. The heat of the searing southern sun steals my strength. I’m drenched with sweat.
The sound of insects buzzing by starts to annoy me. I can feel another attack crouching in the shadows of my mind. It’s a strong one ready to pounce into the light of day at any moment.
I feel it.
It’s restless and waiting to jump out.
The chore is completed and I stuff myself in the back seat. The reluctant journey begins in a muddy silence. The college entrance falls away as I glance back and soon we are on rural roads.
Every ten miles or so in the flatlands, there are rows of broken down weathered shanties with rotting carcasses of metallic mules up on cinder blocks oxidizing in the fragrant humidity of the midday. My eyes don’t blink as the blur of trees and grasses growing wildly on the roadside smears through the car window but soon it is gone as the strip malls rise in the horizon. My guitar string ring feels tight. It bites in as it spins.
The air conditioning putters out. Sweat pours over my eyes. Huge droplets cling to the tips of my eyelashes as the car gets punched underneath by a pothole. Everything is tossed in the air. The boxes fall across me and the shocks squeal beneath.
The car bounces and dips.
The little red dots are conjured and cover the interior of the car. I force a skittish breath. They pulse but then vanish. I stack the small boxes and pretend to sleep.
After an hour of intense quiet, I open my eyes and witness quick glances between my mother and William. Something bad is going to happen any second. William adjusts his collar and whips his head around.  His brow folds and his lips curl up in a tight smile.
Nausea bubbles up.
He speaks softly to the clutter, “Joaquin, I know there’s been some unpleasant business you’ve dealt with this past semester and I want you to know if you need anything just ask. I had a friend die at college too.”
William, with a few bounces, twists his thick torso around and says, “I have some great news. You won’t have to worry about your mother anymore. We’re getting married in August.”
“Lovely. Any new siblings I should be aware of?” I ask.
William sits forward as a hue of anger comes across the reflection of my mother’s face in the rearview mirror.
My mother clears her throat, clenches the steering wheel, and in a subdued voice says, “I’m sorry that we had to surprise you with this news but when things settle down you’ll see this is for the best.”
I nod a few times, shift in my seat and cause the boxes to collapse across my lap again. I wonder if she will invite Hunter to the wedding?
Doubt it.
After a few hours, we get to the same motel we used when she drove me down to school and check in. I get my own room and have a bathroom to myself. I open the rickety red door of the first floor room that has a view of the parking lot. I’m scared to put my luggage down.
As I scan the puke green room for a place to put my bags, the red dots return and cover the floor. My eyes close and I will them away but an attack is brewing. It could boil over anytime and I can’t take much more of this.
My mind is going bye bye.
I pull out the letter from my pocket and toss it on the bed, set down the suitcase below the window, close the door and flick on the ancient television. The room reminds me of the day I moved into the dorm; the day when it all began slipping away.



Chapter Four: Movement
The entire student body of Wessex College buzzed around campus three days before classes began. Orientation was the next day for freshmen. After signing in and getting my room key, my mother got on the road because she had a meeting the next day in Connecticut.
I stood before the open door to room 210 with my clumps of bags and luggage. An official letter from Wessex College was taped to the door.  Two weak mattresses were bent on the wall inside.
The softest mattress snuggled into the steel bed frame below the open window with out me having to force it. I tossed my plump gym bags, garment bag and letter on to the bed and nudged my suitcases in with a few heel kicks.
The sun blazed through the window and warmed my back. I sat and tore open the letter. A smile crawled up my face as I scanned the room knowing I was going to be the only fish in the fish tank.
The kid who was to be my roommate was not attending.
As I sat in the Fulton auditorium, two white boys with sideways baseball caps behind me yelled, “Yo, yo Mr. Ed.” when the orientation leader John introduced himself. I chuckled but not because John had piano keys for teeth. The kids just let me know how white they really were.
I looked down to my left hand. On my index finger a coiled ring made of guitar strings, bronze and silver sonic snakes intertwined, constricted so I began to spin it with my thumb. The ring only cost five bucks at a craft fair in Fairfield, my home town, and I haven’t taken it off in a while. It doesn’t let go easily but it finds a dark place to rest in my pocket.
We crisscrossed the campus and were shown every brick building where classes met. I could feel eyes on me. It must have been because I was wearing a black oxford and black pinstripe pants and everyone else was white t-shirts and shorts.
Schedules were made and classes began in a flurry. My nest was coming along after combining the two beds and piles of clothes began build and mottle the thin carpet. I hadn’t spoken to anyone but my professors in a week, not even at the hall meetings.
No one was going to come to me.
Change was required so I began wearing jeans and t-shirts.
On a balmy Thursday afternoon between classes, I decide to crack open the hardcover of Less Than Zero that my AP English teacher in high school bought me as a graduation gift. I leaned back in my plastic backed desk chair, it was fire engine red so I liked it, and opened to the first chapter. The noise filtering in from the hall was distracting so I got up and went to shut the half open door. Two figures appeared and I recognized them from down the hall.
“Yo man, waz up!” Tim, the shorter of the two, exclaimed with a New York accent. He reminded me of a picture I’d seen in a history text book about the Vandals. Tim raised his right arm and tapped his left shoulder twice with a clenched fist and extended his hand. He clasped my hand, tightened his grip and pulled back so his fingers snapped. He stepped back and crossed his arms.
I nodded.
“You remember me, we were introduced in the beginning of the semester, I’m George,” the taller guy said. I actually didn’t. Tim entered my messy lair after I waved him in and automatically grabbed a seat at the foot of my bed. I gave them a quick examination like a guitar at a pawnshop. Tim tucked in the front of his oversized Misfits t-shirt in his light brown pants and kept tapping his right index finger on his thigh.  
George walked straight to the window like a soldier with his work boots chaffing his faded jeans. He leaned against the closet as his large chocolate Easter egg eyes jumped around the room searching for something as he scratched the dark stubble on his diamond cut jaw.
I spun my ring.
I couldn’t read either of these guys so I asked, “So, what do you want?” Tim twitched his thumbs and spit out, “So, you get straight A’s for this semester?”
George dipped down and with a quick slap to the kidneys sent Tim to his knees on the thin carpet.
George shot his chin out and said, “That’s when your roommate commits suicide, not when a family member gets killed. Anyway it’s bullshit. You think this school would give you anything for free? Shit no!”
His face cringed like he might have said something stupid and turned toward me and said, “Oh, man I’m sorry if that offended you.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your roommate’s sister was killed so he left,” Tim said.
“Uh, I never had a roommate,” I said.
“Oh, that’s what we heard,” Tim said and sniffled.
“Jack told us that’s why you have a single,” George said.
“News to me,” I replied. George pretended to wipe sweat away from his face.
We talked about where we were from, what types of music we listened to, the benefits of having a single room, the rampant use of legal and illegal drugs and cheating on college campuses. George and I came from divorced families and funny enough we all played the guitar and had previously been in bands. Tim said he gave up on his dreams of Rock Stardom because of the insincerity of the music industry.
We talked about President Clinton’s election and our siblings. George had and older sister. Tim said she was “Hot” and I told them how my brother took off to be a cowboy in Colorado and find himself. Tim thought it was “Kick ass”.
Tim scanned my room every few moments and looked to the cubbyhole on the right side of the room. On top of the built in shelves below the mirror were my over-the-counter medications. He advised me to hide the cough syrup because there was an incident the year before when a guy went to the hospital because he did too many Robo-shots. He explained that was when you drank cough syrup and booze to make it “more fun” but now RA’s are on the look out for it.
George told me not to worry and said if I needed a pick-me-up that nearly half the students were on Ritalin and it’s easy to get. After about an hour of discussing where the party houses were located I asked them, “So, why am I being treated like a leper?”
“Dude come on! Not like you tried to hang out. We thought, at least Tim and I did, that we’d give you some space. Got a question, some of the floor is going out tonight, want to come?” George asked to my surprise.
“Thursday night?” I asked as my eyes became slits.
They shook their heads as if they were the grandparents of a three year old who just said “fuck” in front of them.
“Thursday is the biggest party night at this school,” George said.
“So, you coming out or are you gonna be a hermit?” Tim asked with a curled up lip as he stared into my eyes.
I blinked.
“Sure.”
Later, George and Tim yanked me from my room and we met two other guys from the hall at the entrance of the chapel on the other side of the campus.  There were no introductions but they nodded at me in recognition. The other guys took off down the street because they said they needed to get supplies and left Tim, George and me on the curb. We pack of jackals began to prowl the nearby streets nicknamed Fraternity Row and stalked a party house named the Shed.  Nervous, but not alone, I pushed through the fear and dense Southern air thinking I was prepared for anything.
I was in for a surprise.


Chapter Five: Altar of altered
The shrubs surrounding the Shed, a rustic white colonial house, were perfect rectangles. The manicured lawn smiled with diagonal lines from a recent mow. I couldn’t believe college kids lived there and then we entered through the back door that led to the kitchen. Pots and pans in the sink, garbage bags scattered throughout the house and the floors were sticky like cold honey. The furniture was whisked off to the corners.
There were three people to each square foot and the temperature of the room exceeded the outside September heat by fifteen degrees and the windows were open. My shoulders tensed up and I put on a stone face. Beer spilled without anyone freaking out about how their parents were going to kill them.
The smell of sex sweat, testosterone and what I thought was burning bread wafted through the clutter of kids. The walls were a lemon fog. The herd went to the slaughter in the basement. We descended a staircase patched with rotten ply-wood. The uneven steps were slick with mud, spilled beer and puke. The basement doorway was corked by three large necked red-faced seniors. They demanded three dollars; we each paid with crumpled up bills and with sour contempt on their faces told us the direction of the numerous kegs.
We entered the musty cave.
It was a cement armpit echoing English Electronica from a dug out chamber next to the hot water tank. Rings of intoxicated sophomore and freshman girls giggled as junior guys watched over them like they were protecting their property from looters.  We crept by until the wall of people standing chest to chest blocked us.
Two low hanging light bulbs at opposite ends of the room illuminated the cavern while Christmas lights strung like vines wound around unfinished wooden beams. Four by eight wood columns stood as a square forest in front of me shingled with flattened beer cans. Tinsel glittered from the open floor joists above.
Couldn’t see so I lifted up on my tip toes and saw jocks shot-gunning their cheap Milwaukee brewed swill in the corner. They raised the beer cans in the air and crushed them on their foreheads. In victory, they grabbed each other’s shoulders and butted heads like rams. Next to them were a group of seniors holding German beer steins.
In the dark, corner, the prize crouched below the bulging crowd. The scuffed aluminum kegs packed like mules with bundles of ice stood motionless in pools of rank water against the gritty wall. The scent of mold was inescapable and spewed out of the black spots crawling across the darkest corners.
George and Tim stood on the edge of the crowd surrounding the keg and waved to the guy manning the tap. They were passed two beers and stepped away.
I pushed and squeezed through the tightening noose of a crowd to get a half-filled cup.
George and Tim took up residence in front of makeshift bar, an altar from a student horror film, at the opposite end of the basement. The plywood top was covered in old cheap whiskey bottles and hundreds of used red keg cups in leaning stacks. After joining them, I stood around hoping to encounter girls as they skit by to go back upstairs.
Not one looked at me.
The two sophomores from my hall who left before came over to talk to George and Tim and formed a circle. Each one of them pulled out a tiny zip lock plastic bags with white powder. In unison, they pulled keys out from their pockets and dipped the tips in and snorted.
Heads went back.
Eyes widened.
The circle was broken and George and Tim spread out.
Then, I was introduced to Roger, but people called him Curly because he resembled the famous Stooge, and Cliff the Stiff. They were practically standing on my feet. They were inseparable fraternity brothers and drug friends. George stepped up to me and pulled out his key. He rattled it in front of my face as if I were a toddler. I nodded, he gave me his baggie and I sniffed more than a tip. The coke was over cut crap and a medicine-menthol taste dripped down the back of my throat.
A realization came to me that a part of the earlier conversation in my room was a test to see if I used or not. Roger then said we should follow them upstairs to the reserved keg in the living room on the other side of the house. This was a better deal than staying in that collapsed box of a basement, I was happy to leave the grungy cave as I could now taste the mold and dust on my teeth.
The upstairs scene was pleasant compared to the bowels of the house. The girls were prettier and less loaded. One side of the house had cleared out and fresh air was coming through an open window. I started to talk to Roger and Cliff. They were two mirrors reflecting into each other.  Cliff rubbed his beer gut and kept sniffing around as if someone farted. I overheard him say something about soccer so I jumped in. 
“I played when I was young too, but I quit because of a broken ankle,” I said. 
He pretended not to hear me.
“Do you still play?” I asked. Cliff shook his head.
“I played until junior year in high school and was recruited. But, I didn’t like playing anymore. I was thinking about trying out for the team here but they suck and it’d be too much work. Fuck it. I’d have to wake up at six to go run,” he said.
“Right on man,” was all I could say.
George and Tim shuffled off with Roger to do a couple blasts of the powder and I found myself alone with Cliff. He panned around the room like a hawk scanning for prey until he found some familiar girls. He told me to go up stairs to the third door and find the guys. When I took my first step, he went in the other direction.
The next room overflowed with strangers looking at me as if I was dyed green. I held my beer aloft and squeezed my way to the narrow banister. People hung out on each step and some were trying to dance to the rumble of house music. 
The party was a lot of work.
I reached the third floor landing and nudged my way through another pack of intoxicated strangers. Spinning in a circle, I searched for the closest door and approached it with scant steps. The white door was tilted on its hinges and a slanted chalk board read “FUCKEN PARTY” in green. The door was cracked so I pushed it open and entered.
As the meager light from the hallway fanned out on to a queen size bed in the middle of the room, two shadowy figures covered themselves with the blankets. They yelled “Get out!” so I did. My skull filled with warm anger. Then Tim and George appeared out of what I thought was a broom closet and George said, “Glad you found us, we’re going to go to a less compressed shindig two blocks away. More freshman and sophomores meat so we’ll have a chance to talk to some Betties. Maybe I’ll get lucky. But not you, you’re a freshman. Ha!”
I was glad they didn’t ditch me and was more than happy to leave.  It didn’t seem as difficult treading through the crowd on the way out. The warm breeze from across the hills filled the air with the scent of over ripened apples from the nearby orchard. The wind evaporated the moist stench of the disgusting basement from me. The marble expression chiseled off my face and I didn’t feel the pricks of coke anymore.
After a couple blocks walk down the bending lanes, a smile peeked through. We came upon a three-story Victorian, which seemed out of place on this street, and it didn’t appear to be a college kid’s house. The newspaper gray paint was fresh and without sign of being broken down by the sun’s relentless stream. Then I heard Nuthin but a G Thang from the album The Chronic being played in the backyard as screams of “Chug!” flew by my ears.
Around the back of the house, we were greeted by a grinning burly guy in flannel who George called Bear. He took two bucks from us and said, “Enjoy. Beers at the back.” as he handed us blue plastic cups. One guy wearing blue shorts and a wife-beater next to him waved to me. Tim asked me to go get some beers, so I went to the end of the backyard to a row of Willow trees where a petite doe-eyed brunette was holding the black tap of the keg sitting in a red plastic tub covered in ice.
The line was small and it moved fast. The keg was full. I held the cups out and filled them. 
“Hey handsome. You wanna take over this tap so I can go see my friends on the porch?” the girl said.
I nodded my head.
Tim noticed me standing at the end of the yard and stomped up, swiped the beers and shook his head as he walked back to growing pulsing crowd.
For twenty minutes, I stood there like a public fountain filling my cup and then the rest of the party. I introduced myself to everyone who came up. John, the horse-toothed leader of my orientation group, appeared out of the dense air and came up to me. He was wearing the same clothes from orientation.
“How in the hell did you get suckered into this job at this pathetic party? You can get a beer any time. It’s a good gig when the party’s raging but you should be trying to meet chicks,” he said while shaking a sprig of withered brown atop his bloated crown.
“Thanks for the advice man,” I said and killed the rest of my beer, filled my cup and continued, “Right, screw this, fill your own.”
I strutted over to a circle of people surrounding Tim.
Tim was on one knee holding a long clear tube above his head that was attached to a yellow funnel. It was called a beer bong or a funnel up north. Two wobbly wasted guys wearing the same Far Side t-shirt were pouring a bottle of cheap pink wine into the funnel along with malt liquor and some other opaque liquid. Tim lowered the tube and sucked it empty.  He stood and bowed to the crowd but then his cheeks bulged. Hunched over, he held his finger in the air and tripped over to the army green garbage can on the pristine white porch. He burped, twisted his neck and with the explosive force of a power washer vomited.
The crowded screamed in delight as if he had just won a fight in the Coliseum of Rome. The surprising thing to me, but obviously not to anyone else, was that he returned to do another funnel and went on his soggy knees again as the cheers grew as an opening umbrella.
I sipped my beer as I decided to take a walk around the yard and saw a guy on the side of the house jamming his fingers down his throat next to his buddy who was puking beer foam. The puker waved. Ten minutes later, the puker and Tim were at the keg waiting for a beer. I had heard the media report this behavior as “Binge drinking”.
It is alcoholic Bulimia, binging and purging.
The foam tickled my lips so I turned away to the bushes to wipe my mouth. When I turned back, a stewed mob approached with Tim holding the beer bong high above his head. George began chanting my name and the others followed as the contraption was placed in front of my nose.  I swiped the tube away from Tim.
“Fine. But no wine,” I said.
The funnel was filled as I grasped the bottom of the slick tube and held it high. As I knelt on the ground, I felt red clay squish. The foam fizzed and popped. A trail of cigarette smoke snaked into my nose and I fight back the urge to sneeze.
My mouth went around the opening like a baby sucking on a nipple and the cheers surrounded me. The beer bong was lifted and a forceful stream of fizzy beer rushed through the tube. I sprayed a little from the sides of my mouth as my cheeks bulged.
It hurt.
I stood victorious as my eyes watered and my nose burned but I held down the rising gas bubbles and foam in my stomach. The crowd hooted and hollered. I would be drunk soon, so I made the conscious effort to shut up.
Caveat, in vino veritas.
I sauntered over to four girls and engaged in meaningless babble about, “How they liked it here?” and “Where they lived?”  None of them really interested me except the cute brunette from earlier. Then a figure of beauty, as if painted by Botticelli or Michelangelo, floated through the gate as if cherubim holding silk sheets suspended her. She was an image of such brutal beauty that it undercut the rhythm of my breath and my heart paused mid-beat, and for a moment I couldn’t see the color red.
I was entranced as if I was standing in a room with multi-colored strobe lights and did not dare move as she went by. Her long straight blonde hair was a garland adorned with tiny daisy clips. Under the porch lights, her eyes sparkled as purloined African emeralds. Her buxom figure could not be hidden by her billowy beige blouse or the darkness of the evening.
All I could do was turn away and sneak a look. She went straight to the keg, slipped a cup off the sleeve and took a piece of gum out of her mouth, put it on the bottom of the cup, and filled up the cup at an angle like a pro. She sloshed it down with one big swig. A little foam moustache glistened on her lip. She noticed, giggled, excused herself as she turned away from the small crowd, and wiped it off.
I was beyond blitzed tolerances so I couldn’t see imperfections. But I saw her smile, her teeth were large and her gums showed. On most girls that was a turn off but on her it made her real and made me think I might have a shot. I had to know more so I went to my only available sources in the feverish night, Tim and George.
They saw her before in the cafeteria and wanted to find out about her too. George knew a girl on her hall, but he could only find out what her name was. It was Elyssa Freund. The name was perfect.
“I can get her in bed before the semester is out,” Tim said.
George and I turned to each other and burst out laughing.
“So, you think you can do better assholes?” Tim asked out of the side of his face. 
I rolled my eyes and chugged my warm foam. At that point, Roger and Cliff walked up.
“We’re going to our frat’s party. It’s starting in ten minutes. You guys should come and meet the brothers. It’s good to get in early with everyone before Rush. Follow us,” Roger said.
“Lots of beer and no ugly chicks,” Cliff said as he burped.
I didn’t want to leave but Tim did.
I wanted to stare at Elyssa and maybe go talk to her but I joined the exodus hoping to see the wicked and strange things that might appear or disappear that evening.


Chapter Six: First of one, many like the others
As we trailed down the sidewalk, a black pickup truck locked its brakes and screeched to a halt in front of us. Cliff ran up to the driver’s side, a big smile grew on his face and he screamed, “Get in!” We hopped in the unlined bed and held tight as he peeled out down the street and left a cloud of dust behind.
In less than two minutes we took a sharp corner, pulled in the rhododendron lined stone driveway and right into a spot as we ran over an orange traffic cone. We spilled over the sides as the driver slammed his door and almost knocked me down.
The stocky driver looked at me with glazed eyes and drunk rosy cheeks and said, “Hey there chief haven’t seen you before, I’m Charles but my friends call me C.C. If you’re cool you can call me that too.” He turned and escorted us to the side door of an enormous Tudor style mansion and hollered, “Entrée” as his baggy green gym shorts almost fell to his ankles as he walked in. I was waiting for him to crow like a rooster, a slow rooster, a rooster who had tutors.
We followed like good little sheep and stomped our way up the narrow twisting stairwell to the living room that was a converted ballroom. The forest green painted walls were burdened with giant paddles and pictures of the brothers dating from the founding of the chapter. 
The ego gallery had an exquisite parquet floor but was covered with checkered throw rugs and a couple of brown leather couches ravaged by four free roaming mutts. Fur and bits of yellow foam ripped from the couch cushions was strewn across the wood floors. I couldn’t be sure but either one of the dogs or one of the frat brothers left a puddle near the front bay window.
The house smelled of piss and burnt sugar.
All I could think about was “Animal House”. Roger and Cliff took off to the kitchen with Charles.
A keg in a red plastic barrel in the middle of the room was a beacon with a sleeve of blue cups covering the tap. Tim went to the kitchen. He came back with a smile on his face.
“It’s free but better not get comfortable with that,” he said as he raised his left eyebrow.
We made beelines straight to the keg and loaded up. I yawned and George’s left eyebrow raised. I went to sit down on the couch that smelled least of wet dog and had the fewest wounds bleeding yellow foam. The others decided to rest their legs and sat down before the flood of uninhibited students crashed through.
I spun my guitar string ring.
“What is with the ‘You can call me C.C. if you are cool’ bit?” I asked George.
“Don’t sweat it. He does that with every freshman he thinks might rush. C.C. stands for Crazy Charles. Probably gave it to himself,” George said.
Tim interjected, “No man, listen. I saw him drop his pants at a rugby party last year. He whipped out his Johnson right in the middle of the party he started pissing full stream as he walked out the door. I heard some other shit too about Betties but they could be stories made up by his brothers.”
I spun to George and said, “If that is all it takes to be called crazy at this school then I should be institutionalized by the end of next month.”
George chuckled, “Right on bro, you conquer this Looney bin.” Dr. Dre started playing in the background.
By the time most of the guests arrived and “the Chronic” had finished. We had eight beers each and the universe had bisected into two overlapping images. Every girl that walked in was what George called “Fuckable”.
We compatriots partook of the cheap beer and claimed our space on the couches as the party formed around us like choppy animation from a kid’s flip book. Accept for urgent sprints to the huge tile bathroom swimming with mildew, we were secure in our drunken world vibrating white noise.
It reached one-thirty in the morning and I tried to convince the guys to start heading back.
“No dude, it gets better as it gets later. Plus there’s still a full barrel left,” Tim said.
So I let it be and just watched people. Some girls noticed me gazing and waved. One girl broke ranks and walked over as her slinky black skirt clung to her hips and with a quick upward flip her hair fell down in waves. She twitched her pixie nose like a cat that sniffed a pile of flour on the floor as she sat down next to me.
The couch below her sunk to the floor. She held her beer aloft, not one drop spilled, as she bounced to a stop. Her smooth legs crossed and she tugged on her platinum hoop earring with her free hand. She rotated her impressive chest towards me and as her gossamer white blouse settled to fit her snug with a hug.
I was about to burst and hid my excitement by placing my right forearm over my crotch. Her hand went down by her side and she sighed. I retreated a bit.
“Are you okay? Your eyes are half closed and you’re not talking to anyone else but these two bozos. Look at them. Hello George, Tim, are you two corrupting this poor boy?” she said.
She called me boy, what was I in kindergarten? From that statement, I knew she was not coming over to hit on me.
“Oh, I’m Erin and what’s your name?”
“Do you really want to know or did you come over here to make me quit looking at you?” I asked.
Erin glanced away, then turned back, and said, “Of course I want to know your name. I came over here to talk to you and not these buffoons. So what’s your name?”
I took a deep breath and hesitantly said, “My name is Joaquin Theodore Shepherd Chandler.”
“Joaquin’s different. What is it?” Erin asked.
“It is Hebrew, or some Spanish derivative, I think. I think it was Jesus Christ’s grandfather’s name on his mother’s side, but I’m not Christian, Jewish or that religious,” I said unsure of what to say next.
“That’s cool, I’m not Christian, Jewish or that religious either,” she said.
The white rim of my cup came to my lips.
“So you seem to be all right, but you guys look spent,” she said.
As soon as she looked over to her group of friends, a roar penetrated the jumbled noise of the party. Five frat brothers flew out of the kitchen and ran out the front door like a flock of birds. A bottle shattered on the side of the house.
The party exited the house as one giant mass and a large circle formed on the front lawn. There were the five frat brothers and some other guys that looked vaguely familiar beginning to tussle. I asked who they were to George and he said, “Those are Gamma Brothers they’re fighting.  Happens all the time.”
A wrestling match took place on the patchy front yard and none of the guys knew how to fight. They just tackled, tumbled and hit each other without locked wrists.
A balding frat brother yelled, “Fuck em up! Fuck em up!”
The rolling around in the red dirt was about to stop on its own as the police turned the corner lights flashing, sirens off. George told me the cops probably came because a neighbor called in a noise complaint.
We lurched around back and hid behind the house. The party ended with police walking through the house with flashlights glaring even though the house was lit up like midday. Five seniors, wearing their ripped button down plaid shirts, were escorted out to the police cruisers to get citations.
It was a stone drunk surreal moment, but since no one was arrested we scurried off toward campus making sure to concentrate as we walked so not to appear wasted.
I was polluted. My toes dragged across the grainy cement sidewalks and confusion filled me as to why there was a fight. There was no clear evidence of instigation so I turned to Tim and asked, “Why in the hell did those guys brawl?” With one eye open and a crooked smile Tim said, “I’m surprised no one told you. You see the Gammas don’t like the Sigmas because of some fight over a chick years ago. Ever since, fights almost every weekend.”
George jumped in and said, “It’s like that around here. Little shit.  It never stops. I don’t know how frats work at other schools but I heard it’s different. Here most of them are like white boy street gangs where they try to uphold some honor code or bullshit like that. They’re just belongers. Get use to it. This campus is a warped man.”
Ten minutes later, after slipping on the dew that formed on the thick Kentucky Blue Grass of the quad, we make it to our brick dorm on the lower hillside. Only George had a key card ID and it took five swipes to unlock the heavy fire door. We stumbled up the stairs to the second story and on the landing stood our RA Jack in a white robe.
Jack polished the lenses of his wire rimmed glasses. Jack’s reed thin arms were crossed like loose ropes as he nervously tapped his bare left foot. Through my buzz, his face cringed but everything was distorted.  His paternal concern was in full swing and I waited for a sermon considering he was the son of a Pastor.
“Joaquin, you’re under age and shouldn’t be drinking,” Jack said.
“Who do you think you are my mother?” I said with one eye closed.
Jack’s face wrinkled up and his chin tilted up.
“Well, I’m not your mother but as long as you live in this dorm your welfare is my concern. It’s after two in the morning and you three probably woke up the whole building. I’m going to get the complaints tomorrow,” he said.
The sound of his trembling voice made us laugh and Jack pivoted around and his feet slapped the tiles as he left.
Tim grabbed his crotch and raced off to the bathroom. A piercing, “Oh shit” echoed into the hall. George and I got cigarettes from the vending machine in the main lounge downstairs and then made our way back to our halls’ lounge. We walked through the door-less doorway, by the three thick windows and flipped on the lights.
George clicked on the old TV attached to the brick wall and it flickered to life. Old Saturday Night Live episodes from the eighties came on the basic cable and we high-fived. I sat below the TV on a yellow leather chair and George spread out on the tan couch next to the free standing brass ashtray and lit a smoke.
I woke up to find myself alone and smacked my lips to discover a thick foam coating my mouth. The shuffle to my room was shaky and I got my big red cup. Slow as rain falling down a frozen window, I drudged to the water fountain and filled the cup and headed back to my dark room and my creaky bed.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
My eyelids slid open to see the red digits of the clock state a harsh one fifteen PM. Missing lunch and not seeing anyone familiar around the hall, I stayed in my room and thought about the first true party night. I wasn’t sure I could handle the drinking but nothing would keep me from seeing that girl Elyssa again even if it killed me.


Chapter Seven: Face to face, vis a vis
George and I sat in the dining hall of the cafeteria. The Kaf, as we called, was known for its cuisine among the state’s colleges. The main course was chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans smothered in butter. My drink of choice was Mr. Pibb and George slugged down sweet tea with chipped ice from the ice swan sculpture done by one of the professors. We didn’t talk and gorged ourselves like half-starved junkyard dogs with lips snarling and teeth glaring.
As I was about to take an oversized piece of the steak and shove it into my mouth, I glimpsed across the expanse lined with rows of long tables and saw two girls take their place at the end of the line. They looked hot from the back but I couldn’t really tell from my seat. George had a better view.
“Man! Who are those two betties in line?” I asked and nodded my head in their direction.
With a mouthful of food, he swung around in his chair as crumbs jumped out from the corners of his mouth and he said, “Ah, I don’t know man, but one is a blondie in white and the other Betty has brownish hair wearing yellow.” He rotated back and raked food into his mouth.
“Man, that is no help,” I said.
Without a glance, his right hand lifted and flexed all fingers but one.
Still curious, I decided to freshen up my drink, so with my head down I peered around the doorway into the serving line and standing there as conspicuous as a red rose in a field of violets was Elyssa. Panic threw right hooks at my heart but I walked by and Erin from the Sigma party was next to her in a lemon sundress.
I spun my guitar string ring so fast it burned.
Erin’s was brighter, more defined. Her hair was tinted crimson and she was wearing thin rimmed glasses; the lenses were thin so I could tell she was doing it for effect. I went back to the table without Mr. Pibb.
“It is her,” I said.
George kept up his hand-over-fist dining and didn’t look up. The scent of peach cobbler hung in the air.
“What the fuck you talking about, what her?” he asked, leaned back in his chair as one hand fettered with silver rings went below the table.
He scratched his nuts.
The hand came up and clasped with the other in front of his face and he stared at me. I leaned forward to mimic him.
“That girl Elyssa.  I know how I can meet her,” I said.
He sighed, cracked his neck, and asked, “How?”
“Not how, who.  Erin, the girl from the party, is sitting with her.  The one you know,” I said. George snorted through his nose and said, “Oh, I get it. I haven’t really hung out with her because of all the new meat but what the fuck.”
“So, go ask Erin to hang,” I said. He nodded.
I turned my head and saw Erin and Elyssa walking toward us. They sat at the next table behind me. I felt my stomach tie in knots a sailor would have problems with and their giggles rested on my shoulder. A smile grew on George’s face as big as a crescent moon. He tapped the table with a turquoise ring on his left index finger. It got their attention. He winked at me.
“Well, I guess we should go since everyone here is boring,” he said.
He leaned around my shoulder and said, “Oh Erin, I didn’t see you come in. I was just saying how boring everyone is but then you appear and make liar out of me. Please, sit with us.”
“All right,” she said.
I prepared myself.
Erin sat next to me and pointed for Elyssa to sit next to George.  Erin’s lips curled in a beaming smile and she said, “Guys, this is Elyssa and Elyssa this is George, and I hope I don’t mispronounce this, Joaquin.”
I nodded and reservoirs of sweat gathered under my skin waiting to pouring out all at once. I didn’t know what to say or do so I did nothing.  Erin and George talked about a girl who dropped out because she was pregnant. Erin twirled her hair into loops the whole time.
I was ignored so I put my head down over the stoneware plate, ate and snuck peeks at Elyssa out of the corner of my eye as she pulled out a lip balm, ran it across her plump lips with a continuous glide three times. She popped a pucker and my heart stopped. My pants grew tighter. I could feel her presence from across the table. A few minutes later, she caught me glimpsing at her as Erin asked, “Joaquin where are you from?”
“Connecticut,” I answered, cleared my throat and sipped my lemonade when Elyssa said, “I’m from Connecticut too.”
Hur-fucking-rah, I found an in.
“Where in Connecticut?” I asked. She put down her glass, touched her hand to her heart and said, “Westport, you know it?”
“I live in Fairfield. I go to downtown Westport to shop all the time,” I said. 
Elyssa twisted her head and responded, “It’s all right but the downtown doesn’t have enough. Nothing a quick trip to the city can’t fix.”
She turned her attention to the Palladian window casting a prismatic rainbow on the west wall of the cafeteria and stared at it for a few seconds. She rubbed small circles with her fingertips on her tapered neck that was tinted with hints of caramel and cream. I wanted to kiss it. I couldn’t turn away.
“Joaquin, I find myself missing home and it’s only the beginning of the semester,” she said.
She paused for a moment and asked, “Do you miss home?”
“Sure, I get these little pangs of home-sickness here and there,” I said.
She smiled, oh my god she smiled, and elation filled me. I found my Persephone.
Erin and George interjected with, “Every one goes through homesickness” and “You’ll get over it soon” with an always popular, “Once you get settled here you’ll never want to go home.”
George got up to get another dessert and as he proceeded to strut away Erin locked her eyes on me.
“Where do you and George live this year?” Erin asked.
“We both live on the same hall in Taylor. He lives at the end near the soccer field and I live in the middle towards the second entrance,” I said.
“Do you like your roommate?” Elyssa asked.
“I have a single. My roommate never showed up,” I said.
“Can I come over and see your room?” Elyssa said. I gulped air and replied, “Yeah, come over whenever you want.”
“How about after lunch?” Elyssa asked.
As I was about to reply, George fell into his seat. I looked at George, gathered what calm I had and said, “Cool, you can follow me over.”
George, with a confused look on his face, voiced a loud, “Follow me over who?”
“Elyssa is coming to see our dorm, okay,” I said.
“Oh, cool. Erin why don’t you come over too?” he asked.
“Sure,” she responded and then said, “Tim lives with you guys too right?”
“Yeah, he’ll be there,” George said as his shoulders rolled forward.
“Cool we can all go over together,” Erin said.
A jazz band started playing in my head. Elyssa showed interest in me. Not wanting to look like an ogre, I stopped eating and put my paper napkin on my tray. They finished after nibbling and we began a slow stroll across the hilly campus over to the playing field with Erin and George leading. Elyssa and I trailed close behind. Thank god I was wearing jeans and hoped she didn’t see the bulge that kept springing out in my pants.



Chapter Eight: Unexpected relations
The Greek columns of the main entrance were being power washed by a maintenance crew as we sidestepped the mist drifting off. We crashed through the double doors and the girl manning the front desk didn’t bother looking up. We drifted over to the staircase marked West.
We climbed in rhythm.
Our feet clapped the cement stairs as the echoes bounced up to the top floor. The walls were plastered with notices of upcoming campus events and crooked construction paper posters advertising new rentals or computers for sale with tear off phone numbers. Elyssa went up before me, her footsteps as light as brushstrokes across the steps, and I stared at her athletic legs under her billowy, alabaster sundress.
The beast I managed to cage before began to fight its way free. Thinking of baseball didn’t help as I thought of her in a uniform doing a strip tease.
Sweat spit out of my pits and my heart pounded in my ears. With a fake cough, I stopped to restrain the beast. We got to my room and Erin and George headed to his room and at the end of the hall.
Erin yelled, “Come down here in about a half hour.”
Elyssa shouted, “Okay!”
The echo of her voice lingered in the narrow hall.
WA-KING DEAD was written on my door in thick black marker.
“Bullshit from guys on the hall,” I said, jammed the door open and stepped in. I extended my arm and said, “Voila.”
I knew it was stupid when I said it. She stood right hip forward in the doorway and scanned my dirty nest as she entered.
“This is the double bed. Not made very well. This is my new computer that I purchased, or should I say my mother purchased from the school. I still do not know how to use it except for the Golf and Solitaire games. These are my half empty closets. Over there on the wall, under the Dali “Don Quixote” print, is my acoustic guitar, which I would be lost without. This is the ugly windowsill. This concludes the day’s tour and I hope you come again.”
She tossed her hair back.
She gazed into my eyes.
The floor gave way under my feet.
I wanted to be an ostrich.
“You’re really strange, but funny. Cool room. So jealous of your closet space,” she said, looked me up and down and continued, “Are you bringing girls back here and getting them drunk?  You’re a Casanova aren’t you?”
She was making fun of me. My shoulders lowered.
“Yup, that is me. Joaquin Casanova. Actually you are the first girl to step foot in here,” I said.
“I’m honored,” she said as she sat down on the edge of my bed placing her arms behind the perfect curve of the small of her back with her palms flat on the bed.
I was doomed.
I couldn’t think. The side of her right breast bulged out right below the slipping strap of her dress. This tickled the inside of my stomach and something else quivered. I couldn’t let the beast out again so I bit my lip. We started to talk about some places in Westport and I couldn’t stop spinning my ring.
She stopped after a few minutes and asked me if I liked being here and I said, “Yes, but it was hard being alone sometimes.”
She slid her lip balm out of her pocket with two fingers and slowly polished her lips just once. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice and I turned away, pretended to yawn and I lifted my left eyebrow up to look more serious. We talked about home a little longer and with a long sigh let me know that conversation should end. She looked at the guitar resting on the wall next to the stacks of unopened books and boxes.
I gulped and was able to make out that the ring on her left hand was a sapphire.
“Nice ring. Looks a little loose.”
“It’s my father’s pinky ring. I’ve worn it since forever.”
“When did he give it to you?”
Her eyes rolled back to the left and rubbed above her right eye.
“I can’t remember,” she said.
“Would you play something for me?” she asked as she leaned forward with flirty eyes and rubbed her legs together at the knees.
An explosion was building. I couldn’t think straight.
“I really need new strings. Those sound horrible. How about another time?” I asked.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to play for me now. Most guys jump at the chance to show off. But not you,” she said.
“The guitar strings really need to be changed.”
“No they don’t. My ex used to play. I’m glad you don’t want to show off. Makes me think you’re not some creep. My dad died when I was little so I’m weary around guys and you’re insecurity is, well, nice.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I bet our lives are a lot alike coming from where we do. I bet your parents worked all the time, like my mom, but I had my German nanny Gertie. Did you have a nanny? Do your parents work in NYC?”
“My mother commutes and no, I did not have a nanny.”
“What does your dad do?”
“Fades as a memory.”
“Did he die?”
“No, he left. I make him fade.”
“You shouldn’t. You still have a father.”
“Some fathers are not fathers. He loved his suits more than me and my brother.”
“Sucks, I know guys like that. Any stepfathers?”
“No.”
“My mom had lots of men in her life. I still haven’t forgiven her for some who were touchy feely. Some were nice though and bought me stuff. If they wanted to get to mom, they had to get through me. So I learned to handle them.”
“My mother had some men around, but she had two sons.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Hunter, he is out there finding himself.”
“Aren’t we all? You’re lucky your mom never got remarried.  Mine got remarried twice, and might be on her third. They’ve always been gold diggers. I don’t know why she just doesn’t live with some one.”
“Traditions die hard.”
She bent down to tighten the oversized white laces on her pure white Nikes. She straightened, tugged, tied and primped the floppy bows of the laces and her bountiful cleavage fought with gravity. I tried to look away but it was a reaction, a twitch, and got a good look at her skin toned bra. Her breasts were full, firm and bigger than I expected as they fell into the sagging dress and I desperately wanted to see her nipples but no.
Her head snapped up and caught me.
At that moment I went deaf for a second as I tried to play it off by staring over her back. Elyssa straightened up and smiled, I was confused, as she read the clock.
“You’re embarrassed. That’s cute. Just wanted to see if you were interested, next time, show me yours,” she said.
My eyes fluttered, I couldn’t think.
“Uh…Okay…Better go to George’s room,” I said. She bumped into me as she went through my door. We bumped into each other a few times on our way down the white tile hall. Thank You God!
Anxiety gripped my neck every time she touched me but I felt light. It was a strange sensation I never felt before and looking at her hurt.  When we got to George’s room, the door was cracked so I pushed it and there were people were being naughty on the couch but George was not one of them. Tim and Erin were fooling around.
I smiled a crooked smile. She nodded and pushed the door wide open. I looked at Elyssa as she puckered her lips and Erin rushed to straighten her dress.
“What the fuck are you doing man?” Tim yelled as he fixed his wife beater t-shirt and rotated his cutoff jean shorts in the right direction.
“We were coming to see what was happening. Erin told us to come down here in a half hour,” I said. Erin then rose up and said, “I figured you two would hang out longer than that.”
We stood there looking for the next direction to present itself and Tim said, “Joaquin, let’s take these lovely ladies to the Red House party tonight. That’s if you two will let us?”
I looked at Elyssa and she grinned and said, “Yes” and Erin belted out, “Time to party tonight.”  I grabbed a smoke from George’s pack on the desk.  Elyssa asked for one, so I gave her the last straight cigarette in a bent pack.
I sat down on the floor and slid George’s brass free standing ashtray from beside the wall in front of me and said, “What are we going to do right now?”
Tim did not respond but Erin said, “We should go study so we can go out tonight.”
Elyssa agreed but before they left to begin their trek up the hill across campus to their dorm, Elyssa said, “Come and get us at my room around nine. It’s 405 Donner hall. Se ya later.”
I stood. I levitated. Tim’s eyes became slits as he looked at me. So after we heard the metal doors to the stairs clamp shut with a crunch, he said, “You can’t get her. Every junior and senior is after her. You are but an ordinary freshman. You’re lucky she’s even talking to you.”
“Tim, I am not ordinary.”
He sneered. I walked back to my room and was struck by a thought that I squandered the opportunity to play bashful and then rip on the guitar. Instead I looked timid. A chance at paradise lost and I was the walking decapitated.
JOAQUIN DEAD.
Five guys from the dorm gathered after dinner in George’s room to play poker for money and smokes until eight. Then the mad rush to get showered and prepared for evening’s events unfolded. It was an act I was getting better at.
George, Tim, James, Cyrus and I decided to go out together. Outside George’s room, James stood silent rubbing his elbow.  He was a towering tree of a man cut from the Scandinavian forests. Cyrus knelt down next to James and tied his expensive hiking boots. He was known as Chill and was a politician’ kid from DC. First thing Cyrus ever said to me at a hall meeting was “Good, you don’t wear a hat. They make you go bald.”
We headed out and right before reaching the stairs, Tim told George we were going to get the girls. George tucked in his t-shirt, crossed his arms and flared his nostrils as he snorted a breath in disapproval.
We tracked up the path toward the Donner Hall and saw a flock of neatly dressed girls jaunting up to Fraternity Row. I scanned the group as my Calvin and Hobbs t-shirt began to stick to me. We circled up in front of the dorm’s main entrance.
“Walk-man, this is ridiculous for all of us to go up there. You and Tim go and get those chiquitas and the rest of us will meet at the house.  We’ll be at the keg,” George said.
I looked at Tim and he said, “That’s a good plan. They can save some places.”
We collectively nodded and George, Cyrus and James took their leave.  Tim’s pupils dilated.
“Walk-man, I get it. Man, I’m glad George said that,” Tim said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He tried to hook up with Erin last year but she eyed me when we hung out. Glad he moved on,” he said.
“Dude, you were in his room.”
“Yeah that was dumb.”
We got to the third floor and Elyssa and Erin were waiting. Elyssa’s hair was down and tight jeans accompanied an even tighter thin black sweater made a bead of sweat roll down my back. Erin’s royal blue dress caressed her smooth legs and was accessorized to the teeth, bobbles and charms dangling everywhere.
Looking at Elyssa made my knees buckle. I thought it was a figure of speech but there I was being almost knocked over by beauty.
“Hello. Love those khakis you’re wearing but don’t you think that long sleeve shirt is a little too warm. Looks nice though, love the blue on you. By the way Joaquin, there’s a girl who says she knows you who is going to be there,” Elyssa said.
Erin bounced up and down on the soles of her feet.
“Tim, some professors are supposed to be at the party early, and I want to see who’s drinking. Oh yeah, Jane! You remember the girl who went to rehab last year, she’s back for a visit,” Erin said to Tim.
The elevator ride down was elbow to elbow.
After exploding out into the night, we practically jogged to the party a half mile away. We were in the South at the end of September but it was still summer hot out. A flood of fear came over me as I felt that my deodorant was going to fail me soon and could ruin it all. I would be the nice-funny guy she met in the beginning of the year, but then one day I smelled.
We entered the party through a rickety white picket gate and paid our three bucks before going up the front stoop. The Red House was a weathered barn red. The inside was orderly, real framed art hung on the walls, and the plush furniture was clean. We found the guys right where they said making offerings to Dionysus around the most precious keg snuck in the corner of the bright white kitchen.
Erin and Tim took off to find the professors and didn’t even acknowledge the guys. So Elyssa and I went over to them and I introduced her, “Cyrus, James this is Elyssa, and of course you know George.”
Cyrus dipped his tortoise shell glasses and bowed. James waved his enormous right hand like a child.
“Do you want a beer?” I asked her.
“God yes.”
I fought my way through to the keg and filled her cup. The room began to lose space and rose ten degrees in five seconds. My sight became narrow and in every cluster of guys walking by I saw raptors swooping down on Elyssa. I knew some older guy was going to try and put his talons into her. I handed her the beer and we talked about how the leaves were changing color in Connecticut. She finished her beer and told me she was going to find the girl she mentioned. She was absorbed by the crowd.
After chugging a few brews, Elyssa bounded back over with two girls and a guy who introduced himself as Phil from Philly. He wore a single gold chain that slid and coiled as a golden serpent in his briar of chest hair under open collars. The hair on his head was smattered down with gel, as he scanned the party with a Billy Idol sneer.
“Hello,” the two girls said in unison.
“These two lovely ladies are Jennifer and Dawn and this is the guy from Taylor hall,” she said.
Dawn was short, too short for my liking, but cute as she was sporting granny glasses that glinted with amber in the dapples of light and a plaid skirt, which I thought was quite daring for this school. She folded a small piece of blue paper as her bobbed auburn hair scattered as people nudged by. She was doing Origami.
Jennifer didn’t look at me through her cornfields of hair swaying across her face. Her beak kept pointing in the other direction. For some reason, I wanted to spill a beer her but Dawn reminded me of the Bumblebee girl in the “No Rain” video by Blind Melon but part Japanese.  I had the feeling I had seen her at a Ska show in the City? Niceties were shared and then Elyssa pointed at me with her eyes. Dawn’s right eye winked back to her. Elyssa stepped closer to me and sent a cold shudder all the way out to my fingers.
“Dawn says she knows you from home. Did you go to the same school?”
“I, I do not know,” I said as Dawn approached me and slid the granny glasses to the tip of her petit nose.
“I know you, but you never paid any attention to me. I took guitar lessons at Pro Music just like you,” Dawn said.
“Oh yeah, you played the Martin. I am sorry about not recognizing you, but I thought you were a couple years younger. Sorry. Glad to meet you Dawn. I really like your glasses.”
She blushed with one strum of the ego strings.
“It’s cool that you don’t recognize me from then because I have changed a lot since. I got my braces off,” she said and smiled a toothy smile and continued, “We also went to the same high school.”
“Oh, really. It was a huge school,” I said and thought this girl might create complications.
Phil left. Cyrus spilled and was brushing the beads of beer off his blue button down oxford as James pulled out a tissue for him. They were putting beers down faster than they could be poured. Jennifer kept nodding in the other direction to Elyssa. She turned to me and said, “I’m going to search for my other friends now but I’ll come back later.”
The three of them turned and dissolved into the sea of people. I hoped Elyssa would come back but I didn’t know if she would.



Chapter Nine: First of the night’s shadows
After killing the rest of my teeth-chilling brew, I handed my cup to James. He filled it to the white rim. The warming confidence of liquid courage was reaching my ears. A never mind attitude flicked me on the earlobe and I thought screw it.
Looking up to James, a tree among saplings, I asked him for another beer. His tongue clicked and he said, “Better slow down, you drank as much as me now.” I copied the click and said, “I can handle it. If I puke I can come back for more, so chug.”
Cyrus was standing next to George who was holding himself up on a low window sill.
“You trying to find a girlfriend or are you going to play the entire course and not get stuck on your opening drive?” Cyrus asked George.
George’s face flinched and he muffled out, “What are you stupid?  Freshman and sophomore guys don’t have girlfriends here. I’m not out hunting because I’m babysitting you dicks. Going out to the deck.”
James and I faced George and said a collaborative, “Fuck you.”
He returned the favor and filled his cup and went up the stairs to reach the second floor deck.
“What was that about?” Cyrus asked and I stepped back.
“I think he is upset because Tim is with Erin. Cyrus, by the way man, you should really think about what you say. Get me a beer please.  You are closer,” I said.
James looked at me, chuckled and blurted out, “I got some cans, you want to shotgun?”
I replied with a few jack hammer nods. He gave me a beer out of the hand warmer of his pull-over sweat shirt and I took out my room key to pierce the thin aluminum. I plunged it in and created a large enough opening so the contents did not flow out. Heads back. Tabs break the seal.  The beer burned on the way down but not a drop fell to earth. We went outside to the backyard to cool down and the scent of rotting fruit surrounded us.
Time passed in gushes and the party soon ruptured college kids. I had to dig my heels in so I didn’t fall back in the hillside yard. The only level space was underneath the second story deck filled with white wicker furniture, Tiki torches and drunk people. The deck, where George was hanging, creaked and shifted. The crowd cheered each time. I wanted to walk up there and get a good look at the nearby orchard but I didn’t feel risking the deck collapsing under my feet.
Cyrus and James held fast to the strategic position by second keg, the shiny little altar of soma, at the bottom of the hilly yard. I talked to a group of Deadheads and a set of Lacrosse players but I wanted to find Elyssa. Stumbling and bumbling up the grassy incline, I went to the side of the house and looked around the street and a red faced girl in sweats yelled that I had to go in the backyard or inside.
Back down by the keg only James remained.
“Where is Cyrus and did George come around?” I asked as I started to see double images so I squinted.
“George came back and took Cyrus to a party down the street. I’m going to stay here and finish this bad boy off, and then if you want, we can go to the house?” he asked.
“Sure kill it,” I said.
We both began a mission of intoxication, seek and self-destroy. Elyssa could wait.
A half-hour later, I was in the bathroom when the keg kicked.  James pounded on the door and said, “Let’s go to that other fucking party.” A smile was sculpted, it was time to find Elyssa and make her mine. I pounced out of the bathroom and said to James, “I’ll race you.” Out the front door, we bowled out to the evening soaked sidewalk. We took off like drunk monkeys through a slow moving caravan of Deadheads wearing Phish t-shirts. They shouted, “Slow down!”
My shoes slapped the unforgiving sidewalk. The houses blurred as I went by and I turned to see James a block away waving for me to wait. No one charged us as we entered the blue Ranch house. A guy fighting to keep his eyes open, who looked like Benny Hill, said, “We’ve been expecting you. Around back.”
At a picnic table in the backyard, a park really, sat my whole group with a whole keg to themselves. Elyssa included. James went and sat next to Cyrus at the end of the table and Elyssa gestured for me to come over so I did.
“Could not fined you add da house I hope you, you aren’t mad I levd?” she said.
“Nope,” I said and scooted next to her, leg tickling leg, and she didn’t move away.
Across the table, I examined George’s condition.
“How are you doing man? You immersed in the pool of polluted thought yet?” I asked a tilted George.
He sneered and responded, “Fuck yeah, I’m polluted and now everyone else has to be dirty. I bought this private keg for us after they kicked the cans so kill em all!”
We stood in an unsteady circle and drank the cups of brew warm as bath water.
“Now the soldiers have perished, it’s time to do keg stands,” George said as one eye began to close.  
Hands went on the handles of the keg. Feet were raised into the air. We sucked straight from the tap for twenty seconds or more as the group counted out loud. The slick metal rim was wiped down with a towel. My eyes were being reeled down by a fishing line as I saw Elyssa’s leg held high, all six of them. I felt good but then the atmosphere felt like clay. It collapsed around my head. I needed to wet my face. Inside a few guys were strung along the couches encircling a TV crackling static. The bathroom filled with daisy light. The well water from the sink was cool and metallic. It dripped down my cheeks to my chin. I shook like a dog.  With beer in hand, I ambled back to the table. I don’t remember sitting down.



Chapter Ten: Blood rites
A strange room surrounded me as my eyes fluttered opened to thin shadows. A strange bed squished. I was on a mattress, on the floor, and the gray sheets stuck to my hands. The sheet peeled off to reveal blood. My hands were plump, swollen with pain, and it was hard to make a full fist.
Drapes hung behind me so it must be a girl’s room. I was fully clothed except for my shoes. My jeans were strangling my private parts. I could see my pulse throbbing in my eyes.
After locating a mirror next to a closet, I saw the damage. I didn’t remember injuring myself and I didn’t think I got into a fight. Alcoholic amnesia, I couldn’t be sure what happened to me. I was a mangled, mixed up, melancholy mess.
                 Four vertical scratches raked across the left side of my face. My hair was matted with dirt and blood from what I could tell. I hoped it was blood and not something left by one of the professor’s dogs. Nausea began to push its way up through my chest. I just wanted to get back to my room and sleep but first I needed water.
My lips and mouth were made of scales.
Wasn’t sure where I was or what time is was but each hall had a water fountain. If I was on a girl’s hall at the wrong time I could get nailed.  After locating my shoes I sat down on the mattress and put them on.
The door lurked opened. A yellow flash went past my sight. The light hummed on. Thank God!  Elyssa. Her shimmering white silk pajamas floated around her and I had to push my dick to the side so she would not see it moving.
“Finally up. You snore like a muzzled dog. Here,” she said and handed me a large plastic cup of water; she was my savior.
“I thought you would be dehydrated after last night’s adventures,” she said with a sigh rolling away like a distant whistle.
She sniffled and tugged gently on her nose. I didn’t think she had a cold.
“I need to get back to my room and clean up. I am sorry for the inconvenience. Sorry about the snoring. Is your RA patrolling?” I asked.  Her face brightened and she smiled.
“You’re not going anywhere Mr. Patton. Terry is right down the hall. I can clean you up now,” she said and found some alcohol wipes in a drawer.
She was gorgeous even without makeup as she grabbed my head and rotated it forty-five degrees. She said, “Be still.” and cleaned my wounds. The alcohol from the tissue thin wipes sent a penetrating pain from my chin to the arches of my feet and I sucked air through my teeth. It only took a couple minutes to tend to my hands and face, but during this questions arose.
Like where was her roommate?
“You’re done, but I’m not touching that hair. It’s grimy and has blood in it. The cut on your scalp is clean,” Elyssa said and went over to click off the light.
“Why did you call me Mr. Patton? What happened to me?” I asked.
She covered her mouth to muffle her laughter as she hopped on her bed.
“You don’t remember last night?” she asked.
“I remember going to the second party and finding everyone.  There were guys passed out in the kitchen and that is about it. How did I get here?” I asked.
She shook her head and said, “You must have blacked out. That explains a lot. Let’s see, the party ended when the beer was gone and the entire place cleared out. On the way back you wouldn’t stop complimenting me and right before we reached the campus you started singing. First it was a Jane’s Addiction and then Alice in Chains. Your voice is great by the way but you kept singing Faith No More’s Falling to Pieces over and over. We all got to the top of the hill next to the chapel, you stopped and pointed to George to finish the lyrics, which I love by the way, but he didn’t so you yelled, ‘I am Don Quixote’ and somersaulted down the hill into the bushes. Everyone died laughing. You burst out of the bushes and screamed ‘Look I am bleeding from my hands like a stigmatic.’ I guess those are those guys with the Jesus wounds? Donner Hall was right there and I was drunk so I said screw the rules and took you up to my room because I didn’t think you’d make it make back. I didn’t notice it before but you kinda look like Mike Patton.”
Being under an imploded building would have felt better.
“I cannot believe I did that. Thanks for helping me,” I said.
“Don’t worry. All of those nice things you said more than make up for it, even if you don’t remember. Where did you learn to sing?” she asked.
“I was forced into the church choir by my father when I was six.”
“Oh, I suppose you’re going to take some slack for this when you get back to your hall aren’t you?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I said and then added, “Thank you so much for this.”  She smiled widely and said, “It’s nothing. I’m just glad everything is fine, but we have to be cool until you can sneak out. You might as well go back to sleep and I’ll get you when Terry leaves. I’m going to go talk with Erin down the hall and I’ll be back soon.”
“Cool.”
She left.
I fell back to a dreamless sleep to be awakened later by Elyssa shaking me. She was fully dressed, tight jeans and a tiny form fitting t-shirt with little roses circling the sleeves, and made up.
“Terry is going to leave soon. You can take off in a few minutes,” she said with tight lips. I fixed my Calvin and Hobbs t-shirt.
“You seem nervous. Did I do something?” I asked and yawned.  She spun like a top and said, “No, no, but you wanted to leave before.”
“I am sorry.  Is your RA there?” I asked. Once again she left and did not come back for ten minutes.
Her door opened a sliver and she slipped in.
“She’s leaving right now so just wait two seconds and you can go,” she said. I nodded and in silence. Tension bound the air to the ground and I couldn’t understand why. As I waited, she went over to her roommate’s chair.
A knock at the door splintered the silence and she motioned for me to go in the closet. It had to be her RA. She slid the closet door open and I was inserted in between the pressed clothes. I stood motionless on top of two pairs of shoes warping under my weight. The end of the charade was upon me and I had to pay for the crime. The door’s hinges rubbed together and created a low buzz that reverberated into my ears. The person at the door was about to discover my presence.
Nothing was going to conceal me.
My doom was set so I wanted to see my captor. There was a space between the door and frame so I peered through the slim opening. Elyssa was hugging some wiry guy in the doorway I had never seen before. My pulse dropped and anger surged as her behavior revealed itself to me. The infiltrator spoke, “Hey Elyssa, you look good so are you ready to go to breakfast?”
“Uh, hold on there’s something I have to do before we leave.  Joaquin you can come out it’s not Terry,” she said.
I pulled the clothes off me and kicked her shoes back into their spaces as I unstuffed myself. The guy at the door, wearing gear like he was going to play golf, was taken back for a moment. His chest swelled up and he said, “Who the hell is this? What is he a freshman? You’re fucking kidding me!”
“Just calm down Justin, I took care of him last night because he fell and was bleeding. It was late and we both passed out. He was just waiting for the RA to leave,” she said like I was a discarded rag in the wash. I didn’t like the name Justin.
“So, this guy couldn’t handle his liquor and fell down and went boom,” Justin said with a baby voice. He pointed his finger at me.
“Just get your shit and go,” he said and waved three times.
My nostrils flared.
My sight zoomed in on his narrow face.
The hair on my arms stood at attention.
“Do not point at me,” I growled and the back of my head tingled.  He let out a forced laugh.
“Or you’re going to do what?” he said. I took a step closer and prepared a face to meet the face.
Elyssa got between us and put her hands up. I looked around her.
“I will make it so you never point again.”
He jumped back a foot and said, “We’re going. This is irrelevant.  Let’s go Elyssa.”
He went farther out in the hall and had a smirk on his cracked mug.
“I got the message. See you around,” I said as I looked at the floor.  She stopped me and said, “I didn’t think you were going to be here this morning and I said, ‘Yes’ to Justin last night after I thought you left at the first party.”
She paused, looked down and then said, “I wasn’t thinking and being drunk didn’t help. This is my fuck up so I hope you understand.”  I looked at her and she said, “I rushed you out because I didn’t want Justin to think we were together last night because some girls already have reputations they won’t be able to live down. That’s how rumors get started.”
“Again, I am sorry. We barely know each other anyway. I will calm things down with Justin all right,” I said.
My emotions got the better of me and I vowed it would not happen again. I walked out the door and up to Justin.
“I was expecting you as much as you were expecting me, so I have nothing against you,” I said.
He stood silent, looked at me and nodded.
I ambled down the hall and I could hear them talking. Into the hesitant day I tumbled as the sun beat down on my head and shoulders. The pangs of pains immerged and I made the walk of shame, without sex, empty.
People passed by going to the Kaf but food was the last thing on my mind. Taylor hall was a cemetery. My room was cool and dark, a perfect hole. I got my cup and filled it at the water fountain. Dread poured into me as I gulped the water. I didn’t want to tell these guys about what happened. They would ridicule me for not having sex and I didn’t want to hear “Oh man, you were so fucked up last night” and “You were so funny dude!” either.
My guitar string ring went in the cubbyhole next to the copy of Less Than Zero and my shoes came off at the heels with a flick of the opposite toes. I wrapped my blankets around in a cocoon, a chrysalis, hoping to change into an opalescent butterfly. It didn’t happen in some weird Kafka-esque way. I would capture Elyssa but I wasn’t going to put my heart on my sleeve to be shredded and stained. Sleep however couldn’t be denied.
I was stirred from slumber by boots being thrown on my back by George and James.
“What time is it?” I asked as I grabbed a shoe and threw it at George.
“It’s four thirty man, time to get up and get some food,” George said as Tim and Cyrus stopped behind him.
They wanted to hear what happened last night. So, I gave them an edited edition of the story and omitted the part about the morning. James blacked out too and ended up sleeping in the lounge. George said he remembered me tumbling down the hill but was not aware of the wounds. Tim didn’t think I was that drunk last night probably because he blacked out but did not want to admit it that. Cyrus told me he puked for an hour and then sat in the shower for a while until George pulled him out. George heard about some kid at a college in Boston had died in a shower recently. They told me Jack stayed in his room and didn’t say a word.
Next, I needed to get a shower and clean the dirt out of my hair and fiddled with the gash on my head. George told me to hurry up so we could go eat. We had to get primed up for tonight’s festivities. I showered as fast as I could. The meal was soggy noodles and watery Ragu but I took some baggies with me to snag some bread and deli meats so I could make a sandwich later. It was less of a hassle than ordering pizza. Time pulsed by in seamless fragments and it was only a few hours until we all went out again.
The first house was rented by three girls, seniors, and they let us in for two bucks so we thought the night was starting on a good resounding note. We went through the large split level house, crammed like a can of olives, to get to the backyard and the living room struck me as impressive for a college house. It had a huge television and nice furniture, much too nice for college, so I tried to be careful and not break anything with my clumsy hooves. We get to the backyard and filter to the keg as usual, and I began to get a beer when James started to say something to me, but he paused, but decided to speak.
“Joaquin that girl you were with last night is over there around the corner of the house with some dude,” he said and I turned to look. To my displeasure it was Elyssa with Justin. She looked at me for three second and then looked back at him. Things had gone from treading water to being caught in an undertow. I wasn’t going to approach her but I hoped she would come to me. Lacking harmony, I went to hang inside with George and the girls that lived there.
George and I stood in the same place near the large TV for a while and just talked about what might be possible for Spring break. He kept sucking on the inside of his cheek and made sharp whistling noises through his teeth. No one paid him any attention though. Curious, I decided to see if she was still outside so I told George, “I am going to the bathroom. Back soon.”
The kitchen window overlooked the backyard clad in tissue paper curtains so I separated them and leaned in. The wind tossed hair up in a gust so I threw caution to it. The corner of the house was obscured by the teaming masses of cajoling students.
The backyard was dense with kids bouncing to bad beats and the volume of the music would attract the cops. I chugged my beer determined to get to the other side where I thought she would be. I knew time was my enemy so I took the opportunity that opened up in the swirling currents of people. Swept away, I spun and played bumper cars until I saw a break in the action. I navigated to the section where my drinking compatriots were and asked around if anyone had seen Elyssa. They just poured vinegar on an already sour mood as I received a collective look of, “I told you so” and then James responded.
“Sorry bud, left right when you went inside. That dude was pushing her to leave. Looked like she wanted to go inside, but he said something and they just took off.”
I was in disarray.
“That dude reminds me of a guy I went to high school with, but I don’t think he came here so forget it,” he said.
“The guy’s name is Justin. I do not like him,” I said with a snort.  James’s jaw dropped and he almost spilled his beer on his flannel shirt.
“It’s the guy I went to high school with.  Justin Miller. Fucken pretty boy tool. He’s three years older than us. I wonder why he’s going after a freshman chick? He had a reputation of being a real scumbag with girls. Man it’s a shame she’s with him. How do you know his name anyway?” James asked.
I paused.
“It is a stupid story but I ran into him today. I am going into drinking mode now so fuck the chicks and commence the drinking activities, all right,” I said but then Tim had to step in over the growing party noise, a sea of static.
“I told you so. Dude, forget about girls who play head games. They are just weighing their options until they find what they want and then you lose. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about,” Tim said as his face began to spasm and he puckered his cheeks.
“I am not going after girls tonight. I want to go somewhere else were we can just tweak until we are freaked,” I said but Tim nudged me and motion with his head to follow him.
I went with him to the side of the house. Led Zepplin’s “Whole Lotta Love” began pumping out of the open windows as the scent of cigar and weed bellowed down on us from above. I looked up to see the fiery tip of a blunt burn like a cherry in the third story window.
“Wanna do some bumps with the girls who rent the house?  They have vaults,” he asked.
“What the hell is a bump?” I asked.
He laughed as he put his left hand on his forehead.
“It’s a fucking line Buster. The girls get good shit, premium price level. Much better George’s bunk. It’s cut with a little crank so it keeps you vibrating and on your toes. You in?” he asked.
We went inside to run over some speed bumps.
We couldn’t find the girls and the house was beginning to fill to the rafters, the sink, the foyer and the breakfast nook. Tim waved his hand for me to follow him up the stairs on a narcotic safari. The lights were off, reminiscent of another excursion. In the second floor hall, dust covered the sideboard and antique chair that obviously came with the house and I hoped my allergies would not rear their ugly heads. I didn’t want to spend any twenty-dollar sneezes. The old house plaster smell had my nose twitching. Voices from the end of the hall penetrated a flimsy door where there was a sign I could not read.
Tim knocked and the floor rumbled with the sound of heavy furniture be pushed around. The door creaked open a sliver and the backlit face of a girl, who I noticed George speaking to downstairs, peered through the crack.
She sighed.
“You scared us. Come on in,” she said and the cabal was visible through the doorway.
The three girls who rented the house sat on a low green couch with scarlet cloth pillows behind two old coffee tables pushed together and a stout guy with red hair and freckles I had never seen before flanked them squatting on a upside down wooden wine crate. At the end was George, sitting on an oak rocking chair, with a smile on his face the size of a bent hotdog.
George began to rock and suck his cheek harder and asked me, “So where’d you run off too? Thought you’re going to miss this. You went after the girl didn’t you? Ha! Grab a seat kid. Tim what the fuck took you so long?”
“Place got mobbed. It’s hard to get a fucking drink. What’s the deal?” Tim inquired and rubbed his hands together.
“The deal is you should have come with me,” George said and pulled out a case of beer from behind the couch.
“Ha, fucking ha, the other deal is ten bucks up for an all you can eat buffet.  It’s time to get zoot suited baby!” said the guy I had never seen before as he winked at Tim. I wondered if he had a crush on Tim?
I sat down on the couch next to the only girl I had talked to before named Jill. She was cute, naughty librarian cute, and she didn’t take any shit. I liked her even more when she grabbed a large oval mirror from a drawer in the coffee table and passed it to Tim as he knelt on the floor.  Two sandwich bags filled with white powder followed. In the mean time, I retrieved the ten dollars for the narco-gluttony.
Tim’s grin invested a sheer sheen of mischief into the room. He plucked a soda straw from his pocket and took his Swiss Army knife and sliced a diagonal cut at the tip. My head tilted with a curious dog’s concern and an epiphany sparkled across my mind. He created the bevel to give him scooping assistance when snorting the powder after it was finely chopped on the mirror. Tim poured piles of powder, granted us a look upon the razor blade and set up the bumps with a sculpture’s finesse. 
A serious silence took over as everyone waited their turn to get down to business. There was no discussion among the participants. My turn came and the substance was a mix that I had never encountered in my earlier drug days. It shot through my system tingling every nerve on the way. My heart raced and the room rang.
The world began to buzz.
A mystery powder laced joint was then passed around. The room choked with smoke as others lit up cigarettes too and waited for the full effects to present themselves.
My nose went numb and a caustic drip of chemicals was going down the back of my throat and even when I swallowed it would not go away. I could feel every cell in my body scream as I entered the anti-gravity period when everything went on automatic pilot.
It seemed like only a few minutes but we had put an hour into the grave and were out of treats, which was a good thing because I couldn’t take anymore without asking Hamlet’s question from the soliloquy. I saw George’s face spazz out. Tim was shifting his jaw back and forth. I then noticed my mouth was opening and closing. In between, I rolled my lips like a chimpanzee at the zoo. Face dancing was in full effect, so I decided to grab a depressant to stop the escalation. I told Tim and George that I would meet them outside.
After tangoing through the mob, I arrived at the backyard and found James and Cyrus right where they were before putting back the hop juice. They handed me a cool beer in a blue cup. Another cool beer came my way and then another cool beer and another.
One great man said “Hell is other people.” It’s the price we pay.  Right before it went black, I vowed not to let anyone make me jester again. Problem was, I was the court jester and didn’t know who the king was but I was going to find out.


Chapter Eleven: Lotus flowers are bitter
I didn’t care what anyone on campus thought anymore and started wearing black again. After a rough time tying my shoes, I slipped down the hall to Tim’s room. He was sitting at his workspace studying and said he wanted to show me something now that I was properly initiated. So I squeezed my way through his clutter and sat on the edge of his bed covered with faded rainbow sheets.
Tim’s single room, that his parent’s paid extra for, was a sublime mess only a disturbed artist could create, but there was a mini-fridge where extra beer was stashed. I scanned the expanse of milk crates filled with CD’s stacked along the walls almost reaching to the ceiling. It was hard to read the small labels but I made out Classical, Opera, Jazz, Funk, Folk and Rock N Roll. Two big labels struck my attention Hardcore and Heavy Metal.
His room comforted me with dirty open arms just like my room. Tim left his clothes on the ground and kicked them into a pile just like me. The main difference, besides the mini-fridge, was the Goodwill couch he got for free. The lumpy cushions were masked with a variety of colorful tapestries. He pushed his chair back and locked his door. He raised his right index finger up to his lips and tippy-toed over to a wood drawer built into the wall mounted desk and cabinets. He waved me over and said, “I want to show you something.”         
A pile of text books from the workspace above casts a shadow over the drawer. Tim wrapped his hand with a towel and tugged it free.
“Look at the handle. Be careful,” he said.
I inch forward, bend at the knees and tilt my head to look. The drawer’s recessed bronze handle had a sharp edge and behind two wire nails stuck out as fangs ready to bite. The inside was barren but oddly not as deep as the drawers in my room.
“Step back, now for the fun,” he said.
Tim popped out a false bottom made of cardboard painted to match the wood. A bonanza of drug paraphernalia and porno-magazines was revealed. Tim’s Ark of the Covenant. The drug drawer only chosen could see. Scattered along the sides were roach clips, papers and glass bowls for smoking, spoons, baggies, straws.
He spun to me and said, “Now for the best part.”
He wrestled the drawer out and placed it on the floor. He knelt down and began to fish inside the empty space.
“Got it,” he smiled and looked up to me with tongue between his teeth. 
The ultimate drug accessory, a triple beam balance, escaped the darkness. With a few slides of the weights, he could break up bags of bulky pot and could level the finest bags of powder. Tim was a dealer and I was in a drug lair. There’s a drug lair in every college as I was told. We did a line to make studying more interesting and then I was on my way.  Felt good to be let in on a secret.
The Friday after I had last seen Elyssa, I was hanging out in Tim’s room while he was at class. He wanted to bring me along to purchase some merchandise for the upcoming festivities so I waited and wanted to open the drawer but stopped myself. It could be a test. I got some extra cash from the ATM and was in the mood for commerce. Tim’s room smelled of stale cigarettes and musty clothes as I sat in the sea of tapestries reading the play Lysistrata for class. 
My nerves wound up.
Tim was late and I ran out of smokes. He warned me not to leave and waste time since there was a specific window of opportunity.
He arrived a few moments later and my panic vanished but my curiosity was piqued. His bright white teeth were chattering as he bobbed his head to some unheard music.
“Where the fuck were you man?” I asked.
“I had to get a car dumbshit. Where the fuck else you think I was?  Oh, you thought I forgot about you and the jonesing is setting in. Don’t worry man, it’s all good,” he said.
“I need to get back before dinner and finish some work, so I want to make this quick,” I said.
“O, fucking, K.”
Parked right by the side entrance, a silver steed in waiting, was Erin’s car. A four-door foreign car with all of the features, fixtures and options glittered under the sun.
Tim was heavy on the gas pedal and turned down a main thoroughfare off towards the other side of this once thriving factory town, the blighted side. The dying side. I was told by George that the police kept a crow’s nest there to sight white rich kids out of state. Erin was from New York.
My skin jumped as shanty after shanty went by my window and I hadn’t sniffed or smoked anything. All I could think about were the commercials for adopting kids or pennies a day and the opening bars to Dueling banjos in everyone’s favorite movie about sodomy in the South.  Sue-ee indeed.
Tim didn’t speak the entire time and was rocking back and forth in the driver’s seat. We took a right up a hillside where row houses were tacked into the ground. The car came to a halt in front of a single story house with a rotting porch. Remnants of white paint on the outside walls were flaking off in the wind. I raised my eyebrows and asked Tim, “Is this safe? How do these guys make money out here in this shit hole?”
Tim turned, smiled and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. His empty pupils slurped up the afternoon light.
“Listen, these cats are cool if you don’t act like a chump. No shit, no issue. The locations change every month kid. It’s all good,” he said.
Sweat began building on my palms. We walked around the house to the back porch and there was a high-end Ford truck parked behind the garage. Now I knew these guys were not poor hillbilly hustlers.
Tim knocked on the screen door and a Mastodon in a dark business suit and blue tinted glasses answered. He expanded his chest, looked down and said, “What up T?  I haven’t seen you for a couple weeks.”
“This is Walk.  He’s cool. Got some serious cheese to lay down so let’s go see the man,” Tim said as the large man scoped me out like a target.
“Walk huh?” he said to Tim.
“Yup,” he replied and threw his hand out for a shake.
Inside, the only things I could recognize in the dark were cobwebs and the blackout curtains. We followed the bodyguard down into a cinderblock cellar. At the far end of a hunched corridor, a horizontal light shone across the space revealing a door. Tim looked back at me and lifted an eyebrow as we passed by a boxy de-humidifier humming along.
“What’s going down Rascal? I’m here right on time,” Tim said as he stood in the shaft of dusty light.
“No, you’re late, but that’s alllllllright my man since you said you gots the green,” a squeal of voice said.
I breached the dark lane and passed into the light and Tim said, “This is Walk.”
“Ha, that’s a fucken funny ass name. So funny it’s almost insulting kid. Shee-it I’m being rude. Call me Rascal,” said a man with a pock marked face, who reminded me of Mr. Potato head wearing Ray-Bans, sitting behind a green card table.
Tim sat next to him on a fold out chair.
“Okay, Rascal,” I said. 
“So what can I do you gentlemen for?” he asked and Tim began to roll out the list of items along with a roll of cash.
I sat in a metal chair under a chrome lamp. The mastodon crushed the checkerboard love seat by the wall. He hoisted off his blue glasses and said, “You can call me Earl.”
He put out his fleshy hand and his jacket opened up. There, as obvious as a two headed calf, was a large caliber hand gun.


Chapter Twelve: Prejudice and foolishness
Rascal’s face flushed when Tim complained about the last batch.  He grit his teeth and was pissed off as a viper but Tim stood up and said, “Quality control is good for us both.”
Rascal agreed and Earl began telling me about his new truck but Rascal’s clothes kept distracting me. His orange and sky-blue T-shirt was giving me a headache as it tried to crawl off his bony shoulders. As the dealings went on, he flipped off his sunglasses and put on accountant glasses. He made a reference to his new “Trim”.  
Tim made hefty purchases for four other people as well as himself, so it took awhile to acquire everything and haggle the prices, which surprisingly went in our favor.  
All went well as drug deals go, but Rascal would not get up to shake my hand as we stood to leave. So I figured I’d better show respect and move to him to shake. As I leaned over the table, Earl rose but Rascal looked at him and he stopped.
“Good to meet you man,” I said.
“Likewise,” he replied and I looked at the space between the love seat and the wall. Hidden by the shadows were a folded wheelchair and a Russian assault riffle lodged in the space. A jagged chill ran through my body. We made our way to the car with Earl following and he told Tim time was running out on placing bets for the upcoming football games.
After hitting the road and pulling out onto the flatlands, Tim began tapping the steering wheel like a bongo.
“Everyone’s going to be psyched, got some good deals. Hey, you want to start early?” Tim said with a grin stolen from a gargoyle.
“I have work but I have a question. Why is Rascal paralyzed and what’s with the AK?”
“Uh that’s questions, plural and to answer both he was shot in a drive by. Earl must like you you. He didn’t introduce himself to me until the third time.”
“Uh no, he shook to show his piece. Fucked up,” I said.
Tim laughed and turned on the radio. It automatically went to a Country station and I let out “Yah hoo!”
Tim dropped me off. I went to my room, opened the shade, and tried to finish my work but my concentration flew about like a trapped wild finch. We met up with the other guys at the main entrance to trek across the campus for dinner.
Tim would smile and nod at me when I looked over. 
I knew something was up and anxiety rolled around in my stomach like sharp stones. I was impatient and shot a look at him with my eyebrows slightly raised and waited. The grin on his face grew like hidden hands pushed his cheeks back and his teeth became visible.
We cut through the chain link length fence around Collin’s field above our dorm. I inquired about Tim’s expression. He spat and said, “It’s all good man and come to my room after eats and you’ll be smiling too.” His eyes reflected the cascading light of the afternoon and his forehead furrowed as he chuckled.
While waiting to have my card scanned by the Kaf gatekeeper, a retired women from town, James asked me questions about that day’s occurrences. I was in a talkative mood so I obliged him with a few oblique answers but then he asked, “Walk man, why is Tim so chipper?  He hasn’t stopped smiling.”
“He got a good deal on something,” I answered.
I wasn’t lying. James wasn’t a big fan of the harder drugs.
The starting gun fired and the race to polish our plates began with a rare jaunt to the salad bar. It was Friday and pasta salad went fast.  George won.
The crew lumbered back like sleepy dogs on the winding cement walkways full of starchy food. The college added something to the food and we knew it. It was either to make us fat and compliant or they enjoyed paying large plumbing bills. Without deviation, I went straight to Tim’s room. The door was open so I plopped myself down and kicked my feet up on a crate and said, “So, make me smile.”
He locked the door, turned to me shoulders first and said, “Open the drawer and you will see the nature of my reality.”
He covered his mouth with his hands. I opened it with a gentle even pull and three mounds of stacked baggies looked like mountains freshly covered with snow and a small baggie sat by the side. My heart skipped two beats and I felt a little dizzy. He slid his feet on the thin carpet as he came over.
“The bag on the left is yours, a thank you. The other product is for customers. I’m going on a delivery run and you’re coming. It will blow you mind. And if you would please remind me later, I have something to tell George,” he said and then nodded his head four times.
“Cool.  Freaky enough day as is so what is a little more strangeness?” I said and crossed my arms.
He nodded his head twice as if a rubber band was holding his chin to the floor. I was going to be enlightened.
“A little more strangeness is always good. Speaking of good, bump?” he asked with a devious smile.
After tooting, he picked up three good sized bags that were in between two and two and a half grams each. They were separate elements; a Horse running in the Snow with a Crystal bridle. I was not familiar with heroin myself but it was a favorite of the country club kids in my town and never did much Meth as it was hard to get. I preferred snow and people in the suburbs love skiing. Didn’t expect this level of drug activity at this sheltered school, and I felt like I was back in Fairfield County.
Tim told me heroin was a secret seller because of purity allowed you to sniff it and that Meth was cheap because of the Nazi cook method.  We each did another hefty line and waited for the surge. I tilted my head back so nothing would sift out by accident. The chemicals and mucus combined and dripped down the back of my throat.
“Joaquin, we gotta go over to Erin’s and drop off a package.  Tonight is going to be warped man. Erin’s doing Meth for the first time. Buh-I-tha way, she is coming out with us so I can watch over her. Maybe Elyssa will come?” Tim said.
“Fine.  So you know, I am not interested in her anymore,” I said.
“Sure.”
It was a quick walk to Erin’s dorm and there was no sight of Elyssa. We didn’t take the elevator because Tim said he get claustrophobic in them after a few bumps. Erin opened her door and started to clap her hands and said, “Oh, goody, goody, goody” then her face went sour and asked, “What took you guy’s so long?”
Tim rubbed circles on his forehead with his left hand, and said, “What are you saying women. I just talked to you.”
She put her tongue out and then asked, “How are you Joaquin?”
“Fine. Good. How are you?” I asked and my airy voice diffused in the background noise of her busy hall.
“I’m totally excited. By the way, Elyssa is coming,” she said while tapping her fingers together. I heard “Tee Hee” come from Tim and realized the Fates were against me.
Tim gave her the bags and plans were made. He had been hanging around with her a lot lately and I wondered maybe they were becoming a couple.
Erin asked Tim, “Are you guys going back to the dorm or?”
Tim turned towards me and said, “Yeah, we better get going. See you later. Joaquin let’s go.”  
We were off to the stairs as quickly as we were there.
“You set me up. Dick!” I said as soon as we were out the front entrance.
“Yes. I figured you’d be happy to try your luck again even though you don’t stand a chance,” Tim said and stung my back with a slap.
“I am not going out tonight with you then, so it will not matter,” I replied. A wounded ego bled.
“Don’t be a punk ass,” Tim said. The king tortured his jester.
“Fuck it.  So what is going to blow my mind?” I asked and waited as a leaden cloud covered the sun. Tim put his hand up and said, “Just wait and see.”
The first delivery was to a chubby guy off campus, I had seen trying to rollerblade the day before. I was not freaked out. We then went to the Three Girl’s House. I was not freaked out.
We strolled to the far end of the campus past the Reed library, past the Hoth writing lab, past the Carver Earth Science building and onto a perfectly straight street lined with black Victorian street lamps. This was the restricted realm where many professors lived in quaint houses. Tim picked up the pace and spoke only to point out where certain professors lived like a tour guide.
“You’re bugged out, aren’t you?” Tim asked.
He nodded forward and waved me on. We come to a clapboard colonial style house with a screened in porch and beat up blue sedan in the driveway. Neatly trimmed bushes lined the yard. Tim skipped up the cobble stone walkway to the slate stoop and I put my hands in my jean pockets. Through the windows I saw a table layered with books.
The fabric of reality began to fray.
                 “Knock, I dare you,” Tim said with a sneer of twisted pleasure. 
I took the three stone stairs, turned to look at Tim and he did that weird upside down wave like a grandma shooing a dog a way. So, I knocked with four stern and steady raps. Two taps on the shoulder got my attention and there’s Tim right behind me. He pushed me to the side next to the black mailbox. The door creaked as it opened and it was a tall white guy with sandals, white shorts, a grass stained T-shirt and a faded Yankees cap.
The man was my history professor Dr. Campbell, a tweed wearer, peering at me with a conveyor belt stare in his eyes and was known to frequent college parties.
“Hello Tim.  Oh, and hello Joaquin, are you here to drop off work?” he asked as his eyes shifted while scanning the neighborhood for witnesses.
“No,” I said. 
“Howdy Prof. We come bearing gifts. I didn’t know you had this punk in your class,” Tim said and pushed his way inside.
The professor’s face sunk. Mine rose. It was like getting into a car accident and realizing it was the guy in the Rolls Royce’s fault. The professor let out a sputtering sigh and held the door open for me. The negotiations already began.
Tim went on ahead and sat down on a spindle chair, as if he owned the place, in a room at the back near the kitchen. The professor led me through the house strewn with books. The tar black hardwood floors were bowed.
The professor sat down at the mission style table Tim had his elbows on and motioned for me to sit. He then asked Tim, “Why did you bring one of my current students to the house?”
Tim placed the bags on the table, raised his head and looked the professor straight in the eyes and said, “What are you saying? Oh I get it. That’s not nice. You think I did it intentionally? Fore shame.”
“Oh well, what’s done is done. As Voltaire said ‘We are full of weakness and errors; let us mutually pardon each other our follies-it is the first law of nature’,” Professor Campbell said.
“Pardon me,” Tim said.
There was a short session and the professor was quite generous with his blow. When we got to the road that bordered the campus, I noticed the leaves on the oaks and elms were beginning to change. I felt like jumping beans were inside my skull and I could not hold back anymore.
“That was fucked up. Can you say A? How did you ever end up hooking him up anyway?” I asked and twitched.
“Did I deliver on my promise or what?” Tim asked.
“Fuck yes,” I responded.
“To answer your question, I saw him in the beginning of last year when I was introduced to Rascal. A few weeks later I saw him on campus and found out he was a professor, so I approached him and started to chat.  Then I became Rascal’s middleman due to a clerical error so to speak and the rest is drug mythology.”
The sun was going down over the back of our dorm and brushstrokes of pink, lavender and orange light framed the distance as swirls of gray filled the in between spaces. Night was descending like oil paint running down the canvas of autumn.


Chapter Thirteen: Caustic comrades in the solution
We went to pick up the girls. In the hall, Elyssa radiated ribbons of light as she kept fidgeting with her hoop earrings. The scent of summer rain drifted off her hair and soaked me with deviant thoughts of grueling sex. The spaghetti straps of her white top kept slinking off her lithe shoulders. She drew the soul out of me with a wink. 
“Hi,” she said and bumped me with her hip.
“Hi.”
She spun and her arms went around me, a hydraulic clamp began to press. I offered no resistance. Maybe she threw Justin to the curb and I had a chance? I couldn’t let this display of affection alter my conditioning. The barriers were built for a reason. I asked,
“So, are you hanging with us all night?”
“I’m going to see where the night takes me. Why, are you going to see somebody interesting tonight?” she asked as a devil may care attitude skipped across her face smooth as clouds.
“No, just asking,” I said as my lips tightened up.
“Well, you should have said that I was the interesting person you were going to see,” she said and nudged my shoulder. I felt the rush of blood and my cock got heavy. A drop of perspiration dripped and ran down my cheek.
“Wow, your face is so red. Don’t be embarrassed sweetie,” she said.
“I am not embarrassed. It is just a little warm out,” I said while shaking my head.
“Do you think we should leave now?” she asked the group.
We left and began our trek up the hills to the party. Elyssa led the way.
I reduced my pace and fell to the back of the pack and shadowed Tim. When we met up with George, he told us there was an “easy drinking” party up the street and urged James and I to go with him to check it out. If it was lame, we would head back to the Three Girls House.  George told the rest of the group what we were doing. As we left, Elyssa looked at me, her lips curled up and she turned away.
We entered the party through the front doorway and it was easy considering there was no door. It was on ground covered with screen doors in an empty dining room. A dirty yellow tear drop chandelier hung low in the dining room. The house looked like a Repo-man ransacked the place.
We followed a series of loud counts that echoed through the house.  It guided us to the back deck where there were two kegs in red barrels and one was being used for keg stands. As each drinker’s feet went to the sky up, they counted and only when beer burst out of their cheeks did they stop, sometimes. A guy named Steve, dressed like a banker on vacation, smiled and came toward us.
“I hate to ask this since we got this keg for free, but could you fellas appropriate some funds to support our on going struggle to pay our rent and throw some killer parties. Only three bucks and the other kegs will be unleashed when other guests arrive in an hour,” he said.
“Okay,” we said and paid.
Steve walked back to his friends and put his beer down on the deck’s hand railing and lit a smoke, which made me want one.
“George, ever heard a speech like that? No one ever explained anything before,” I said and pulled out a squished pack of smokes and offered one to George.
“That’s how it is. They take some of the money their parents give them and blow it on food and good beer. They make it back with parties.  Kegs cost like fifty-five bucks and when you have a party with a hundred people at three bucks a pop and have three kegs you still make like a hundred and thirty-five bucks. Then you have a few more. Places aren’t shit to rent down here man, it’s like five hundred a month for a twelve room house,” George said, spit and got his smoke lit.
“Makes sense, you want a beer Joaquin?” James asked and I looked around and nodded. Our conversations for the next hour consisted of “Yups” and “Nopes” as the masses swarmed, mostly guys.
George was the first to speak out, “Guys this is a sausage party. Helmets everywhere. Let’s get a few more and then go back to meet up with Tim and Cyrus. There are always hot Betties at the Three Girls House.”
“Whatever you guys want is cool just as long as there’s enough beer,” James said.
“Leave, definitely. Plus George, there is something that Tim wanted to tell but kill these beers and we will go and mingle with the girls,” I said and the beers were gone.
The Three Girls House picked up since we left and more than half women. Some danced, some talked too loud and a clutch of rugby players in black and white striped jerseys stained with red Virginia clay tracked clumps of dirt across the floor. I was blunt from the beer and wanted to sharpen up. I couldn’t stop tapping my fingers together and itching my chin.
“You guys should go on and get beers. I am going to look for Elyssa. George go to the room in a bit, you know,” I said so James would not hear and George winked at me in recognition.
I went straight to the upstairs room itching to amp up.
The people I assumed would be there were, but some new faces took up space. The chairs circumnavigating the squat tables as Tim’s face was dancing and his fingers were rolling on the table’s edge. He smiled and through his clenched teeth yelled, “Walking.”
Erin held her hands out in front of her as she scanned the room back and forth with her eyes. Elyssa looked at me, turned away, ran away with her eyes and began talking to Jill. Of all the people she could talk to, she talks to Jill. I squeezed myself between the couch and wall next to Tim and Erin sharing a wine crate. Dust was everywhere and my black shirt was soon sprinkled with decay.
My package slipped out of my pocket and since everyone was tweaked beyond belief, I took matters into my own hands and snaked my way through to the mirror from the other end of the table.
I dumped a fifth of my bag of product out and cut it to a pulverized state. The tracks were laid and inhaled them at an even pace. I could feel the grit as I spread the powder on my gums and they numbed up in one heart beat. The light reflected off the mirror cast a speckled shadow across my face. The dim ambience was no barrier. Being in an unusually generous mood, I left a pile for the hosts and the other participants. A beer flew across the table to me from the far corner, I shouted “Thanks.” but I could not see who the pitcher was.
Propping up, I stood up and saw the pitcher was Alexander, a familiar face from a Professor Campbell’s class. His Pittsburgh Penguin’s jersey fell down to his knees. Alexander raised his beer to me and went back to rocking in the chair.
I offered Tim and Erin some of my stuff but he said, “Dude, I’m crispy for now. Maybe later. Anyway, Erin and I are going back to my room.”
“Cool.  Later,” I said.  A minute later they got up and left.  Erin lost her footing as she went out into the hall and slipped onto her behind but sprung back. Her laughter wrinkled my flesh. I was scared she might be amped beyond capacity. A space opened up next to Elyssa on the couch after Jill sat on the crate.
“Where did you go?” she asked and patted the cushion beckoning me forward.
The cushion sunk under my weight and the warmth Jill left behind was nice.
“We went that new house down the street. It was boring. We came here as soon as we figured it out,” I said.
The atmospheric pressure increased between us.
“Do you want some?” I said and pointed to the mirror. She cleared her nose with an unsettling snort and said, “Love some.”
And so she inhaled the snow like an old pro, not even a little flake flurried out.
“You know, I was looking forward to going out with you tonight and you blew me off for two hours,” she said.
“Uh…sorry,” I said and looked into her eyes.
Everything went silent.
“Well that’s all right. The night is young and so are we,” she said and then took another blast from the unfrozen flurries. In the time it took to light a smoke, her complexion transmuted. A delirious contentment, a divine grace beyond good and evil, beyond the ideal forms the Greek philosopher could have envisioned, appeared and I could tell she liked the feeling.
The rest of the night went well enough and we went down later to get some beers and chill with the populous. Elyssa wanted to mingle so we both dispersed from each other’s view into the undulating crowd. George and I went and took a few more token toots throughout the night, but I concentrated on drinking because my hands were shaking.
Every once in a while the lights would brighten and dim.
The tide of the party continued to ebb and flow well until the wave crashed and the expected weekend fight occurred. It was of no consequence, I didn’t know the participants.
I was floating on the surface tension of a pool of booze and my head was consumed by the shadows. The darkness was comforting when the world was vibrating out of control and I didn’t know if it would stop.



Chapter Fourteen: Thirty minutes more or less
I followed James to a late night party and that was all I recalled.  All must have gone well since I woke up before three the next day and wasn’t covered in blood or urine. A mild headache curled up in my skull and pounded my temples as dryness grated at my throat. As I stood, the headache went from mild to spicy. Food was needed so I went to Tim’s room to see if he wanted to order some.
I knocked on the door stone cracking hard. He was in his boxers with one eye slanted open. His face was clenched in a painful stare. His oily fine hair flopped as he waved me in.
“What’s up man? Have a seat,” he spit it out as he fell back into his faded rainbow sheets.
“Buddy, you look worse than I feel.  Are you okay?” I asked.
He lifted his head up and said, “Just trying to recover from last night or this morning or whatever. I went to bed around seven. Do you have a smoke?”
He turned on his side and raised the sheets above his waist. I grabbed a half pack from my pocket and knelt down beside his bed and gave him a limp cigarette. A wagging finger pointed to orange seashell ashtray on the floor with matches propped up on the edge. I rested the receptacle below his bed. A stable blaze banished the nicotine craving and my headache went to shallow status.
I hunkered down.
“Last night was a total nightmare until Erin came down. I didn’t get to sleep until seven this morning,” Tim said with a puff.
“Yeah you just said that. What the hell happened?” I asked.
“Oh man, we came back here to fool around but she hit the top and it scared the shit out of her. Breathing all hard and holding her chest. I knew I was in for a babysitting job,” he said.
A demented sort of pride squirreled across his swollen face.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s a long story,” Tim said.
“Give me the short version,” I said.
“Okay but don’t tell anyone, but before I tell you I’ve got a question,” he said.
I took a prolonged breath.
“Ask away,” I said and worry sliced my stomach.
“It’s late you want to split some delivery?” he asked as he sat up in his bed.
Relief sealed my wound.
                 “Sure man. That is why I came here. Pizza place or sandwich shop?” I asked.  
“Sandwich. I’m done with pizza. They taste like cardboard and greasy fake cheese. Call and I’ll pay with plastic. You get it from the downstairs. Get me a ham and cheese,” he said.
I called information for the number and set the order.
“The sandwich place said about twenty-five minutes,” I said and he kicked the sheets off his feet.
“Turn on the TV and hit the volume so I can hear. That piece of shit never works with the remote,” Tim said.
A long gray ash fell off his smoke into the shell. I held the small TV balanced on three milk crates in the corner and pushed the on button.
“Well what happened with this babysitting?” I asked while reaching for the floor as I sat.
“Okay,” he said and crashed back into his pillows with a dead smoke between his lips.
“Like I was saying before, she was holding her chest and panting like a dog. I told her to calm down but she just kept saying ‘I’m going to die’. Same thing happened to my cousin when we tasted together for the first time. He was hypersensitive too but he could drink beer pretty fast and it brought him down, but Erin ain’t a chugger,” he said, looked cross-eyed at the unlit smoke and began again, “she said she was hallucinating.  Seeing black streams across the floor and hearing kid’s voices. Never saw shit on Meth so I think she might have been making it up. You know for sympathy. I don’t know but I was hard wired so time flew. She cooled out about three when I heard you guys come back. I think somebody, you perhaps, pounded on Jack’s door. You don’t remember that?” he asked.
“Guilty, go on.”
“After a few beers, she calmed her down. Then it got weird. She all of a sudden goes from death’s door to horny co-ed porn star. Man she mauled me like a grizzly. I was actually worried about whiskey dick before but didn’t happen. We went at it a few times and she left. I fell asleep and the next thing I know you’re here,” he said as he ground his cold cigarette butt in the bottom of the shell.
“Yup, that was the short version,” I said and he tapped two fingers to his lips indicating he wanted another smoke.
I flung him one.
He put his arm behind him and rummaged around in a milk crate under the bed. A blue lighter flicked to life.
“There you go. There’s a lot more but that’s all you’re getting. Dude, go wait for chow,” he said and put his hands behind his head.
Woozy and wobbly, I held the hand railing as I clopped down the stairs to the main entrance. The heavy fire door scuffed the floor as it opened. I was there for only a nano-second and a deliveryman came to the double doors to be buzzed in. The place was empty besides the microwave oven, the vending machine, the couches and the front desk. No one was on duty. I hit button on the yellow box to buzz him in. He entered carrying an insulated pizza bag. With his head down, he wiped his feet on the bristled doormat. He asked me, “You getting these two pizzas and the two liter?”
“No, I am waiting on something else,” I said to the man reminiscent of a Neanderthal.
I walked across the room, braced myself on the armrests and then lowered myself into the squishy cushions of the yellow couch. Silence separated us.  
“Damned college kids thank yur sooooo special. Snobby little shits always fucking make me wait like my time ain’t important and I’m some sord of foo. I tell you what, I’m gonna get the manager ta stop delivering and then y’all be sorry,” he said at me.
“Dude, calm down,” I said as he looked at me as if I came from an entirely different universe and slammed the bag down on the front desk. His thick arms went to his sides.
“Who in the Hell do you think yur talking to? Me? I’d smack ya round if you ernt all protected by this skoo,” he said in a huff.
“Chill man, I got no gripe with you. Back off or I am getting security,” I said and fear rumbled in my glassy stomach.
Then two girls from the fifth floor, both wearing blue sweaters, walked through the door from the East wing and he was silent.
“That’s ours isn’t it,” one of them said in a perky voice.
“I guess so ma’am,” the deliveryman blurted out with a pleasant tone. He said nothing else but, “Thank You” as they left and he went out the door.
I looked both ways and snuck up to the bay window overlooking the courtyard below the Greek columns and smacked it. He turned around and I flipped him the bird. He waved his fist in the air, gave me the finger and hopped into his jalopy. College kids can be huge assholes but so can deliverymen.
My delivery person came ten minutes later. She was cool and I gave her all my cash as a tip. I walked back to the room, sandwiches swing in their plastic bags, and was excited to eat, but more excited to tell the tale.
Tim was on the phone as I opened the door, so without interruption I placed the food down on the floor and began unwrapping. I caught the names Erin and Elyssa out of the air.
As I munched on a large meatball, Tim hung up the phone and was upon the grub like locusts. I finished and had a smoke in the hall. He finished and hurled the paper on the floor near his Hulk garbage can as I entered and left the door ajar. I coughed and asked, “What was that about?  Heard you mention Elyssa and Erin.”
I threw him a smoke.
“Erin is staying in tonight. I called to see if she was okay. She is and Elyssa is coming by to pick up the rest of Erin’s loot. You know, I think Elyssa is going to be a good customer. She’s coming by to get more Speedy Gonzalez,” he said.
“Dude sell her coke not that Meth shit. I might have a shot with her and do not want some crank wank girlfriend,” I said and cleared my throat.
He burst into laughter like a toddler who was being over-tickled by its mother.
“You silly fuck. What? You think last night was her first time? She’s been hounding me since she found out who I was. She’s an old pro,” he said and looked at me as I leaned back on the wall.
“Fuck! Dude don’t look so sad. Listen to me. Erin told me she’s has been sleeping with Justin for a while now, and face it. She was getting friendly with you because you’re my friend. Sorry I had to tell you like this,” he said.
The blood drained out of my lower back. My heart halted and dried in the light of truth. I was blinded and felt like I was going to sink through the floor, dissolve into simple molecules, and disappear. Salvation came to me as I bit down on my tongue. Real pain would not let me disintegrate.  The cold of the wall burned as I slumped down.
“Sorry to break it to you, but it’s better than going out and being led by your dick. Don’t worry, you’re not the first or last man to get played but now you can screw with her head,” Tim said.
“I am letting her go,” I said.
“She’s coming over here now so you can bail or stay. I’m going to fire up some ganja in a little. You’re welcomed to join,” he asked with his shoulders shrugged.
I decided to stay and see what would come.  Tim and I watched the small television with poor reception.
The door whooshed open as the light of the hall dragged behind Elyssa in a pair of jeans to big for her, guy jeans.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, eased her way over to the other side of the room and sat at the foot of Tim’s bed.
He got up, locked the door and grabbed the dirty green towel to block the gap between the door and the outside floor. It was late afternoon, the smoking hour for potheads.
“Can I get Erin’s stuff and my batch?  I have to get back,” she said.
“You don’t want to smoke up before you go?  Joaquin and I were just about to toke and you are welcome to join us,” Tim asked and then paused to wait for a response.
Her eyes rolled up to the left, her cheeks bulged a hard smile and she nodded.
I spun my ring and then grabbed a smoke.
Tim slithered to the perilous drawer, extracted the merchandise and a held out a plastic mini-water pipe.
“How are you feeling Joaquin?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Here, this is what she had left and this is yours” Tim said and handed over the baggies. 
She handed over a roll of bills. A satchel of herb was pulled out of the drawer and he began to pack the mini-waterpipe as he sat on the couch. I picked up the shell, Tim held out his lighter and I fired up another cigarette to fume block the illegal smoke. Tim turned his gaze towards me and asked, “What were you trying to tell me before?”
“Shit brother, I buzzed in a psycho deliveryman by accident. The guy was one bad tip away from the Nut Shack. After I let him in, he started saying shit about how college kids are snobs because they make him wait. Shit, he goes off on me so I stand up to him and tell him to calm down. This pisses him off even more but I mention security. Then some of the girls from upstairs come to get their pies and he acts all nice and polite.  He called them ma’am like they were Southern Belles sitting around drinking watered down scotch. I gave him the finger through the window when he left,” I said in a puff of smoke.
A slurping whistle came from the water pipe as Elyssa sucked it.
Tim snagged the blow-tube from under the couch to mask the smell and handed it to her. The cardboard tube from a roll of paper towel stuffed with sheets of fabric softener worked great. The smoke came out the other end of the smokestack smelling like the laundry room. The soapy smoke spiraled away in a vortex with every exhale. He toked on the pipe.
Held it, and, released.
“Only to you man,” he said as he blew out.
I didn’t know if he was referring to the deliveryman incident or Elyssa, or both.
The warm rush from the first hit went through me like a copier’s light going over a piece of paper. Bravery embraced me.
“Elyssa, are you going out with your friends or with Justin and his buddies tonight?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going over to Justin’s after this. Might see you two out later though,” she said and I thought liar liar as I said, “Cool”.
My attentions focused on the TV until we finished the session and I wrenched op the window to vent the smoke.
“Thanks for the buds. Have to go. See you later okay. Bye, bye,” she said and left like the fumes.
“Told you. Man, looked like you’re going to cry there for a minute but good catch,” he said and propped his feet up.
“No dude, smoke got in my eyes,” I said.
I flipped the channel and watched golf like only the stoned can.
Couldn’t tell how much time passed but George popped his head in and told us what was going on that evening and I left to get ready. As I walked to my room, I thought to myself that will never happen again.
The party scene was like any other night. The beer flowed, inhibitions fell, frats fought outside and naked coeds were cheered on as they streaked through the houses. The parties converged into a blur spread across the lost night and I didn’t care anymore. The disease had infected me. I could feel it spreading. It would bring change.


Chapter Fifteen: Streams of unconsciousness
I woke up early feeling as if rancid maple syrup was covering my whole body. Stickiness filled my pores. The smelled of sun rotted onions creamed over me and the companion headache made my eyes tear up. But something new happened. My nose was sore and a reservoir of blood dried on my pillow. An odd revulsion compelled me to exile the offending pillow from my sight with a toss across the room and I pushed my sheets away. Rolling up to a sitting position, my skull chimed; a bell rung. The day was tolling.
My feet hit the worn carpet and I stabilized myself and the fluid in my eyeballs sloshed around. Dizzy, I put my hands on my knees just above the cuffs of my heart boxers.
Blood flowed.
My nose bleeds fixed themselves in the past so I scooped a sock up off the floor with my toes and tilted head up. I applied even pressure. The blood stopped. I dropped the stained sock in the laundry pile.
I found a warm soda on the desk behind the computer and ate some two-day-old pizza concealed in the small box beside the stack of books under the window. The dizziness went away but the headache was a stowaway that told the crew the ship was in trouble.
The room was cool as dawn. I left the lights off and the blinds down so the light freckled through. There in the cubbyhole Less Than Zero, still unread, sat. My eyes fixated on the cover but the edges of my eyes grabbed don to a strange message. On the note board hanging from my door the word Kill scrolled across the face.
In a mound, I sat down as the headache pinged and pounded inside my skull. Something had to be done, so I crawled across the dirty floor to my open closet and dug out a first aid kit behind a few unpacked boxes.  Eureka, a full bottle of ibuprofen, just what was needed to stop the tire screeches in my frontal lobe. The pills dove into my hand. I choked them down. I crawled back, rose up like a leper begging for alms and swigged the soda.
I managed to climb back into bed. Weighted lashes held my eyes closed. My body pulsed into sleep. My leg kicked. I was paralyzed. Sleep couldn’t be denied.
In a purple room, a transparent cube outlined by a metallic rim hovered in a small smoky cyclone. The whirlwind spit out eggs at the wall. They splattered and slide down while transforming into bronze crabs that scurried to my feet. Then dog barked from inside the cube. The cyclone burst into flames and the cube exploded.
I woke up drenched in sweat, beer sweat. The siren’s song held me all day long. Needed to clean up.
Treading down my hall, towel around my waist, with a shampoo bottle in hand, I made it to the monstrous row of showers behind the wall where the toilet stalls sat in echoing with gas. A plastic chair under the towel rack gave me an idea. I would have a sit down shower.
I chose the shower stall with the gentlest spray so I could sit until my skin pruned because two of the showers could blind you if you were not careful. I sat with my head down and let the water run down my face and into the drain. Bogged down, I watched the drain empty the soapy suds for minutes on end as the water rotated clockwise until I got dizzy.
Tight and barely able to move, I shuffled to the towel rack consumed with the desire to blaze up a smoke. I pat dry and drudged back to my room leaving slick footprints behind. A horrible discovery was made, no smokes.
I went to George’s room though the chances of getting a cigarette at Tim’s room were better but it was session time and I didn’t want to smoke pot. George never hit the herb during the day. White knuckles tapped on the cracked door and then I pushed. George was sitting back holding his acoustic guitar and the watching television he suspended form the ceiling.
“What is up George? Would you happen to have a cigarette? I will get you back later.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, pulled a pack from his green and blue flannel button down shirt pocket and flicked it.
With shaky cupped hands, I caught it and slid lighter out of my pocket. The smoke tasted minty and stale. An old menthol clung between my lips but you never pass up a free smoke when a nic-fit comes calling.
Motioning to sit on his couch, he nodded okay and I let gravity pull me in. My leg slipped between the cushions. Truck racing was on TV but he was rather involved with his guitar and he was not a bad for someone who had only been playing for a year. I waited for a graceful pause to ask him if I could change the station.
“George, are you really watching this or could I possibly turn the channel?” I asked and he nodded again while finger picking a G-Major open chord.
I found “The Breakfast Club” playing but all of the good scenes were edited and the overdubbed dialogue was mismatched. I waited for George to finish playing and put his guitar away. He didn’t stop until “Don’t You Forget About Me” played.
“Man, last night was rough. Puked four times, still taste the bile. I went to the Kaf earlier but couldn’t put any food away. Now I’m starving,” he said, arched his back and then sank in his seat  
“I ate some old pizza and had a soda but I just woke up and you have probably been up since eleven,” I said.
He sighed and replied, “I was up before that and here it’s the middle of the afternoon. I don’t want to go back to the Kaf and definitely not going out tonight even if there is some rager. If you were smart, you’d stay in too.” 
“You are right,” I said.
“Yes I am. Dude, why do you talk like that?” he asked.
“What?”
“Slow like you’re stoned and you don’t say don’t.”
“Really, I had not noticed.”
“There you go again. Never mind. I’m going to play some computer golf. You’re welcomed to join me,” he said.
I shook my head no.
After dinner some guys went to play Ultimate Frisbee in the twilight and others went to do work. I went to read in bed. If I could get five chapters done and skim my notes I would be able to go out. The deadline came in two blinks and I didn’t finish. Tim barreled though my door came to my door and I dropped my book on the floor, the pages fan out.
“Better get ready dude the train leaves the station in fifteen minutes,” he said and left to warn the others of the impending departure.
I told myself I had done enough and could make it up tomorrow.
As the group walked by George’s room, he saw me. We made brief eye contact. He looked away back into his text book.
The party was almost non-existent only thirty people or so lounging around broke down house they called Home Plate. There was beer; we drank it; we all got drunk. Sight blurred. The world rocked and rolled. I stepped into a black out, a dark room with no escape, and would have to pay the next day. George warned me too.
                    
Chapter Sixteen: Sophistry and prophecy          
The alarm screeched, a crow trapped in a cage, and it was too far away to slam the snooze bar so I rose out of the depths of warm sheets.  As I became upright, all of the blood rushed to my feet and equilibrium failed. I crashed back into the bed in a violent heap. Entangled in sheets, I batted the clock. There was forty-five minutes until class and this professor took attendance like it was high school.
With the little soap I had in my possession, I rushed through a shower and decided to shave later. If I hurried, I might be able to get some coffee from the Kaf before it closed. I always missed by milliseconds and had to struggle through the haze of wandering thoughts so I tossed on a black oxford and thin billowy black pin striped pants. I craved stimulants, even the milder Colombian export.
Everywhere I turned after lumbering up the hill to the quad, students rushed along the crisscrossing sidewalks to reach the seven brick halls that outlined the main green of the campus. The oval quad started at a central hub and radiated outward like a cement spider’s web. Kids on rollerblades glide by cutting through lines of students with overburdened backpack. Pack mules hauling books. I had one notebook. It’s all I needed. I didn’t want to be late because some of the professors had egos larger than Narcissus in a hall of mirrors and took tardiness as a personal offense.
I had Introduction to Philosophy. There were a few kindred souls in this particular class but they were upper classmen suffering to complete their core credits. At least, I would be done with it and would never have a class before one o’clock ever again.
I made it on time and took in my chair in the back. The seat was missing a foot and wobbled. The guy next to me was a junior nicknamed Jinx but he wasn’t unlucky. The name stuck to him because he had a small head with a long neck balancing on a rotund body. There was a robot in a movie that looked like this unfortunate fellow and someone saw the flick and pinned Jinx on him at least that was what Tim told me.
“Jinx, you were at the party last night did they kick the second keg?” I asked.
“What are you talking about? You were there. Damn, what’d you get trampled by buffalos. Dude you should shower before you come to class. You smell like skunked beer,” he said.
“Fuck you man, I showered,” I said.
“Whatever. You finish the paper? I got an extension last week because of the trip with the history department to the National Archives,” he said with a finishing yawn.
I was doomed.
“Jinx, what can I tell Professor Altman to give me an extension? I spaced the paper, man. It is a sixth of our grade and I got nothing,” I asked in preparation for panic.
“You’re screwed. You should of called him last night with some bullshit story. He’s cool for a philosophy professor,” he said, looked up to the ceiling and added, “Didn’t you tell me ‘keeping attendance is bullshit because it is about the work’?”
He paused, shook his head and said, “Hypocrite.”
He was right. Professor Altman in his blue blazer and thinning gray hair bounced into the room and started lecturing on Hume before he put his briefcase down. I decided to play the good student so I propped up, paid attention and asked questions. The class dragged on with a static stress holding the hands of time back.
I thought I was in the clear when there were only a few minutes left because he asked for assignments in the beginning of class. The lectured ended and everyone got up to leave. A girl in the front row, plain as milk, yelled out, “Professor Altman, don’t you want our papers?”  
His eyebrows lowered. He tilted his head upward and said, “Oh yes, sorry class. Up to me as you leave please.”  
I waited for everyone to leave so I could plead my case.
The freshman confusion strategy seemed right. I shuffled head down and watched him close his brief case and said, “Hello Professor Altman, I have a slight problem.”
“Your paper, right? I saw you lurking in the back. No wonder you were so animated in class today. Let me see… you need an extension, so give me the reason and don’t insult my intelligence,” he said as he crossed his tweed bound arms.
His statement paralyzed me.
“I thought it was due next week and I have been putting it off. I am not completely into the groove with my work and I have been overwhelmed. I mean the social scene is hard to get accustomed to and really hard to resist. I have been going out too much and not spending the time studying and doing what I am here for,” I stopped, took a breath and continued, “it is just that this is a new place and I do not have that many friends. I am just not focusing. Please let me off this once and I will get it to you as soon as possible.”
He seemed either impressed or shocked by my honesty and granted me an extension of one week.
He then said as I was leaving, “It’s a difficult experience going away to school, but remember to take time to study every day. Then the work doesn’t seem to be such a great task. See you next class.”
I left feeling full of myself and learned a valuable lesson. Honesty is the best excuse in some cases. The next class was an half an hour away so I went to go recline on the sweeping granite front stairs of the Greek Revival building named Cerrone Hall and have a few smokes. The sun was an electric blanket turned on high and the stairs has a comfortable grade as the scent of freshly cut grass sifted over me.
I scanned a scribble of notes for the next class with Professor Campbell. The Corinthian columns at the top of the stairs cast a line of shadows across the stairs. Out over the mountains, the clouds swept to the West and a chill was lumbering through the unraveling deep blue sky. I closed my notebook and heard a familiar voice asking for a smoke. It was Dawn standing in a pack of fake blonde girls, a clutch of cawing preening canaries, who were wearing sweat pants and flip flops. She looked like a single black key on the piano surrounded by yellowing ivory.
She strutted over with a slinky club kid gait: a black skirt, a black t-shirt, black suspenders, a thin black Cardigan sweater around her shoulders and what looked like polished 14 or more hole Dr. Martins and silver knee high socks. I wondered why?
Then I looked at my clothes. Her black lipstick kissed the sky and her black fingernails ground into a leather strap as she hauled a huge black backpack.
She gave me the universal sign for I need a smoke as she tapped her lips and feigned to puff. Without looking, I pulled a smoke out of my crushed pack. The wind scattered her hair across her face. She brushed it back and rolled her eyes.
“So, what have you been up to Dawn?” I asked.
She ran her tar black finger nails through her hair again and said, “Nothing much but this boring stuff. You know some asshole stole like ten discs from me yesterday. Right out of my room, I couldn’t have been gone for more than five minutes. I heard that people stole books to return them when the school bookstore buys them back, but I didn’t expect so many jokers and thieves.”
I handed her the smoke as my hand shook. A pack of matches flipped through her fingers and she lit the smoke with a fluttering flame.  The smoke blew back in her face as she exhaled and her backpack slid on her shoulder. She sat down and my stomach churned. I was prepared for class but not for this, I had nothing to say. The silence was worse than the tension of meaningless conversation.
“So, are you still playing music? Ever since I got here, I rarely touch my acoustic,” I said and slipped down on the stair.
The corner jabbed my tailbone sending a streak of pain up my back. She twisted at the waist and she stared dead straight into my eyes.  Her lips stretched but stopped. The stuffed backpack fell off her shoulder in between us.
“I play all the time, trying to get a band together actually. Maybe play some parties for fun? Why are you asking now?” she asked and spread her lips part to receive the filter.
She puffed.
The smoke coiled away as she slid her granny glasses back.
“Honestly, I did not know you but that was then. Sorry if I offended you,” I said as the queasiness in my stomach bubbled.
“That’s why you never talked to me all of those years when we had lessons right next to each other,” she said with a smirk.
My shoulders shrugged. Thwarted in my attempt to finish a smoke, I lit another butt and noticed her non-smoking hand was cupping a small purple Origami crane attached to a string on the backpack. She flicked it.
“So, what kind of style do you like?”
“I like to play the Blues because it’s emotional. I just play simple emotional stuff,” she said.
She slid away and her chin descended into her ample chest. This girl confused me and had nothing to gain this.
“Play what you feel,” I said.
“I overheard Michael talking about you with your guy,” she said.  Anger slashed across my face.
“What the hell do you mean my guy? Why were you listening to a conversation about me?”
“No, no, I am talking about your guitar teacher at home, not here.  Wow, ego much, you think I’d do a stalker move like that. Give me a break, your cute but not that cute,” she said, looked up and twisted her head away with a grin.
“I was trying to give you a compliment. You impressed my teacher Michael and he was talking to your guy. What was his name anyway? I always forgot everyone else but Mike,” she said and looked at me.
I was wood block stupid.
“His name is Jules,” I said and she looked as if a veil was removed and she continued, “Jules that’s right, like Jules Vern.”
“That is funny he told me once his nickname Vern, but I thought it was that movie character,” I said.
“You want to know what they said?” she asked as she put her right hand on her freckled cheek. 
I nodded in sharp agreement.
“Okay but don’t freak out because it’s good. All right, Mike asked how long you had been playing and was astounded it was only a few years. Jules said you could just about play anything by ear and with more practice you could be better than he ever could,” she said and puffed.  
I scratched my neck.
“He said you were gifted. But, they said some other things too. I wasn’t sure I believed them but it’s not important,” she said and stopped.
“Tell me what they said. Even if it is bad, I have been called a lot of things,” I said.
She rubbed the top of her cigarette holding hand and said, “All right, Jules said you hated studying theory and never practiced reading music. He said you lacked discipline because of your family. He thought all you did was learn songs and didn’t take it seriously, but if it helps I think he was jealous.”
She stopped and rubbed the paper crane.
The pigment in my skin felt like it was burned away. Her eyebrows lowered. She leaned in and resumed, “They said it outside the door so I didn’t hear everything. Don’t worry about it. They really were impressed.”
“Fuck them. They do not know anything about me. Thanks for telling me though. Class starts in few minutes,” I said and ground my cigarette into the granite below with a heavy heel.
“If you ever want to jam, go to dinner, study or anything like that I live two floors above Elyssa at 553, so stop by if you want, later,” she said and rejoined her friends. What?


Chapter Seventeen: The first step 
The next class was with my favorite professor and then glorious, gluttonous lunch. I was dehydrated and needed sustenance before I wasted away but could hold it off for another hour. This was not the worst hangover but I needed water to restore my spirit.
Usually I sat in the back of amphitheatre classroom, but I wanted to get a good seat right in front and be first in line to greet Professor Campbell at the oak doors but first water. I was dry. Gravel dry. The water fountains in this old edifices trickled brackish fluid but the ground floor was renovated with a sterile computer center and a pastel foreign language lab. Best of all, new water fountains that sprayed like fire hoses so I slapped my feet on the stairs as I made my way down to the vacant bowels that was enema clean.
The fountain sang to me as I gulped. The small fluffy bubbles that gathered in the corners of my lips and the sore throat were washed away in sibilant streams of mountain water. After dragging my stiff limbs up the stairs, I found that the whole class had entered. All of the seats in the front were taken. I would not be the first face the good professor would see.  My black pinstripe pants greeted the vinyl seat.
Professor Campbell didn’t look very good when he rolled in and set shifty eyes on the class. He sagged. His wrinkled suit hung loose on his bones and matted hair reflected the lights from above in greasy streaks.
I figured I’d be nice.
He lectured for half an hour on the Minoan civilization and never asked us a question. Words rushed out of his mouth, spat out like a sour taste, and he kept looking to the clock above the door. We had ten minutes left in class and he began packing away his papers and said, “Follow the syllabus and see you next week.”
He made a rapid egress out of the room with his face hidden by his vein clustered hand so I bolted behind him. A caravan of my hall-mates was spotted over the bend heading in the direction of the Kaf. I jogged to catch up with my crew. Tim might know about the Professor’s disarray but I’d wait to ask until he was softened by food.
I fell in line behind George, said my salutations, and asked what was for lunch. It was one of those buffet days where you make your own sandwiches. My plate filled, I bound over through the thicket of students most wearing sweat shirts and baseball caps. The food wasn’t balanced on my tray. The plates slid to the lip and almost tumbled off as I got to Tim.  He didn’t notice. I squeezed by and spun out a chair.
“Professor Campbell was messed up today. Looked like shit,” I said.
There was no reaction as the whole crew seemed lost in thought. Tim lifted his head and put his fork down. He turned his head to the left, sat back in his chair and looked at me with stern beveled eyes.
“You didn’t hear about Tom Chamberlain did you? He fucking fell three stories last night and is in Intensive Care at Memorial Hospital. He might not make it or that’s the word flying around campus,” Tim said and stopped to take a bite.
I tilted my head and said, “Uh, really?”
“Really. Don’t know the whole truth because the E.M.T. s’ won’t tell anybody anything so there are a hundred stories floating around. I think I know what happened though and it ties in with Professor Campbell being all whacked today,” he said.
“So, what is it?” I asked
Before I could press further, Tim cleared his throat and wagged his finger at me. I put my hands up. He tilt nodded.
“Well, Tom was fucked up last night but not drunk. He was doing hallucinogens but I’m not sure which one. From where I was told he landed I assume he went out his window on to the third floor deck. He lives in McKinley hall, the one that is separated into three terraced buildings. He got on one of lower roofs and ran straight for the edge.  Took a fucking leap. Must have had some speed because he cleared the four foot wall, the bushes and the sidewalk,” he said.   
“Fuck, but what does this have to do with Campbell?” I inquired.  Tim looked irritated and clasped his hands in front of his nose.
“You sure don’t have the patience for a good dramatic story do you. You probably read the end of a mystery first. Fine, Professor Campbell and Tom trip all the time together and they take off to see hippie jam bands too. They took off for whole weekends, so some people suspect other things besides drugs and music. I know Tom bought doses and the Prof is probably worried about being linked to the accident. Maybe he saw Tom last night and partied? Maybe he’s fucking him? Don’t know. He probably found out this morning that Tom took a leap. You know Prof there lost a gig at another college for fraternizing with the students so to say,” Tim said and chomped on a pickle.
“Wow.”
 I sipped my drink no longer hungry and watched the others suck in the food like a Hoover on high but a vacuum makes less noise. Tim rolled a napkin into a ball and bounced it off my roast beef sandwich.
“So, I hope I answered your question about the professor but I have an explanation for Tom’s jump and it’s not suicide,” Tim said.
“Enlighten me please,” I said, crumpled up a napkin and tossed it in his drink.
James then unleashed a burp that shook the plaster off the walls.  Four tables cheered.
“Nice shot dick. Done with that any how. Listen Joaquin, I think I understand why a guy like Tom might trip himself delusional and fly like an eagle,” he said.  
“What like repressed identity he wanted to set free?” I said and dried my clammy hands on my pants.
Tim’s face looked like a frustrated child about to throw a tantrum.
“No. Tom’s a new age dude. Believes in astral projection and that reincarnation junk, a comparative religion major or some bullshit and conceited bastard too. He had a trip he couldn’t control and thought he was having an out of body experience. Probably thought he was Jesus and could levitate into heaven. Tons of people in the sixties dosed and thought they were the second coming of Christ and a symbol for Jesus is a dove hence the flying delusion. You saw that movie in high school with the naked dude and the girl who jumps out the window right?” he asked.  I nodded.
He cleared his throat and rubbed his chin. I leaned in.
Tim took a deep breath and said, “You see all of that superstition screws with a man’s mind and can lead to illusions of grandeur. First rule of tripping is know what you can handle. I know mine. All that religion cult shit just fucks with your mind.”
“So what do you mean by religion cult shit?” I asked.
Tim was ready.
“What I mean is like what happened in Guyana with Jim Jones.  Some charismatic dude takes biblical scripture and molds it to fit their belief system. Then they take the gullible undereducated end of society and get them to believe with some cleaver trick. They take pre-existing beliefs and modified them. The followers of Jesus of Nazareth did the same thing but not for power like Jim Jones, but we really don’t know that since what we know about Jesus wasn’t written by him. Shit, stories can barely be told around here without getting fucked up. But Jesus and his cult, his merry men, were a reaction to Rome’s oppression. Nothing new, happens to every society with an underclass.”
At this time, George’s eyes went aflame and he interjected, “Yo, Tim, does it matter if it’s a cult or not if the outcome and teachings of the new religion preach forgiveness over anything else?”
Tim shook his head and replied, “What Jesus taught was righteous.  In that way I would be a Christian, or Unitarian, because I agree with his teachings, but what he started isn’t what we ended up with. It’s like what Kierkegaard said about it being Churchianity and not Christianity. The institution became more important than the teachings. The Holy Roman Empire, neither Holy or Roman, came along and the Church persecuted Jews, then came Martin Luther and the arguments about who the anti-Christ had begun, one accusing the other, and so on.”
He stopped and sniffled.
I knew what was up but I didn’t think people who were amped up could eat so much. He rotated over to stare down George.
“Don’t you think Blind Faith Christians are bothersome George? I do. It’s like they suffer from an inferiority complex? They don’t feel special so they put others in Hell because they don’t believe Jesus is divine. Hell sure must be crowded. Why would God make something just to damn it? Sounds like a waste of time. Damnation does have its good points like scaring fools into not killing each other over women,” Tim stopped, put his hand up, “Sometimes.”
Tim puts his hands flat on the table. Silence enclosed us. George expanded his chest, took a sip off coffee and then tapped the side of his nose.
“I love contradictions. Don’t you Joaquin?” he asked with a wink.
“Uh…. no,” I said.
“Why would God give us the ability to question reality and then demand we believe blindly?” Tim asked.
Sweat beaded along his hairline.
“Faith, bullshit, faith and fear. Fear controls. Faith controls. It’s a negative validity. I believe it so it makes it right. No, just gullible. And the obvious counter is ‘Don’t tempt the Lord thy God’, isn’t that convenient?  The church lost me with the whole the Earth is the center of the universe thing. How could their textbook be so wrong about so many things, unless their god is a retard or they fucking made it up. It’s great fiction, if they would only admit it,” Tim sung.
The chemicals were playing jazz in his head but I had no idea he put such thought into these issues. The shaking of George’s head began with a tremor but grew to be full chin shoulder to shoulder reprisal. James slept with his head between his hands on the table. A column of sun broke through the window’s edge illuminating the table next to Tim with a crisp light. A thought was born.
“What about worshipping Saints and the Virgin Mary. Isn’t that heresy? I was told by Professor Lynch that by allowing saint worship the early Christians were able to convert the heathen tribes in Europe and the Americas because they had local gods they didn’t want to give up. So they merged the saints and local gods. Christmas and the Christmas trees came out of the tree worshipping Germanic tribes. Winter Solstice was huge for them and occurs around December twenty-fifth,” I said.
Tim sniffed twice and a single devious eyebrow lifted.
“Nice point Joaquin. They do what they must to control people. Here’s a fun one. The whole drinking of blood and eating the body of God in communion appealed to the Aztecs because they already had ritual cannibalism. As for Jesus, god born of man, that’s old and just like Hindu avatars of Shiva and Vishnu. Let me see Mary, a virgin, gives birth. How about this parallel of unusual birth? The Buddha was born out of his mother's right side and it wasn’t a C-section. Fuck, the cult got lucky when they converted Constantine but not with the power of love. The power of war. Constantine prayed to the cross to fuck up his enemies. He won and said, ‘Cool.  I’ll go with this dude Jesus. He kicks ass.’ Jesus-War God,” Tim said as George slammed his hands down on the table.  
His brown fiberglass tray jumped. A crooked smile came to life on Tim’s face.
“What about the miracles Jesus performed?” George asked as he stared at Tim and clenched his teeth.
At this, Tim snorted once, a bull like dismal.
With a pause, Tim’s eyes looked up to the left. George’s face relaxed and it seemed he had thrown a shoe in the machinery. Tim neck cracked as he rolled it, a ratchet wrench clicking away.
He slouched down in his seat and said, “Well for walking on water that’s simple. He was walking over a mirage. People of the time did not understand optical illusions. As for exorcising demons, they weren’t demons just mentally ill people who thought they were demons. When some one attempted to expel the demon, they did because they believed it.  AKA placebo effect faith healing version. Faith is a sugar pill,” Tim said, slammed his hands down on the table.
He propped up leaving his tray behind. A cigarette grasped to his lips as he held his hands behind his back as he slipped through the crowd at the entrance.
I was confused.


Chapter Eighteen: Coming through in waves
Halloween passed by with jocks dressed as hookers, hippies dressed as nuns, and more than more guy wearing a rubber Freddy Kruger mask. The parties were constant and I saw Elyssa and she saw me. The week when the first major papers were due leapt out and Thanksgiving break was ready to pounce. Most people buckled down and did serious work including me but with a few pick me ups I finished early. Half of the school’s population was in the Library and I was twitching with anxious energy so I wandered the dorms basement to roof top deck. Had to see where Tom tossed himself away. As I looked over the brick ledge, my back began to ache, my muscles tightened and my hands went numb. I rubbed them together all the way back to my room.
As I opened my door, I peered down the hall to see George turn the corner and head into his room. George’s hand, sans rings, crept around the edge of his door and he yanked it shut with a blank thud like dead wood being crushed by a stone.
As I started to tap on the door, I stopped and thought if he doesn’t want to hang out then I can find someone else. I proceeded with five rhythmic taps. He opened the door with a smile and said, “What’s up brother come on in you gotta listen to this.”
We shook hands, this took me back, and I sunk into his couch. The cushions dislodged.
“Listen to this shit,” George said.
“Okay,” I replied.
He walked over to his pile of papers on his desk and gripped the top folded piece. He held it up besides his head, waved it side to side and cleared his throat with a two part grunt.
“I just received notification from the head of the Communications Department that my project proposal was accepted. This means I get to design and produce a news program covering this campus. The best part is that it won’t just be played on the Buzz channel but gets to go on the local news twice a month. I even get a floating budget. This is totally going to help me get that internship this summer. I told you that I wanted to write and produce television, didn’t I?”
“Cool. Can I ask you a question? What is the Buzz channel and is TV production why you came to this school?” I asked.
He put the paper down and sat at the foot of his bed. He pulled a pack of smokes out of his red and blue flannel shirt pocket and offered me one by raising the pack towards me. I declined with a waving hand and then pointed to the pack in my pocket.
The cigarette spewed fumes while he lit it.  He rummaged in a pile of clothes and raised a remote control. Pearl Jam began playing in the background. He squeezed his nostril together with his finger and thumb and then sniffed twice so that his nostrils closed.
“Uh the Buzz channel is the school’s closed TV channel. You know the Wasp is our mascot. But to answer the second no, but I took AV classes, yes I know it’s dorky, but we went to a local TV station and missed school for a day. Came here for communications and took a class where I had to work for the Buzz channel and first afternoon changed my life and knew I wanted to be a TV producer.”
I envied his passion as mine had leeched out and evaporated.
“Cool. Have you heard anything about that dude Tom? Is he all right?” I asked.
He stared into my eyes and said, “Is he all right?  He fell three stories and is in a hospital bed. Is he all right?”
“You know what I mean. Just wanted to know if you heard anything else,” I blurted out in a breath.
He ashed his butt and said, “I heard he probably won’t be paralyzed. That girl Jen told me that he broke an amazing amount of bones including his skull. He had internal bleeding too. Bet he doesn’t come back here.”
My nod of agreement was stout and my back began to ache.
“George, speaking about not coming back to school, how are you getting home to Medford for Thanksgiving?” I asked.
“My sister’s picking me up on her way back from school in Florida,” he said and looked at me.
“You think maybe I could get a ride to your house? I can truck it home from there?” I asked.
He laughed like I asked a stupid question and responded, “I’ll call my sister tonight and see. It’s probably better that you try and get a ride all the way but if you need to, we’ll squeeze you in.”
“Thanks bro. Listen, in high school my friends had older brothers or sisters to get beer for them and I have no idea who is going to be home.  How do you get it at home?” I asked.
“I have a sister and my mom buys it for me. I don’t know what to tell you,” he said.
“What I meant to ask was do you have a fake ID? And, do you know anyone who could hook me up?” I asked.
“No, I don’t have one. Ask Tim,” he answered.
“Cool. I will,” I replied.
James tumbled through the door and plunged down next to me. I had to hold on to the arm rests so I wouldn’t be pulled in my James’ gravity.
“I was talking to that chick Dawn today. She wouldn’t shut up about you Walk,” James said with some spit.
“What the fuck did she say?” I asked.
“Like you and your friends would have outrageous parties at the beach and your band would play them,” he answered.
“We had parties but they are tame compared to this place. My band played a few parties but we sucked.  James, do not listen to her,” I said.
“It's just what she said man, don’t be so touchy,” James replied.
“Sorry man, a little off today. Fucking back hurts. George tell James the good news,” I said while being preoccupied with how I was going to get an ID and George began his tale.
James was falling asleep next to me. His enormous weight was pulling me deeper and deeper into the couch’s rift valley. I needed to get George to end his newly improved story so I said, “George, if you are going to start this next semester do you have any ideas or are you just going to wing it when it happens?”
He raised his eyebrows and responded, “I have an idea bouncing around.”
He straightened up and dusted off the front of his sweat-shirt.  He looked like he was going to deliver a speech to the UN.
“So what is this important issue that concerns us?” I asked.  “Population.”
George leaned into us, pressured out personal space, and looked through us.
“Over-population to be precise. There are more people living on this Earth now than ever. There’s not enough food unless we develop more lands but this destroys rain forest and we suffocate. The excess population drags down Third World countries and they can’t develop.  They don’t grow up fast enough and other developed countries must support them, and that means dragging us down with them.”
My head jerked back.
“Uh, maybe a little too general? There are ways to feed the planet other than developing,” I said.
He looked at me with one closing eye.
“This country would have to stop wasting fuel and food. That ain’t going to happen. This is the land of the short attention span and people aren’t going to spend money on inconvenience when they can ignore what’s happening in the world,” he said.
“Maybe you should inform people about waste? Maybe get people to help out and that could be the show’s focus?” I asked and crossed my arms.
“I would but face it, the only way to really help would be to transform the whole culture and that’s not likely. It’s a throw away society. Shave once and toss a razor, open a bottle once and get rid of it.  It’s too easy and people are lazy,” he said.
James yawned a big bear yawn and Pearl Jam stopped playing.
“Think about it. This country is all about profit. If we wanted to feed the world, we could make a dent but the government tells farmers to grow only certain crops to artificially inflate prices.
Thing is, we wouldn’t have to feed them if they weren’t alive. When we were agrarian families needed ten kids. The mortality rates were high. Now, people don’t need to have so many children but keep on fucking spawning like rabbits, even with all the kids that need to be adopted. And Joaquin, contrary to Tim’s beliefs, I’m not Roman Catholic so birth control is something I would like to focus on in my show.”
“Be careful. We are in the South. But good luck,” I said and knew then he was coked up.
With that, James rolled out of the couch, turned to me and asked, “Golf?”
“Sure. Hit the computer links.”
I rocked out of the sinkhole James left behind and shook George’s hand as I left.
“I will get you when we leave. See you in about two hours.  Adios,” I said.
James had already clogged his size fourteen work boots down to his room at the end of the hall near the window. I got a drink of stiff water and tapped my toes down the hall.
I hoped James’ roommate Henry, or Tie-Dye as Tim called him, wasn’t there because he smelled like sandalwood incense and patchouli.  To my luck, only James sat in his room, but the earthy musk clung to everything. Henry stayed at his girlfriend’s place off campus. She was a hippie chic and they were going to live together after some earth bonding ceremony. At least, that’s what George told me.
James beat me in a game that I played in reality. That frustrated me to no end, but it was near dinner and I wanted to find Tim. It was a serendipitous day because when I thought it who should walk by but the infamous fellow himself.
“James, I must go now after being humiliated by your superior ability. I must talk some business with Tim so in half then,” I said and James never glanced off the screen as he popped a thumbs up.
I knocked on the door. Flakes of paint fell to the tile. Ten seconds passed before the door lurched open. He peered around the door’s edge, eyes glazed vermilion, with a candied apple stare. Tim was holding his breath as he snagged my collar and ripped me from the hall. Before three steps could be taken, the door slammed and exhaled a vortex of pungent blue smoke. I didn’t recognize the smell.
“Yo, what is up?” I asked and stood.
He fell back and melted into the clutter of pillows and blankets spread on his couch. A thick silence filled the corners of the room as his eyes closed and then struggled to open.
“I am just rolling with the clouds. What are you up to?”
“Playing golf on James’ machine otherwise sitting in my room and a disturbing thought broke through,” I said.
Rising like a drawbridge, he put his hands up for me to slow down.
“Do you know anyone who could get me a fake ID and if so could I get it before the break?”
A pale hand went to cover his forehead and he nudged the air with his chin.
“I can get you one for fifty bucks. Have it tomorrow,” he said while his eyelids drooped.
“I got fifty man. Get me it and I will owe you one,” I said.
“You already owe me more than one buddy, and don’t forget it,” he said. The comment made my ears hot but I let it go because he looked like he fell out of his tree. I figured it was Base.
“Man, what is it with you? You seemed so out of it before, cranky,” I said.
“I’m burnt from all of this paper writing and studying. The computer screen is giving me headaches and bud won’t even get them to go away. So I upped the dosage. Thinking of bagging it and cheating. I’m slick. They won’t catch me,” he said.
“Man, if you get caught cheating you are gone and your parent’s money, gone. Dude why come to college to cheat? This is higher education, not high school. If you came here just for a degree you should have gone to a cheap state school,” I said.
He held his belly and laughed.
“Okay mom, I won’t cheat. Jesus! Higher education, funny. You know most of the people here cheat right?” he asked and looked off into the distance.
“Really? Why? Not like it is Harvard hard,” I said.
“For some it is. Dude no more Base for me today. Fucken overload, Percocet ain’t helping either. Next time I’m just drinking coffee even though it gives me the runs,” Tim said as drool leaked from the corners of his mouth.
“Try and get me a good ID, please. People card hard where I live and the police bust you. I do not want a record,” I said.
“You mean you haven’t ever been busted for anything?” Tim asked as astonishment flowered on his face.
“No man, just got beer poured out by the pigs and pulled over once.”
“Shit, that’s nothing and by the way usually they just take the ID away and rip it. It’s no big deal, but it’ll be good.”
“Thanks man. I am going to get the guys for dinner. Are you coming?”  I asked.
“Nah, too tweaked. See you later. Come by for a binger later and maybe I will tell you about the girl who makes the fakes. Take off chump, wait,” he said and pulled a baggie out from under his bed and tossed it.
“Cool. I can use this. I will come by later and for God’s sake no more pizza dude. Starting to look like you are getting the sophomore sixty instead of the freshman fifteen,” I said.
The bird flew from both of his hands.
James was out in the hall tossing a wet tennis ball against the blank white wall. It left spots behind. George stuck his head out from behind James’ door and pushed himself out into the hallway on a swivel chair.  He spun. He looked like a toddler that found a new toy, a gargantuan toddler.
“Yo!” I yelled, “Where did you get the ball from James?”
No reply. A duplicitous dog like grin grew. He wound up and launched the ball at me. It ricocheted off the doorframe of the bathroom and took an unexpected turn. The wet ball compressed on my head and landed in a large garbage can next to the bathroom door. My forehead ripped with tennis ball juice.
“Damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean it,” James’ voice echoed through the empty hall.
I raised my hand, waved it off and went into the bathroom to get some paper towels.
“Let’s go and eat before all of the good pieces are gone,” James said while poking his head into the bathroom.
The crunched up paper towel bounced off the rim of the trash and fell as I pulled the door open.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“He’s talking about steaks. A grandiose gesture to break the monotony of study week,” George said as he leaned against the wall.
James gestured three times with his head to the stairs and swung his arms back and forth as if he was running. I motioned to George and he took the lead.
It was a warmer day than usual even if it was technically the South. This was not the Deep South but for me it was odd to see so many people wearing shorts in November. The wind was being pushy and the sun’s orange yellow embrace was receding behind the mountains. You could tell it was going to get cold soon. The leaves were curling and scent of water vapor had vanished. The brisk autumn I was accustomed to, felt a lifetime away and I was stuck in a state of reminiscing over the scent of dying leaves. James was practically running and George was keeping up as I fell behind on the path around Collin’s field.  
                 I was not hungry, not even for a good steak. The rib eyes the cafeteria worker served, while donning hair nets and plastic gloves, was a rare thing. I hadn’t had a good steak in months and I should have been salivating. Tea and fruit played nice on my tray and I was in no rush to watch them get intoxicated at a trough of bloody bovine flesh. Nausea rose and bubbled. Steak was one of my favorite things and the repulsion worried me.
At the long table, they ate with the intention to eat more. Nibbling on my apple, I found my throat began to seize.
The nausea took a choke hold of my esophagus and I made my retreat to the lavatory. Bile blended with the toilet water. Sitting in a heap, I took a firm grip to the porcelain altar and waited for the heaves. It passed with only a few dry runs. No cramps just a salty sour taste on my tongue.
The guys understood my plight and I walked out with weak knees around the field as the wind carried the yellowing leaves across my path. The temperature seemed warmer than before and the sun was almost down as the low clouds were swept off in the horizon. I got to Tim’s room. The door was open. A pizza box sat square in the middle of the floor.
He signaled me to come in with his slice of pizza drooping in his left hand. He opened his mouth and spits a few chunks out so he could speak. I watched him chew as he wiped his hands on his t-shirt.
“I got your ID already and for twenty bucks cheaper. So, I took the liberty to reinvest it for you. You’ll be happy with the purchase when exams are over,” Tim said with two nods and a quick pulse of smile.
He gulped and smacked his lips.
“I hope it is worth it because I could use that money,” I said as I slumped into the couch.
I was not sure why, but the cushions felt rough and hard like the foam inside had dried. He pulled the ID out of his wallet and flung it to me like a Frisbee. It flew right through my hand into a crease.
The quality was good. The person in the picture had the same hair and eye color as me, but his face was rounder. He also was two inches taller, which I thought would not be so bad if I wore boots. It could work for what I was going to use it for but not bars or renting a car. After I thanked Tim, he raised a fist and shook it in reply and slipped over to the TV. It rocked on the tower of crates as he pressed the on button. Local news came on.
Tim finished and lit up a smoke as he looked at me with a gypsy gaze. He flicked me a smoke at me. This time I caught it. A question had come to mind, but I felt I had imposed on Tim’s prowess of acquisition enough that day. I considered not stressing the situation further but I asked, “Tim is there anyway I can get some product before going home or could we meet up, since you are only two hours away. I could make a day trip and we could hang out if possible?”
He shrugged and said, “We can get as much as we want before you go but give me an extra ten bucks and I’ll send some. All I have to do is buy one of those meat and cheese gift baskets, core out a sausage and put it in there. The smell will be masked by the food. Intercept the package and no one’s the wiser.”
“Can we talk about that later? I am going to go lie down,” I said.  Tim waved as he stared at the TV screen.
The hallway was dark. The lights had not been turned on by the custodian yet, and the sounds of the furnace rattled and projected through the registers. A hint of diesel glossed the air and my room was pitch-black.   I turned on my fan on to drown out the silence and set the alarm. The thin blanket was the only other thing I needed. Sleep couldn’t be denied.
Red numbers glowed from the floor. Some somnambulist fit must have dashed it to the ground. Only a few hours had gone by since I set the alarm and I had an hour to go. Then, I noticed the sun through the blinds and didn’t feel that tired anymore. A realization fell from the sky. It was eight in the morning. Class loomed in two hours but this gave me some mellow time, unhurried time, to take a super long hot shower and maybe get breakfast.
That day, all we did was hand in papers and were released to study.  The others were playing catch up and my appetite returned. All I needed was to rest and not go out until after exams. I would take a break from the palace of excess so I could start on the path of wisdom. All was calm until the first day of exams.


Chapter Nineteen: Unprepared
I rubbed my hands together as I circled Collin’s field and tread up the weary cement path up to the quad. The bristles of folly combed out my path.
On the front stairs to the Cerrone Building, freshman clutched together, cramming until the last second. The first set of tests ended and the bell of the chapel tolled with dense echoes sweeping across the campus.
A guy with a top hat that said 1000% cleared through the main entrance at the top of the stairs and scattered his notes to the wind as another guy with checkered flannel drifted behind him. The flannel guy took the stairs with stiff knees and reached down for the last step. He sat with his hand over his head and began to rock and sob. I climbed the wide stairs as the rest of the herd was set free and a kid I had seen at parties, smelling of peppermint schnapps, ripped off his shirt and vaulted the length of the stair. The exams might not have been hard, but the ground was.
I killed my exams.
The prime hurdle was cleared and I had free time to release the tensions. Good news came that I had a ride home and the rest of my anxiety left me like vapor lifting off a warm pond.
George’s sister had space and was going to give me a lift up North.  I was going to stay at his house for a night and vegetate. Tim came to me about the investment he talked about but wouldn’t tell me until I got to his room. His stare emitted radiation as he bounced on the balls of his feet.  We got into his room and he unzipped his pants and unbuckled his belt.
“Woah buddy,” I said.
“Dude, no, I wouldn’t fuck you anyway,” he said and turned away.  A square of aluminum foil spread the fine light as it lifted high into the air.  Tim zipped up lefty with a hop. I was relieved but unsure what was going on.
“Man, we got the perfect day for this. Sunny, warm and lots of people have left so the field won’t be crowded,” he said as he giggled.
I suspected what was in the foil.
 “What is it?” I asked.  
He turned to me with a clown smile and said, “Triple-dipped blotter with a high mike count, more than double the dose of doses.  You’re in for a treat.”  
Mushrooms were fun in the past, even if I puked because I didn’t eat, but LSD was in another league. It was major and I never touched it.  
“Cool, have not dropped that in a while,” I said.
“Then I won’t have to baby sit you, nice. I can take off for a romp in the woods,” he said and began bouncing on his feet again.
He reminded me of Erin before her first Meth date. They had been spending a lot of time together.
“Go ahead do what you want, but do not tell anybody we did this.  Some people would act like assholes if they knew,” I said.
“I won’t tell anyone, but you gotta learn that it doesn’t matter what other people think. It’s all about you. If they say shit, fuck em,” he said with one eyebrow raised. He unfolded the foil.
Tim motioned me to come closer and said, “Put it in your mouth for five minutes or so.”
A metallic taste seeped out of the paper tab and it began to dissolve on my tongue. I wasn’t sure if this treat would turn into one hell of a trick.  Tim dropped and we reclined on his couch, smoked a few smokes and waited for it to take hold as the TV went on. After awhile, I began to doubt anything would happen.
I couldn’t say how it hit Tim, but a wave of heat crashed below my feet. In a blast of fracturing light, scarlet orbs appeared and glistened on the walls. They shook and flattened into small red dots that spread across every corner of the room. Tim began waving his arms around a few minutes later and said, “Great, this shit is great.”
My fingertips went numb as I reached to the side table to grab a smoke out of the pack and two ghostly images of my arm followed behind only to be absorbed by my arm. I heard about “trailing” before from friends and a visual trip just got its traveling papers. The smoke jumped to my lips without much resistance.
                 Needed to get my lighter from my pocket but I didn’t want to look so I slipped in my hand and rolled the lighter out with my fingertips. The taps of my fingertips sounded like a stampede of horses for a second. I had no idea how I was going to light it as my clothes became tinny, hard with sharp edges.
After squirming in my seat, tacked down by some strange force, I felt like I had to do something or combust. My eyes closed and as they opened battalions of bug eyed aliens crawled from under my skin, stuck their tiny tongues out and marched up my arms right under my shirt. I felt them wriggle as they funneled into my bellybutton. My flesh became hot coals.
Tim rubbed his hands together and said, “This shit is quick man, you can really feel it turning now. I have a good idea let’s go out on the field and toss the Frisbee. Those’ll be killer trails like a jet’s vapor-trail.”
I stood and his room pressurized like the cabin of an airplane but instead of air, gelatin was pumped in through the vents
“All right, that is a wonderful idea.  I will meet you out there but I must do something first,” I said in a British accent.
Tim laughed and said, “Where the hell did that come from? You must really be off, but let me warn you if you haven’t had a strong trip before taking a piss might scare you a little so just take it in stride.”
I was confused.
“What do you mean take a piss? I am just going to change my clothes,” I stated in the accent again.
Tim busted out into a roar and fell to the ground. He looked up and said, “Achtung, never mindt de piss thing, you will vined that out soon enough, but why are you changing your clothes?”
He tried to say in a German accent but it came out like a Dieter, from Saturday Night Live on Special K.  
In a bad French accents I said, “I am itchy and think I did not get all of the soap out of these clothes the last time I washed them. Just go up there and I will be there in a minute.”
I changed my shirt four times and my pants twice. My outfit didn’t match but the fabric was loose. The oversized gray oxford shirt buttoned without regret but the pair of sweat pants decided they wanted to go on backwards. They fought me off but gave up and went on the right.
My shoes went from cross-trainers to black boots. After I changed, I had to relieve myself but thought it would be in my best interest to hold it. I made my way down the vibrating stairs with a clumsy trot.
After two failed attempts, I opened the exit. The outside was a preheated oven. I drudged with heavy steps held down by thousands of tiny arms up the inclined sidewalk between the dorms up to the field. The grassy slope never seemed so sharp.
The heat was pressure. The walk was a strain on my hamstrings.  My heart broke rhythm as I rose to the flat land above. The world straightened out at the bend of the hill and on Collin’s field Tim was throwing the disc straight up in the air and tracking it as it fell to the soil not attempting to catch it. Each time, I saw two spectral images give chase to the Frisbee and be absorbed by the disc spinning on the compacted soil.  He saw me, pointed and laughed.
I knew I looked ridiculous. I passed through the chain link gate while Tim continued to throw the disc in the air and as sure as the sun also rises, trails followed behind.
“Sure, you’re really beginning to flow away aren’t ya,” he said.
“I guess. Feels like the sun is holding me down,” I said.
I flopped down onto ground to watch the clouds race by and transmute into fat faces. Tim’s eyes then caught my attention. They were completely black like a demon in the movies. He was a cartoonish demon throwing a Frisbee straight up in the air.
I rolled to my feet and bumbled to the other end of the field for some space near the soccer goal. The sun kept pushing down and all I could think about were his eyes. They were dolls’ eyes. They were black holes pulling light in from the space around them.
“Yo Walk!  Heads up,” Tim yelled as he wound up and threw the disc to me.
I was a spindle.
I couldn’t think about anything else but his demon eyes and let the disc whiz by my face. It left a streak of shadows. Just as I was about to throw it back, Tim started spinning in place like a child with his arms outstretched and his face to the sky. He fell to the ground, flopped and flipped like a fish and laughed. I hadn’t noticed all of the people around until that moment and paranoid thoughts ambushed me.
They all must know what was happening since Tim was freaking out. They were going to tell campus security. Tim got up in slow motion and in a flash he was next to me and asked, “You want to go explore the trail?  It leads to the river.  There’s some cool shit along the banks.”
“No, I am thirsty and need another smoke so I am going inside for a while and bug by myself. You just go and find me later,” I said as my eyelids blinked out of control.
I wanted to go but I thought that the people at the field would follow us. It was imperative that I had to go somewhere else and look normal for a while. Tim suddenly twisted his body and said, “Okay.”  In a few fast forward flashes he gone but I could still see his eyes.  
I made my way to my room and lit some incense and put on Axis, Bold as Love by Jimi Hendrix. The little red dots reappeared and danced across the walls and floor. Everything began to shift. Solid objects melted to the floor and just as the molten mess spread they would reform. I struggled to my bed. It was hot as piss.
The incense no longer gave a scent. A daydream of me as an alchemist transforming elements with a forge and glass beakers materialized in front of me like a movie on  a movie screen. The hallucinations seemed most under my control.
A higher reality was entwined with the fabric of my mind. A playful light glowed form my closet. There was no fear. I wanted to walk above death with God on the seam between the planes of existence.  Perception was cleansed. Being wrapped in this fabric I was safe, but then it ripped, a spirit choked back into flesh.
A flash sparked and I caught a glimpse of the clock. Three hours had passed in minutes. The atmosphere condensed and the pressure increased. I was pressed down on my back again, but the sun’s hand had no grip. Lithe little fingers of light stretched through the blinds to illuminate the room. Breathing became forced and shallow. Was I going to suffocate from Acid?
As it began, it ceased, and I took in a full choppy breath. Before when I puked at in the cafeteria’s bathroom, I thought not having control of your body was the most horrible thing that could happen. I was wrong.
The trip scattered my sight in a thin sheet but at least I could breathe and figured a smoke would relax me. I went to grab a smoke and realized I couldn’t feel my hands as my head was filled with helium. The sound of the pressurized gas escaping from a nozzle hissed in my ears. I located my pack and lit a match. The flame did a hula. It was alive, it was breathing, and trying to talk to me but it was too tiny to hear.
I had to destroy the little being because he couldn’t be allowed to watch what I was doing. He extinguished.
The CD then tracked to another and began playing Carmina Burana. This was on the sound track from the Door’s movie. I listened for a moment but it was too chaotic and they were screaming at me in a code. As I crawled on my knees and elbows, the sound of sandpaper on dry wall scratched up from the ground. I pushed up through the dense atmosphere and put on Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic from The Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Everything got heavier than before so I just let gravity take me down and watched the ceiling spin and twist into faces. The glaring cold faces would bubble down to me and when I blinked they were absorbed back into the ceiling.
Every cell in my body screamed.
After clawing my way up to my bed, I told the sheets and blankets what a nice job they did at night and silence fell. My heart beat hung and hit and I realized somehow I had a cigarette in my mouth. The entire length of ash dropped to the floor from my cigarette. The butt was out. With every tilt or movement of my head, the room shifted. One wall would bulge and the other would lunge away. They mocked me with muffled laughter. In the empty space in the middle of the room collapsed in on itself creating distortions that bent the light around it. Gravity was folding space-time over and over.
In a gulp, the distortion enveloped me and crashed down dense as water. Everything fell a way, sight, sound, smell and touch phased out of existence.
I was relieved to feel a prickly pain tearing through my side as my senses returned. I went flat on my back in the middle of the room and heard people knock on my door. Time was no more.       
                 I had to pee. Thank God I had to pee. With what reserves were left, I sprang to my feet. A few people paced the halls with zombie faces, but I didn’t look at them. The stall was stable, unmoving, and I unzipped my pants. Terror struck again. My penis was gone.  
My pants dropped to the floor and I saw that it had just gone into hiding. The fear broke as I heard a froggy throated woman laugh. I had to get back to my room but my feet were stuck. The toilet became a face, my father’s face, as everything took on a vibrant yellow hue.
I said, “Fuck you.” and my feet were free.
I blinked and was back in my room glued down to my chair. My hand rose up without me wanting it to and in the wake of the trail a small road was built brick by brick reaching out across the room. My hand twisted, detached and went off on its own all the while giving me the finger. With a blink, my hand was back in place but down the road I saw a micro-man, a tiny imp, made of flame and smoke walking towards me.
He walked up my arm and I tried to shake him off but he clung fast as he crawled into my head through my ear. My chest wouldn’t expand. I couldn’t breath.
I was insane.
The only sedative around was booze and George had some.
George answered his door and said, “Man, I knew you guys were fucked up but I did not know you guys were tripping. Tim just came buy and mumbled incoherently and then said, ‘acid’’ and left.”
“Man, I need something to come down. I am not having a good time. Can I have your beers?” I pleaded.
“Sure, come in. I got something better,” he said and I went in and sat like a skinned cat.
“You shouldn’t screw with Acid man. Shroomz and X are all right but Acid can fuck you up permanently,” he said and went through a black toiletry bag.
“Here take a Valium. Stole it from Ma. Should help. It’s weird man, I never saw anyone have a bum trip until I came here. Now, you’re the second,” he said, handed it to me and sat down next to me.
I popped the pill.
“George, thanks. Can I have the rest of those beers?” I asked.
George said something but I could not make it out. I think he was mouthing words trying to mess with me.
“Go ahead, there are only five left but with that Prince you should go to sleep in an hour,” he said.
The beer burned my gullet as I chugged. It was warm and I couldn’t taste a drip. I drifted into a cold sleep.
At first the sleep was sound and undisturbed, but after five hours I would wake up intermittently covered in sweat. The odd dreams woke me and the thought of going back to sleep was scary. The purple room and the eggs were always there. The delta waves of REM sleep broke on the shore of my sandy mind and I got up with the sun. Reality was different now and wasn’t sure if I could hold on to my sanity.


Chapter twenty: A second step  
My neck was weak.
My head felt as if hot cranberry sauce was injected straight into the gray matter and was burning holes down to my puffy eyes. My lower back cramped, which made sitting up a task. No food or liquids since the day before and I was dehydrated beyond any hangover I ever experienced.  The door creaked open. The hall was bright as the spark that ignites when you get punched in the nose. I shuffled in my boxers to the water fountain.
The coolness of the water almost made me weep and I turned around and lumbered back. The lights were left off. As I fell on my back and put my hand behind my head the red dots appeared and skimmed across the ceiling. I closed my eyes and wished to the universe that they would go away.
They did.
I needed to find out if what happened to me happened to Tim so I slung on my sweat pants and tugged a t-shirt over my head. Bracing myself against walls, I slid sideways down to Tim’s room. The door was cracked. He sat there in his bathrobe scratching himself openly. He pulled his hand out and floated a wave and said, “How are you today?  Retarded? I am. You better get some orange juice man. Making me better already.”
I plopped on the couch covered with a new rainbow tapestry.
“Did you have a good trip?” I asked.
“Sure, it was great. Why?” he asked.
“Mine scared the fucking shit out of me. You said the Acid was good,” I said.
“Listen bro, that shit was excellent. Hold on. Let me close the door,” he said.
The door clicked shut and he said, “My trip was great. Sorry if yours was bunk but that stuff was pure, no strychnine. It was strong. Are you all right?”
I sighed, propped myself up and said, “I felt like I was going to die. Like I was being crushed to death. The world collapsed on itself and I had an out-of-body experience. It happened again for a moment this morning. I thought this shit was only supposed to last for eight hours or so?”
“Whoa man, sounds intense. Mine wasn’t anything like that, but you get what you bring. I just saw some trails, colors and melting walls. I just laughed and played with things for seven hours straight. You must have some issues man,” he said as he fixed his sheets.
“What do you mean by `you get what you bring’? The bad trip was because the Acid was too powerful. It will go away, right?”
He patted his bed flat and spun to sit down. He rotated his head towards me and said, “The trip was bad because you brought the baggage or your brain just can’t handle it.  That’s what I mean. We had the same paper. Sorry to tell you this, but sometimes it stays around and then goes away but comes back. It’s called a flashback.”
“So, this can just come up and bite me on the ass at anytime, great!” I said as my chest emptied of warmth.
“Don’t worry because if you do they’ll come back. It will stop eventually. What you need is orange juice to flush the chemical ghouls out of your head,” he said and reached over to his fridge and threw me a pint carton of O J.
He folded his hands and said, “I’m sorry if it scared you. I had a trip that was bunk too but talking about it doesn’t help. You just have to deal.”
“Well, what did you do while I was in hell?” I asked with a grin.
“Oh, I went to the river and watched fish swim in circles. Played with mud and climbed a tree. Went over to the Three Girls House and hung out with them. I knocked on your door but there was no answer.”
At that point he got up, opened his door and we just watched television until lunch.
We saw George standing at the top of the stairs to the campus center as he was tossing his junk mail in an enclosed garbage can by the handrail. I only checked my mail twice since I got there and couldn’t remember the combination to my box. He slid down the handrail.
“I’m borrowing John’s car and going to town for food. Do you guys want to go? I’m buying. Just cashed a nice check at the Bursar,” George asked. We followed him to the parking lot behind the Kaf.
We turned into a cozy little shop named The Yellow Submarine just off the main street that lead to the highway. It was a fitting name. The leaf yellow curtains mingled with the egg yolk walls and the blue indoor/outdoor carpet under the picnic bench tables with a plastic periscope jutting up in the middle gave the illusion that of being on the water, sort of. Family pictures clung to the walls and three wooden booths framed the windows that overlooked a busy intersection. The best thing was that the old couple who owned the joint served beer to underage kids. We each got the sixteen-inch sandwiches with sodas and a pitcher of amber beer.
I was actually hungry.
We sat silently and ate feeling like adults.
No crumbs survived and we filled our beer glasses and blazed up smokes.
George asked me, “What happened last night?”
“I just freaked out. That is all and you helped last night, I owe you one,” I said.
“No you don’t, I just hope you would do the same in return,” George said.
Tim puffed a storm cloud over the center of the table, raised his pint glass and chugged it. His eyes watered as he put the glass down and said, “To self-induced psychosis.”  
We dropped off Tim to see Erin. George and I decided to jam in his room. It was months since I played with anyone.
After dropping off the car, we hiked it back to the dorm. I slipped my acoustic-electric guitar in my gig bag, slung it around my shoulder and strutted like a decapitated rooster down the hall. George had both an acoustic and an electric guitar but we chose to play sans volts. In his cramped room, I slipped my guitar around me, tightened the strap and stood while he sat. A twitch scratched my eye as the sour strings were strummed. I was out of tune. The stings tightened as I wound and felt the tension in the neck. George tossed me a battery operated tuner.
To warm up we played some standard blues in C major just to get acquainted. He wasn’t half bad so I kicked it off with a few licks and played a chord progression in G minor. Head started rocking and feet stomping. We were flowing and reading each other pretty well, and so I moved the progression to D minor. I tossed out a few arpeggios and then we looked at each and stopped.
“You know Pearl Jam’s Animal,” he asked.
“Yup,” I replied and we launched.
We traded vocals but I played the lead when it came.
People began clustered in and out of the room, some leaning the doorway as others stood in the hall.  My hands got sweaty and began to cramp as I hammered on notes so we paused so I could grab a paper towel from the dresser.
I spun around and, “Hello” to the crowd.
  Two blonde girls, who I had never seen before, pushed their way in and James and Cyrus somehow made their way behind me and were leaning on the wall. When we stopped, we were greeted with claps and I blushed. After we played Little Pink Houses by John Mellancamp, I went to wipe my hands and the fret board. Were I wiped, little red dots appeared and climbed up to my hand as they jumped from finger tip to finger tip I gasped.
Autopilot took hold as I followed George’s simple five part chord progression but the guitar felt weighted and my fingers went numb. A wash of sound blended into white noise and I stopped. George looked at me and said, “What’s up?”
His face stretched out into strands of spaghetti.
“I feel sick. I need to go lie down,” I said and rushed out of the room with my guitar still slung around me as it bounced off the walls.
Bong, bong, bong.
The sickly tones followed me. I leaned my guitar in the corner behind my bed and said, “The trip never ended.”
Numb hands rubbed a numb face and everything was a caricature.  The low noise of a swarm of bees swallowed my ears.
Later on I explained what happened to George as we got ready for the Gamma party and he understood. The red dots came back but I drank them away.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.


Chapter Twenty-one: REBORN
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM rifled down the hall.
Two brutes from the forth floor tilted the soda machine on its edge in our lounge and slam. They were trying to shake out free beverages. They tipped it back and slammed the machine against the wall again. It worked. They gave me two cans of grape soda as a bribe and I went give one to George.
We began the pursuit of potent potables early with some drinks in George’s room and then went up to a girl named Lisa’s fifth floor single.  She was a friend of James’ from Psych 101. The topic of discussion centered on an unfortunate event that happened to a junior at a nearby college. He had a party and ended up having sex with a girl who he didn’t know. She was sixteen and her father tracked her down that night and burst into the party.
She was caught under the sheets.
The father stormed off with his daughter and she lied to him about what happened to save her own skin. He returned later with a shotgun and threatened to kill him. The police prevented it, but the advice that Lisa gave us was always check IDs and watch out for dad.
The first stop on the night’s tour was the Three Girls House. I drifted from the group and ended up alone in the backyard. The crisp night was a savory taste but then Cyrus, George and James popped out to get beers from the lonely keg. George approached me, held out his hand and opened it to reveal a shiny lime-green bud in his hand that Tim had given to him.
“Do you want to burn?” he asked.
We went to the bushes at the end of the yard where no one could see from the house. We puffed the fumes to finality. The rush of the red haired hybrid hydroponic dispersed through my arteries. James and Cyrus went back inside but George stayed and we threw horseshoes at the sandy pit near a row of willows.  About three minutes into the game, I started to see the red dots cover the ground again.  
Panic washed over me.  
My body was a mound of stoked embers. I told George I had to quit. He looked at me, laughed, and said, “All right. You look like shit.  Go inside and sit down. You might want to slow down on the drinking.”
I went in and took over the only furniture I could find, the large blue love seat.
The pressure returned. Breaths were shallow and dizziness spun around me as a gaggle of girls stared. When I closed my eyes, I heard screams.
One girl wearing a barn coat and another with a red crew jacket asked me if I was okay? Their voices were hollow.
“I am fine,” I said.
They shrugged and passed into the night. As they left, George showed up out of the vibrating periphery with some apple juice. My hands trembled but I took the transparent cup. After a few sips and spills, I could breathe again as the sugar entered my veins. George told me to ease up and that he had to leave.
I was radioactive. Feeling better and bored, I got onto my unsteady feet. George was in the kitchen talking to a curvy blonde named Missy with eyes flickering with golden fire. I saw her around the campus, or should I say stared at her around the campus, but never saw her out. Most people thought she looked like the playmate Jenny McCarthy. George’s intentions were clear and I didn’t want to interrupt. I felt stronger so I decided to go another beer.
The backyard was empty and the silence was only broken by wind. The scents of the orchard were gone. Nothing but dry leaves perfumed the air. I pounded three beers to keep the red dots at bay. A solution was the solution. Confident in the glow of intoxication, I made my way back to the kitchen figuring that Missy would be gone. I was wrong so I waited for a pause in the conversation before I greased up the ball bearings to become a third wheel.
“How are you feeling?” George asked.
“I am fine now. Thanks for the juice it helped,” I responded while I began to blink uncontrollably.
George looked at me with a crimped grin.
“You probably shouldn’t be drinking,” George said.
“I am cool now. Do not worry about it. I am going to take it easy,” I said, flared my nostrils and rubbed my stomach.
“Fine Joaquin, but you should watch yourself,” George said and Missy turned and leapt in with a question, “What’s wrong?”
“My chest tightened up and lost my breath for a bit,” I answered.
“Do you have asthma or any pre-existing medical conditions?”
“I do not think so,” I said.
“You should have that checked out but anything major would have shown on your recent physical. Have you lost your breath before? Or do you smoke?” she asked and tapped her chin.
“I have been smoking for a couple years so that is not it. It just happens out of nowhere,” I said while watching her tap her chin faster.
“You would know about allergies, but adults can develop them, but could be an anxiety attack,” she said.
“That sounds like a mental illness and this hurt.”
“They hurt. Have you been drinking a lot?” she asked.
            “I will see a doctor when I get home.”  
“You should see the doctor as soon as possible,” she said.
I chin nodded and asked her, “Are you pre-med?”
“No, a nursing major,” she responded.
“Oh, my name is Joaquin,” I said, bowed my head and presented my hand.
“Mine is Missy. Nice to meet you. Hope you feel better,” she said and shook my hand with a firm grip.
“I am leaving so have fun. George, see you later,” I said.
I didn’t see George anymore that night and a beautiful day dawned but something wicked was brewing. I felt it.


Chapter Twenty-two: Locker Room Etiquette
I gazed over my leafless elm, the window dusty with dead pollen, and saw people dressed in layers and jackets. The sky was barren of all but blue, a brilliant azure primed canvas waiting for some divine artist to delivery the light of the horizon to the dense sky at the zenith, shades of cobalt swam around the edges. I saw George walking down the sloping path between Whitney and Taylor Hall. He had the same clothes on as the night before.
My interest left like ash on the wind.
Resuming my routine, I swiped up my shower accessories off the desk leaving a soapy ring from the small clear bottle of shampoo.
I chuckle and shake my head when I see Less Than Zero still in the cubbyhole.
“Really should get to that.”
Dragging my feet as I slipped through the two way door into the cold bathroom, the warmth from every cell was stolen. I needed to get under the tepid torrents of over-chlorinated water. I hung my gear up on the row of hooks over the stone shelf that held the accessories bags at the entrance to the shower stalls. Naked, carrying my extra towel, I slid on the slick chilled floor.
I was lucky to find my favorite stall. It was the one farthest from the white tile archway and was the hottest with an even soft spray. As my hygienic meditation began, I bowed my head and my folded my hands in front of me. The rest of the world was eliminated. I was soaping my back to the best of my reach and heard someone enter through the portal. A grumbled voice cursed as the stall next to me slammed shut. It was George.
“George. Good day,” I said.
He banged the wall as, “You’re in my stall.  You probably just got up.” raced through the steam.
“Yup but you never shower this late!” I said.
“Just got out of bed too. Missy’s bed you stank motherfucker,” he yelled through the steam.
“You lucky bastard,” I said and he countered with, “Wasn’t luck.”
The sound of hard hot drops splattering against the tiles hissed. The smell of soap suds rode the rising vapor.
“Dude, she was awesome. Multiple orgasms is all I have to say,” he said and I had to fight down a thickening hard on as I imagined a nude Missy writhing and grinding.
“Dude. A gentleman does not kiss and tell?” I told him as I got a mouthful of water, gargled and spit.
He banged on the wall and shouted, “I’m an animal today.”
I smiled even though no one could see it as I recalled Elyssa when she tested me that day. But that was smoke and mirrors, choking and broken.
“Cool. Ravage her man. You know, she might just be in it for the sex?  She is a senior. You know get dirty before getting respectable,” I yelled as I shut the shower off with a spin of the knob.
The cold air drafted in as an undulating wave.
“Fuck you. She’s not slutting around,” he replied.
I agreed but I returned the comment with, “Fuck you. Whatever.”
“Man, I thought you’d understand,” he said.
“At least you got laid and the only crap I got was this shower stall. So, you win,” I said.
“Damn straight punk ass. I’m going to set something straight before my dick shrivels up and tries to go north. All because that chick Elyssa dumped on you doesn’t mean all girls are treacherous. Chill on the paranoid shit or you’re going to be lonely.”
I was not prepared for that conversation so I hit the door with my palm and said, “Right, but that chick is too impressive for you.”
No reply.
“I will see you later at dinner,” I told him and tried to dry off with a damp towel as I headed back to my room uncovered.
Dinner that night was burnt macaroni and cheese that dashed my cravings for comfort food away. A watchful night came as a chill projected into a perfectly clear autumn sky that passed on to oblivion. There were only hours until we left so we mind mangled menagerie of misfits went out seeking mischief in the naughty night.
The darkness whispered Elyssa’s name.



Chapter Twenty-three: Fairy Tail
Dawn showed up at my door. She said, “Hi” as her head swiveled as she handed me a piece paper. Her left hand fiddled with a blue origami crane as her right hand rubbed her neck.
“These are directions to my house. I’m having parties during break.  Hope you come. Oh yeah, my phone number is there if you want to call. My parents don’t live in the house anymore. They bought an apartment in Manhattan. So, if you want to come by anytime it’s cool. I came to give this to you so, bye,” she said and rushed away before I could speak.
It was an option in case of an emergency.
George’s sister was arriving within the hour. My luggage was brimming with stinky. George lugged his bags to the stairs by the window. Most of the school left, including Tim, in an armada of cars wearing northern license plates. The halls were barren and there was nothing to do but wait. Outside the window the wind howled with Virginia fall. Checked to see if my room was locked and the elm tree looked wilted but I figured it was the cold.  I told it to, “Hold tough” and the blinds closed with a twist.  
The room was sealed.
With two kicks my gym bags slid into place next to George’s vinyl travel bags and duffle bag. He stood arms crossed at the window as his baggy jeans hooked onto his hips.
“Is your sister punctual?” I asked.
“Normally, but it depends if she ran into traffic. Don’t worry, we’ll get to my house before it’s late.”
As he said this, a blue Suburban pulled up the road. George pointed and told me he could fit nine people in it. Unexpectedly, two girls got out of the vehicle.
I recognized the driver as George’s sister because I saw a picture. She was George with tits. The other girl brushed her hair back as the wind caught it. My eyes bulged but they weren’t the only thing. George’s face wrinkled as he strained to see and said, “I wonder who that is?”
We gathered our bags and clopped down the stairs letting gravity help.  He opened the door and his sister and the girl were standing there about to use the yellow call box. George’s sister looked at him with glee in her eyes and said, “Perfect timing.”
They hugged as I stood back holding the door and she grabbed one of his bags. George turned and pointed at me like a master showing his dog where to shit and said, “This is Joaquin. The guy I told you about.”
His sister smiled and said, “My name is Barbara, but everyone calls me Babs. This is Cindy, or as I call her Cinderella. We’re sisters.”
We all shook hands, trotted over to the vehicle, and stuffed our ripe gear on top of the girls’ hard blue and red suitcases.
The monster was full.
       They were tan, but they went to school in Florida. Barbara’s voice sounded like gravel and glue.  
Cindy was a pleasure to look at like a new toy still in the package that you desperately want to rip open. I hoped I wouldn’t stare. She was pure centerfold. Her robust lips flirted with the air with a pouty kiss.
George took the wheel and his sister got in the passenger seat. She told him to drive the rest of the way. I sat next to Cindy as colorful shopping bags filled the spaces where luggage couldn’t fit. I hoped I didn’t smell.
The morning’s rural scenery passed by in a hypnotic mural and within a half-hour Barbara was asleep. She squeaked. George looked back at me by adjusting the rearview mirror and winked every time. Cindy read Cosmo and when she finished she fished out a Walkman from her purse. I figured our conversation would be brief but I was glad to be wearing a loose black button down oxford that disguised my excitement.
We came to a light on the four lane route and George put on a Jane’s Addiction mix. The miles skipped away.
Navajo blanket wrapped around Cindy but her body penetrated the covering to display her curves. The headphones came off, the magazine was slid under the seat and she waved. Soon she was off to visit the land of Somnus. I turned and looked at her from time to time. She was beautiful sleeping cherub, a sculpted alabaster ideal, with a hint of sin.
George started to talk to me when I snuck a stare at her. I tried to play it off by rolling my neck.
“Missy is coming to see me this week. You know Walk, I really think it could happen between us,” George said looking back in the rearview mirror.
“Cool, hope so. She is too fine for you,” I said.
He gave me the finger.
“Just kidding,” I said.
“I know. Otherwise, you would be walking,” he said.
I gave him the finger and we had a Mexican Standoff of middle fingers. I withdrew and snuck a glance at Cindy. My heart felt like it was taking up most of my chest.
“Want to pull off the highway and get some lunch?  I’m starving.  Let’s decide soon because we’re coming up on a stretch that doesn’t have anything for miles.”
I agreed.
We pulled into a franchise as fast as they come. I got out and let George wake up the two sorority-sisters. My knees popped so I stretched my legs and bent over to grab my toes and was knocked to the ground face first.  Cindy had exited the door without sound and hit me square in the ass. I broke her fall, but went domino on the pavement. She cupped her slender hands in front of her mouth and laughed. I laughed even though I scuffed my knuckles.  She put out her hand and said, “I’m so sorry.  Here we are, not two words between us, and I’m knocking you over.”
I brushed off my hands and told her, “No problem but by the end of this trip you will probably want on knock me on my ass anyway.”
“Sorry, I’m such a klutz,” she said.
Barbara strolled in through the food chain’s glass doors and I held it for Cindy. Tried to close it on George, but he grabbed the frame and gave me a high pitched butler impersonation of, “Thank you sir.”
We stood in line as the clerks wrestled and waited to see if they could fulfill a group of odd orders from a throng of elderly customers. The scent of French Fries diving into the deep fat fryer made me salivate and I think made George have an orgasm as his eyes rolled back in his head.
We mumbled complaints to each other until we got our food and collected in a red booth. I ate my burger at a slower pace than George and Barbara. Cindy had a salad and nibbled with a squirrel’s cuteness, well a squirrel with D’s.
The small talk was rampant and I inquired about Cindy’s background.  She told me she was a junior and from a few towns over from George. She was a Marketing Major and no boyfriend. She put her fork down, leaned into the table and asked, “What about you?”
“I am, or was, a musician and a painter. Going to school because it seems like the right thing. Uh, no girlfriend,” I said, rolled my shoulders back and sucked in my gut.
She sipped through her straw and said, “Really.  So… How old are you?”
“I am eighteen. Why?” I asked.
“I’m twenty and a junior. I was just seeing if you had maybe taken a year off or something because you look older,” she responded.
“Oh, do I? I will be nineteen in March,” I told her with my best cowboy in a cigarette ad look.
“I was born in March too, are you a Pisces or an Aries?”
“Aries,” I said and she looked aghast and said, “Me too.”
“Oh. Well, you know that horoscope stuff does not mean anything to me anyway. They made those constellations up when the stars were in different positions in the sky and they do not correspond any more,” I said and took a sip of soda.
“Really,” she said, sipped her soda and our eyes met.
We finished eating as George and Barbara argued about what runway model their uncle Brucee brought to Thanksgiving last year. Napkins were crumpled up and placed on the table and George flipped his head towards the Suburban.
We rose as one.
George got back behind the wheel. Cindy and I crunched in close this time. She sat against the window and pulled the Navajo blanket over and patted the cushion twice for me to scoot closer.
Barbara turned around and said, “I’m happy you two are getting along.  I’m going to sleep.”
She turned around and was out cold in a matter of minutes. Cindy looked at me with her deep gazing eyes and asked me, “Do you want some of my blanket?”
“No, no thank you,” I responded.
She then giggled and said, “Nonsense” and draped it across me. As she was doing this, she moved closer.
Then she leaned on me a little and asked as if an infant, “You don’t mind if I move over next to you do you? It’s cold by the window.”
I grunted, “No” and she put more weight towards me.
I hoped I wouldn’t get excited and do something stupid.
The combined heat of our bodies was a turn on. George looked back in the mirror and I gave him a wave. She took a deep breath, released a long sigh and slowly rotated her head towards me. She placed her head on my shoulder.  I was paralyzed. My pulse quickened and my heart was pounding and protruding through my chest. Everything became energized.
Her left hand went gently over my chest and then descended down to my abdominal muscles. She caressed them with the tips of her fingers. All of the blood then left my face and my ears became cold. I began to vibrate and tremble.
She lifted her head up and said, “You have great abs so you must work out a lot.”
“Not since summer,” I forced out. Then she pouted and said, “You know you are incredibly sexy.”
Then with little skips, she kissed my chin up to the side of my face and to my ear as I sat like a petrified log. She sucked the lobe until she bit it at the bottom. Frozen, and I could feel my pulse in my eyeballs, I dared not move.   She moved in front of me as close as humanly possible and she kissed my quivering lips. She held her soft mouth there for a few moments waiting for a response, but I was paralyzed. She slid her lips back to my ear and pinched the lower lobe in her lips and released it with a pucker. She extended her tongue and fondled my ear. The innocence was lost. I turned my head towards her and looked in her misty blue eyes.
The look she gave me drew me in like the ebbing tide and I turned into kiss her.
And so it began.
I was scared George would say something but he didn’t when I looked up and saw him watching. Dread filled me with the thought of Barbara waking up. Cindy began to rub my chest faster and harder. Then she unbuttoned my shirt and put her hands on my chest. She grabbed both of my pectoral muscles and twisted my nipples. Her left hand rubbed my abdominal muscles and then went around to my back and she got a grip right under my rib cage. A spasm bound me for a moment but as she released I could move. It was now or never so I ran my fingers up her arms and went under her blouse. She retreated from my cold hands for a second but soon relaxed. I slid my fingers up and down slowly and then circled her belly button. My hands were cautious on their approach to her back but at least I had her firmly.
I used my fingertips and unhooked her bra in a single motion. I took my right hand slowly around to the front but unexpectedly she grabbed my hand and pulled it up to her breast.
A surge flowed and the doubt left.
As I fondled her breasts, her nipples became erect from my cold fingers. Her breasts were full and firm. They were large as cantaloupes. Her skin was tight as a drum. She was smooth without blemishes. Every time I pulled my hand away, she grabbed it and returned it. The state of bliss was unfamiliar but I was happy and could feel it was about to escalate. Even the fear of the red dots shattered.
Cindy started squeezing my back and then she twisted towards me more and put her left leg over my left leg and then in between my legs. She shifted her weight. She straddled my leg and began to writhe and grind in small circles backward slowly and forward quickly. Her pelvis pushed down every time she came forward.
My breath quickened and became shallow.
She ground me down into pulp and I was to the point of popping. I needed something more, or for her to back off, so I pulled way. My voice lowered and I growled as I pulled back to look into her eyes that radiated like uranium.  She smiled and licked her lips and then gave me a penetrating look and said, “Good.”
She rushed back at me and clinched me tightly with her arms and her tongue flicked faster and faster. She pulled away from kissing me and started to lick my ear and then my neck. She took her hands away from my back and slid down pulling my shirt up and tongued my chest as I recoiled. She undid my belt and put her right hand around my back and squeezed my ass as her left hand went down the front and began to vigorously stroke my swollen member.  She was sucking on my nipples and then she looked up at me.
This angel had the devil’s temptations in her gaze and we were meeting in the gates of perdition. My thoughts evacuated as she went down on me. Here I was now with a beautiful giving me head and only four feet away from my friend and his sister, in a moving vehicle no less. I was thankful for the Navajo blanket.
My breath became staggered. The two-second alarm went off and all of my muscles became tense as my abdominal muscles contracted. I tried to breathe, but no, the vital essence released. A large exhale came to me. She stroked like a piston and the blanket was imbedded with my partial genetic code.
She crawled up on me and began kissing me on the neck but then stopped.
She looked into my eyes and said, “I’m glad you liked that but now it’s my turn.”
I nodded.
I unbuttoned her blouse and began to suck her nipples into my mouth and flick them with my tongue. With one hand, while holding on with the other, I opened her pants and put my hand up and had her lick my fingers. I slipped my hand down to her anticipating flesh. I rubbed in circles and varied my speed. I did every thing that I had ever been taught from every girl I had ever been with as sucked and flicked her ears. She gyrated her hips to match the movement of my hand as she grabbed it and said, “Do this.”
I did.
Her stomach went into spasms. Her face shuddered with uneven heavy breath. She clenched me tight. I began again faster.
                 She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back to stop. She turned her head and took a deep breath and said, “You take direction well.”  
We kissed and I pulled back
                       “A mouth for a mouth,” I whispered.  
She looked at me with a bigger smile and I fell to my knees.
I lowered myself slowly and licked her from her nipples to her belly button and then I pulled her pants and panties away. Her legs wrapped around my head and she pulled my hair again. She pulsed up and down until she collapsed and pulled me up. I climbed her and pulled her pants up at the same time. I kissed her and we sat back and re-zipped zippers and buttoned up buttons. She cuddled up.
“That was better than my last boyfriend. He never listened. Oh, my god! Look at the time we’re only an hour from my house,” she said.
How time flew.
I looked forward to see George bobbing his head to the music. I turned to Cindy and quietly said, “I do not know what happened to you know what, but I sorry if I messed up your blanket.”
“Don’t worry.  Shut up and hold me,” she said and I did just that.
I saw George looking back in the mirror and he saw me gazing forward. He gave a grim grin. I just smiled, leaned back and relaxed for the rest of the ride. The sweat soaked clothes clung to my chest. The rest of the ride was quiet and we held each other as traffic built.
Barbara awoke as we bid I-95 goodbye and found our way to the Long Island Expressway. No Brooklyn, no Queens, no Nassau, we headed towards the Hamptons. We pulled through salt marsh grasslands and went north where the indications of beach life gave way to woodsy lanes. We pulled up a gravel drive. I noticed there were no leaves on the trees. The Suburban pulled up to what looked like a Venetian Manor house on about two and a half flat acres.
The stone semi-circle driveway was hung with small brass lights distributed evenly up to the walkway but we pulled on to an access road that went behind the main house. Cindy had all of her gear in one easy to reach place and started to get it before we stopped. We came to a halt in front of a red barn and two Irish Wolfhounds galloped to the vehicle from the side yard.  Their gray and white bristly heads were chest high and looked like they were smiling with three inch fangs.
Cindy’s parents, a perfectly matched set of saucers, came out from around the back of the main house and Cindy turned to me and said, “Before anyone can see.”  She reached over and gave me a little last tongue.
Barbara was watching and said, “What?”
The parents made a pilgrim’s progress to the vehicle, sweaters over shoulders, boat shoes kicked the gravel, and they reminded me of my grandparents when I last saw them on Nantucket before they died. I helped Cindy with her bags as she got out of the car. Everyone got out carefully so not to offend the playful dogs and to stretch our legs. Barbara and Cindy hugged.
The parents introduced themselves with smiles and handshakes. They asked if we would join them for a drink. Barbara graciously declined on all of our behalves. The parents took the bags. Cindy waved as she walked away with the hounds circling and yelled for Barbara to call her.
As we filed back in the car Barbara looked at me and said, “What did you do? Are you some sort of Lothario?”
I shrugged my right shoulder and asked, “What is a Lothario?”
George slapped the steering as he adjusted his mirrors and said, “Dick.”
We headed in back towards the city to the modest lands.
The street lamps of a straight suburban road lit as we parked in the driveway of a modest split level home. I saw the glass walls of a greenhouse peer out from behind the corner of the house. The backyard was not deep. A row of Hemlocks kept out the sight of nosy neighbors. The porch light flickered as we slugged up blacktop and I could see a television was through the front bay window. They fumbled through the front door and I waited to be waved in. Their mother had left us dinner in the stove and refrigerator. We decided to get the bags out of the car later and immediately engorged at the round kitchen table. We finished and it was nine o’clock and hauled the bags inside.
George gave me a tour and we roamed the carpeted halls. Miniature statues and curios were everywhere. The door to the greenhouse was fogged up and locked.
“Do you want to stay here or go to a bar? I know one we can get into,” George asked.
“No bars,” I replied
He led me to a room off the back of the house that didn’t match the rest. The carpet was thin and walls had wood paneling. A pool table was the face of the room and a fully stocked wet bar at the back was the crown. A television on a side board consumed the rest of the space at the end of a black leather couch. Barbara called someone from the kitchen phone and was gone within an hour. So, we just kicked it at the homestead, click on cable and tied a buzz on.
Around one, a car parked out front. The front door clanged opened. I figured it was Barbara and heard a set of keys drop on the kitchen table. A shadow stepped in front of the door. George’s mother lifted her head. Her gold rimmed glasses threw a patch of glittering light under her jet black hair.  She was an older version of Barbara in a black cocktail dress.
She stumbled in the game room and said, “Come here baby, I missed you,” George went over and hugged his mother.  She surveyed the scene and asked, “Where’s Barbara?”
“I don’t know what that girl does. You know that,” George said.
He popped open a beer right in front of his mother.
George’s mother turned to me and said, “You must be Joaquin. Nice to meet you. I didn’t expect you to be white and you’re snow white.”
“Oh, yep, I am white,” I said.
She kicked up her heels into her hand and disappeared.
We adjourned to his room covered in posters of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. He opened up a futon and tossed me a green Jet’s sheet. Before we both fell off to sleep George said, “I can’t believe you scored with Cindy.”
“Me neither,” I said and saw a single red dot.


Chapter Twenty-four: Loco motion.
I never slept for more than an hour at a time and all I could think about was hopping on the train. The Long Island line would rattle, roll and bump me into Manhattan where I would have to get out at Penn Station and get to Grand Central Station where I could pick up a Metro-North train to Fairfield.  It would take me a few hours to get home and I decided not to walk across 34th Street and over to Park Avenue and just take the subway. I would take the first train on the New Haven line.  
George was still asleep.  
The house was as silent as deep space so I crept my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth.  
The door was cracked so I pushed it open. Sitting on the toilet was Barbara with a magazine.
She looked at me and said, “Good morning.”
I covered my eyes and retreated almost knocking over an end table.  George was stretching his arms above a yawn as I returned.
“Isn’t it too early for you?” he said.
“Usually, but I wanted to get into the city early,” I replied.
He yawned again like a drowsy lion and said, “Cool, I’ll be ready soon.  You can take a shower if you want.”
I had to come clean of what I witnessed.
“George, I walked in on your sister in the bathroom, sorry.”
“Man don’t be. Be thankful you weren’t blinded. Don’t worry about it, she doesn’t,” he said.
Light peeked through the blinds.
“All right.”
“Go take a shower. I can smell the beer from here,” George said.
Barbara went back to bed and I got ready. George was true to his word because he was ready and roaring to go after ripping clothes out of his closet.
The Suburban tore off to the train station. George spun the knob and blasted Mudhoney as we sped down the straight streets. When we got there and had ten minutes until arrival. He tore away leaving me alone in Long Island.
The train blew its horn twice before it pulled up two minutes late. Mesmerized, I watched the island’s suburbs pass away into the linear concrete confusion. The ride went fast. At the next to final stop, the train could hold no more passengers. Disembarkation in Penn Station was a half-frozen tube of toothpaste expelling its contents.
The air was hard and tasted like a burnt piece of wood coated in diesel. I popped out onto the streets for a moment and looked at Madison Square Garden, hadn’t been there since a Ranger’s game a year ago. I descended once again and the subway crammed with drowsy people took me north to Grand Central Station. With one foot inside, I had to dodge businessmen and tourists in the echoing chamber, and made my way to the central information desk.   The famous clock above that I had seen but never looked sat as the base of the open space above. After checking the tracks and times on the boards, I found my train and purchased a ticket.
Exhaustion possessed me as I lumbered with my overstuffed bags and bumped into every object in my path. Fast walking men with newspapers under their arms avoided me.
The chaos was sweet.
Hobbling down the flight of granite stairs to the lower tracks, I reached the platform where the Metro-North train waited with open doors. The rancid garbage and dead rat scent dusted my clothes like putrid snow flurries. The hot breeze off the tracks and train didn’t help matters. The nylon handles of my bags imprinted on my hand.
The old workhorse commuter train’s tarnished aluminum doors opened on time as the sickly yellow lights inside coughed. The sticky floors gripped to my shoes. The cabin smelled of beer and perfume. I passed the seats near the doors that faced each other and slid across the first red and blue three-seater that was unoccupied. Not many people were on the train yet. The fake leather seats trapped heat and made my butt sweat.
Below an advertisement for Cats near the doors, a drunk man in a tuxedo sat faced the rest of the car as he swayed in his boozy wind. One eye floated and the other flared as he turned his stupor upon me. I stared out the window to the platform smeared with gaunt brown light. A burp broke the background noise of fans and the scent of gin wafted by my nose. The train filled up.
I hoped I wouldn’t have to give up a seat but eventually did. A lady in a dark gray suit, who smelled like lilacs and wool sat down, smiled, said nothing but tipped her sunglasses as she gave Drunky a look over. The sound of fumes vented as the door contracted. A metallic announced proclaimed our destinations. The train rocked back and forth in the tunnels like a paint mixer until it reached the light of the day. We finally got up to speed after 125th street.
The lady said, Good bye” as she got off in Cos Cob and there would be another twenty-five minutes or so until I reached home. I looked across the aisle at the countryside through the window that was just visible over two middle-aged men reading the Times.
There were only two more stops until mine so I got up and went to the sliding doors. I rested against the plastic shield that separated the cabin from the exit. Not one puff of serene smoke in two hours and I was craving one to the point of salivation. Ads for cigarettes stared at me at every station.
The crackling of the power cables above bleached out the roar of the tracks below.
As I lifted my head to see the Saugatuck River in Westport, the aluminum exterior reflected sharp light off the waterways as we crossed the bridge. I couldn’t help but be reminded of my smaller days when I took the train from the semi-sylvan suburbs to the stone streets and shiny steel skyscrapers of the city. The mechanized electrified trolleys transported and transposed people to places new or routine everyday. The sentiment was vanquished as the train shrieked to a stop.  
I was home.
It was morning.
My house was a few miles away so I would take a cab. Conveniently the Cab Company was located at the train station. The taste of frost flew on the air with a hint of salt. It was deep autumn on the Connecticut shore. I craved pizza and decided to check out the old grounds.
At Wessex, there were two pizza places to choose from and both were franchises. I wanted the real thing with real garlic and down a block was Sophia’s. The quaint pizza place with red checkered tablecloths I grew up on called to me. My bags swung as pendulums as the hard soles of my boots clacked on the raised sidewalk.  The chime rang as I pushed open the door.  Heat and the smell of caramelized onions escaped.
At the counter the Greek, as we locals called him, tugged on his moustache as the little old lady Sophia stood in the back, hair covered by a black scarf, flipping onions in a pan.  I paid. The paper plate he handed me dripped cheese off the edges as the steaming slice pushed the smell of garlic up my nose. Drool dripped as I scooted my way to the window and gazed upon the traffic of US route 1, the Post Road.
I tossed the plate in the tin bin at the door and pulled my barn coat out of my bag and walked back to the train station. The sound of I-95 rolled in the distance as the onshore winds picked up.
In my brief absence, the Cab Company purchased a new fleet of cars. The old cabs I took before passing my driver’s test smelled of cigars and rotten mushrooms. Most of them struggled to start. A young driver wearing a backwards Yankees cap told me he would take me and asked me to follow him. I backseat of his cab had the new car smell.
The traffic was light downtown and soon we breached the residential zone. Through my cracked window, the air became jagged with salt and the distinct odor of low tide swirled into the back seat. This was a smell I had become oblivious to from living by the beaches most of my life. Now I had to readjust to the overpowering smell of detritus, Hydrogen Sulfite gas, the farts of the seaside.
We turned left down Sturges Avenue lined by spruce and ancient oaks.  Each side held handsome houses and bold lawns. Sand gathered in dry puddles along the storm drains in the beach enclave. At the end of this road was Reef beach and a Frisbee throw down was Pine beach, my private beach.
We pulled on to Pine Beach Road, the road I lived on since I was eight, where you couldn’t build a house over three stories. The cab came to a gradual halt and we pulled up to the knobby oak in my front yard. I got out and paid the driver and tipped well. He did not help with my bags.
There was no car in the driveway.
The garage, a smaller version of the ancient colonial house, was shut so I assumed no one was home like I planned. I had hoped maybe Hunter might be there but it was unlikely. The brass key was under the ceramic frog I put under the juniper bushes when I was ten. A depression on the underside held the key off the ground. I went around the back of the house and tossed my bags on the back porch next to the three season room. For a second I forgot which of the two keyholes to use since one was dead. The doorknob lifted and I gave a steady spin. The white door creaked and the loose panes of glass rattled as it slammed back into the groove.
The laces of my boots would not let go so easily but I finally flipped them off.  I placed them under the mudroom’s bench that led to the laundry room.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing had moved.
Nothing was dirty.
The copper pipes clanged and the floor vents rumbled as hot air rolled past me like fog. A hidden hangover jumped out and yelled Boo. I needed to sleep. The hardwood stairs to the second floor bowed under my feet. The glass doorknob turned with a click and I saw that my sleigh bed was made. A stack of towels sat near the headboard. The room was clean and uncluttered as my easel leaned against the wall near the window that faced the street. My book shelves were straight and the Persian rug in was bright. The red dots appeared and covered the bed.


Chapter Twenty-five: Home acrid home
The floorboards rumbled and I tried to pay it no mind but then I remembered. Anxiety encapsulated me with cascading cramps along my ribs and wasn’t sure who would be down stairs.
The bathroom, decorated with dried flowers, was lit by gray hallway light. I splashed water on my shaggy head face and saw patches of dull on the mirror’s silver. The pressure behind my eyes was relieved with a few hard rubs as the stairs bent under my weight. Mother dried her hands with a dish towel as she poked her head out the kitchen door. An apron fell across her cashmere sweater as she dropped the hand towel on the floor and opened her arms. The hug squeezed the blood to my fingertips. I made no sound.
“What’s wrong?  You’re not sick are you?” she asked.
“I am fine,” I said.
“It’s nice you’re home. I didn’t think you would be in till later. But now you can help me prepare food for tomorrow,” she said.
I shrugged
A nimble blade chopped vegetables on a block of wood and she shredded stale bread for the stuffing while interrogating me. The prep work was stowed in Tupper ware.
My mother told me a new corporate client was being a pain and that she had to finish some work in her office so she hung the apron up and went to her office. An opportunity came so I took advantage and surveyed the liquor cabinet. The stock was tidy but there were only three Mexican beers in the mini fridge under the wet bar. I would have to try out the fake ID.
On tip toes, I crept into my mother’s den to grab my car keys but there were no keys. She set a trap and I went to confront her.
“Where are the keys to my car?” I asked from her office door.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I sold it. If you need a car take mine,” she said as she closed her file cabinet door.
Anger coursed but I said, “Oh well. You could have told me. I did pay for half.”
She looked at her computer screen.
“What will you do if you need a car?” I asked.
“I won’t. Keys are on the rack,” she said and looked down to a stack of papers on her desk.
My anger emptied out. However, I was concerned about driving a black Mercedes into car-jacking territory to buy beer. Every mile a solitary white boy ventured into the city of Bridgeport the odds increased for harassment or worse. I almost clipped a garbage can as I backed out of the garage.
The trees fell away as strip malls and apartment buildings loomed on the horizon. The car drove like a dream even when hitting a line of pot holes on Barnum Avenue. It was a nice city, a wide city, a shoreline city, the city of P.T. Barnum the namesake of the street I traveled. I never had trouble but I heard stories in high school about kids being held up when they drove down to buy weed.
Every light was red.
The sidewalks bustled with groups of kids in puffy yellow winter coats. Broken down factories met me every few blocks but around them parks were filled with kids playing basketball behind chain link enclosed courts.
I got to the package store, the only one I went to once in high school, and parked near the entrance. Two cars sat in the lot. As I walked by the front counter a white kid who looked twelve hauled a thirty pack to the front. The refrigerated case in the back let out a chilly cough as I released the beer from the wire rack.
No ID was needed.
The brown paper bag ripped as I shoved it in the trunk.
The gas pedal was touchy as I sped down Clinton Avenue. The streets were layered with cars and box trucks. Down a street bordered by three family houses, I bypassed a busy intersection. Pulled out with the flow of traffic and cruised along until congestion knotted up traffic. The light went red on stretch of road where a new line of stores, bistros and parks were constructed. At the light, a Japanese sedan pulled up to my right.
The tinted passenger side window rolled down.
Through my peripheral vision I saw two Latino guys. The guy in the passenger seat had a backward Yankees cap riding his cornrows. I didn’t look as I turned up the radio and nodded my head to the music. The guy put his arm out the window and slapped his door.  I was ready to blow through the light.  He yelled, “Yo man! Yo!”
I looked, but if they pulled out something I was going through the light. My foot was ready to stomp the accelerator.
“Fucking great car,” he said as the driver shouted, “Peace.”
The light went green and they pulled away.
I was a chump and needed a place to drink. The only places I could think of were old hangouts from high school so I pulled into hidden parking lot behind the one-way street near the train station where the town piled sand for the road crews. No souls stirred or showed themselves. I drank beer while listening to the sounds of the highway.
Darkness covered my street and when I got home not a light flickered.  Victory was mine, all I had to do was hide the beer and I found a duffle bag in the garage. I opened the door without commotion and put the keys down on the kitchen counter. The floors didn’t squeak and I slipped into my room.  The beers were stuffed under my bed.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
I awoke to a hairy hand shaking me.
“Get off me,” I told the transgressor.
Half-naked I sprung out of bed ready to pummel someone. My mother’s boyfriend William retreated to the door. I wasn’t in the dorm.    
“Sorry sport, your mother told me to wake you up. You have to get your uncle,” he said and I apologized by putting my hand up.
“Fine,” I said.
I got ready. Dehydration took its toll so I lapped like an overheated dog from the bathroom faucet and went down stairs. William flipped through a New Yorker and didn’t look at me.
My mother’s face was covered by the Times and she said, “Here are the keys that you left on the kitchen counter and hurry your butt to get your uncle.  By the way, the keys go on the rack.”
Down the straight streets I went to the Inn where limos, vans refitted to carry eight people, dropped off people from the airport. The inn’s lot was crawling with travelers and sticking out like a clown at a funeral was my six foot five uncle cloaked in a bright Hawaiian shirt wearing Bermuda shorts.  You could see his breath in the chill. A plain woman stood next to him.
“Uncle Randolph,” I shouted and waved my hand.
He bound over with long strides. The woman next to him did not follow, but a pretty lady did.
I was shocked.
Her face belonged in perfume advertisements and his face in ads for baked beans. My uncle strode up and crunched me with his bags hanging from his arms.
“Good to see you Keen. It’s been years,” he stated and I said, “Yes it has.”
“This is my wife Patricia, call her Patty,” he said.
I nodded and she stepped forward to introduce herself, “I’m glad to meet you. I heard so much about you, Hunter and your Mom. I feel like I’ve known you for years.”  
She hugged me.
I was an opossum.
She stepped back.
“You can call me Auntie if you want,” she said.
I popped the trunk and the bags were placed snugly before I could get there to help. Uncle Randolph took the front seat and she got in the back. As soon as I backed up the car, he forced his seat back to make room for his large Birch tree legs. She opened the window stared out, face in the breeze, like a Yellow Labrador Retriever but no drool.
“So, how are you and Hunter getting along these days? You guys used to fight over everything,” he asked.
“I have not seen him in over a year,” I said and unrolled my window.
He looked at me as if I killed his pet bird and he said, “What happened?”
I rolled up my window at a stop sign.
“He left to find himself. Old news, but it still bothers my mother so do not bring it up. He calls sometimes,” I said.
My uncle leaned back and rubbed his knees.
Patty then propped herself up in between the front seats and said, “So, Joaquin do you like high school? I loved high school but it went by so fast.”
“I am not in high school. I am in college,” I responded.
The spirit of confusion filled her.
“Wow, you must be really smart to be in college at your age,” she said.
The spirit then possessed me.
“What?” I said.
The spirit was becoming dizzy from jumping in between bodies    
                       “You must be really smart to be in college at sixteen,” she said.
                       “I am eighteen, nineteen soon,” I stated. 
“Oh, I thought you were sixteen. That’s what I was told, Randy!” she said and an open handed slap grazed the back of his head.
I pulled into the driveway and popped the truck. Loaded up with their bags like pack mule, I made it to the backdoor. They went in where my mother had been waiting. My shoulders slumped and the bags rolled off by the bench. On the balls of my feet, I skipped out up stairs hoping to be forgotten.
It seemed like I had just closed my eyes when cold drafts snuck under my door with roast turkey surfing them. An old guitar magazine on my nightstand beckoned me so I started to skim through it and three taps, like a cane knocking, snapped through my room. I leapt off my bed and landed with a stomp. With a yank, William stood in the hall with his arm frozen in mid air poised to deliver a blow with his pinky ring.
“What?”
“Your Mom wants you.”
The door closed.
I heard him descend the stair and I waited a minute before entering the swirling tempest called family plus one.
My mother was alone in the kitchen and had sent the others to watch football, but I couldn’t. They were entrenched in the couches with chip, dips and whatever beverage they wanted and I had to spoon stuff into bowls and gravy boats. My idiot uncle must have mentioned Hunter.
My mother’s face was blank.
I chose not to give any grief and helped with the green beans and cranberry sauce with mandarin orange slices.
Preparations ended an hour later and I set the table with the first round of dishes. The chandelier spit shards of starlight across the red wallpaper and white seat covers. I called the fickle flock to the dinning room. My mother sat at the head of the mahogany table as I went to get the turkey and carving knife.
I came back and William sat at the head of the table. My mother moved to flank his right. William waved for me to set the silver platter before him. I thought fuck him. Dump the turkey on him. The turkey wobbled on the tray like it wanted me to toss it. Slipping behind Patty I leaned forward and said, “Woah.” as the platter dipped.  
The incident would be too much trouble so the turkey went in for gentle landing. I sat across from my uncle.
They said grace.
The clang and clatter of them groaning and eating made nausea rise and fall in my throat. I forced a nibble of each dish even the yams. Soon enough their belts went slack and tummies were rubbed. I bused the table and brought out the pumpkin pie. The hint of cinnamon rested at the tip of my nose. The ground below shook with their desire to attack the pie.
And they did.
I stole away with a bottle of blackberry brandy and latched the door.  In a few tick of the clock, nutty cigars smoke came bellowing up from below.  It would mask the scent of my cigarette so I pried open a narrow window in my closet, knelt down and lit up. Resting by my knees was my old cassette walkman with a Faith No More mix tape. It had juice. I slugged down brandy and sleep couldn’t be denied.
I woke up parched.
The sun was beaming through my drapes on to my easel. Scratching the top of my head, I ventured downstairs for juice. A commotion was coming from the dining room. I went over to the Dutch doors in the kitchen and swung them open expecting to see that a bird had some how gotten inside.
There was my uncle’s shiny white ass high in the air, his pants around his ankles. Patty, skirt up around her waist, was splayed back on the table. My uncle was in the middle of a painful looking move and didn’t see me but she looked at me and winked. I retreated with backward steps to my room and locked my door behind me.
My nausea rose.
They all went out later that day and I decided to do laundry. A hamper and a garbage bag accompanied me to the washroom. The clothes went in without a fight. Before I pulled the knob, I checked the pocket of my pants so I wouldn’t toss any money or drugs away. No drugs but a piece of paper fell out of my jeans into my hand. It was directions to Dawn’s house. She was having parties. The knob clicked to regular load and I proceeded back upstairs. The fine powder I packed was where I left it in my shoe.
I was jazzed and manufactured some tools. The delightful dust spread out in hills with the edge of a credit card. It was decent but not the most potent and would help me through the day. I figured I should be polite and call Dawn to tell her I was coming. From the second floor den’s phone I dialed.
Dawn answered the second ring, “Hello.”
“Hi. It is me Joaquin. I was not busy and thought that I would call,” I said.
“Hey, if you aren’t busy come on up. Having a few people over tonight around eight but you come over whenever,” she said.
“Cool, I will be there around six, later,” I said quickly. 
“Cool. See ya,” she said and hung up.
I felt warm liquid running down my cheek and wiped it off. My nose was leaking blood like a dyke and my finger couldn’t plug the hole. I jumped into the bathroom and jammed a white wash cloth up my nose and waited for it to stop. Outside, a moveable feast of words were stretching thin through the neighborhood. I heard the front door collided with the wall.
The pack returned.
I jetted into my room and closed the door.  Second after second passed as my nose bled, I couldn’t let my mother see. Tick tock, the sands of time burned to glass and my nose stopped.
No bothered me.
I surmised the group went out drinking at the local beachside bar as the doors to their rooms closed one after the other. I bundle up my bloody towel, threw it under the bed and went to investigate.
I found snores.
How was I going to escape the asylum?
How would I get the keys to the car?
I could take a cab but a sneaky thought snuck in.  I would ask for the keys at my mother’s door and say, “Thank you.”  Then I would write a note explaining my plans and leave it in an obvious spot. If she asked I would say, “I told you and even left a note.” She wouldn’t inquire further.
Five thirty came. A soft calm enclosed me as I put on a clean black oxford and the new Dr. Martin boots I never took to school. I swiped the keys from the rack and went to the foyer closet. In one motion, I pulled my gun metal gray over coat off the hook and skipped out the door. I knew Dawn’s house was in one of the uber upscale sections on the hill where long driveways and trees hid the mansions.
It was getting dark.
The elevated corners and switchback streets taunted the Mercedes but it didn’t falter. I climbed up hill and the yards got bigger and bigger. My mania was only amplified by the music from the only decent New York radio station that came in without diffusing into static.
I was vibrating.
Levitating.
Pulsing.
Panting.
Projecting myself forward.
Soon the trees hid the mansions and I almost hit a guy walking an otter hound. He piled into a stone rumble wall along the tree line. I was lost in the tangles of curves and swerves but the street sign for King’s Grant Road, the cul de sac of cul de sacs, ran at me.
At the end of the circle where a set of three mail boxes were clustered, I stopped. Posed with a quandary, I had three options so I turned off the radio and listened for life. An oak tree bordering the second driveway had a ring of paper cranes tied around it. The cranes fluttered in the breeze.
I turned in and the gravel driveway spat tiny rocks at the steel underbelly of the borrowed vehicle as the stones ground and crunched under tire. The path was lined with thick hardwoods below the raised drive that bowed and slithered like a snake’s back. Two vehicles couldn’t pass each other. I drifted by an open pen for horses and a stable. A three story guesthouse the size of my house came up next.  
The car glided by a Victorian mansion at the end of the driveway and I parked on a side yard next to six other cars. I kicked stones under foot as I sauntered up the snaking walkway. 
The doorbell rung with round electronic chimes and Dawn swung the door open. Vanilla air drafted by as she said, “Hello” and leapt upon me.
I caught her.
I tolerated it since it was her party and still amped in a higher gear.  She released her grip so I put her down and she stepped back, as her black pleated skirt, too short for the weather, rocked like a pendulum and asked, “Was it hard to find?” I shook my shaggy head and said, “No, not particularly.”
“I’m happy you came. You look good, black suits you best. Overcoat’s a nice touch, you should be strolling the theatre district in the city. I have some people for you to meet,” she said and led me through a hallway with recessed spaces where antique bronze statues posed at eye level.
We entered a vast open room with vaulted ceilings ribbed with dark wood beams. Two squat guys sat legs crossed on a tan couch bending around a TV set back in an armoire. They were playing video games.
“Bill and Ted, this is Joaquin,” she said as they looked blankly at the television screen, said “Hi” and continue their battle with the pixilated forces of evil.
The sweeping ceiling drew my attention and when I wasn’t looking she took hold of my hand. She led me by room that looked to me like a Shinto shrine I saw in a history book. One side was white sliding paper wall and the on the other side of the room hung pictures of three elderly Japanese people.  In the center of the room was a bronze Buddha statue on an altar surrounded by charred sticks of incense. A drop leaf table underneath stuck out with a pile of paper cranes, blue, white, yellow and red. My heels pressed down and we came to a halt.
“What’s with the…”
“Shrine. It’s to my ancestors. My mom’s mom is Japanese. Sobo. She left after the war. My grandfather was a GI. She was great. Reserved and detailed to a fault. Taught me Origami to slow me down as my dad would say.”
“Cool, the origami is impressive.”
“Thanks. This place is free reign so go where you want but I don’t recommend going on the fifth floor. It’s attic. Don’t worry, my parents barely live here anymore after retiring to the city. My dad did some leveraged brokerage thing and liquidated some companies. I have no idea. Just don’t touch the cars in the garage, especially the Bugati, I think there are laser sensors or something. There are two refrigerators out there with beer and stuff in the garage. It’s connected to the house by the porte-cochere, uh, the raised hallway that goes over the courtyard and driveway. Might have seen it as you drove in. There’s a door marked on the second floor. Can’t miss it. But there’s a lot of beer and wine in the first floor kitchen at the other end of the house.  Keg outside too,” she said.
Dawn trapped the blood at my fingertips with her determined squeeze and pulled me through the labyrinth. The museum part of the house, pristine and unlived, cleared away to a functional kitchen with polished stone counter tops. We skated out through the three season porch through a kitchen door. There five girls and two guys sat on wrought iron benches.
“This is Joaquin everyone. You might remember him from high school,” she said.
They looked away.
“Can I get a beer or something?” I asked.
“Follow me,” she said and opened the glass door to a set of stone stairs.
The frigid hilltop air tumbled in. The keg sat on a half-moon patio in a black tub trimmed with blue cups with white rims. The keg burped so I pumped the handle.  
Dawn waited.    
            “Go inside. I am going to have a couple and catch up. Plus, I want a smoke.”  
“You can smoke inside,” she said as her hair brushed across her granny glasses.
“No. I would rather smoke out here for now,” I said and her right arm crossed her body to rub her left shoulder.
Her chin tilted up to left and she said, “Don’t worry about what just happened. It’s an adjustment for them to see you since most of them were never got in to the parties your friends had.”
“I am not worried. Go,” I said.
She looked back at me as she opened the glass door.
I raised my cup and chugged. Then I chugged another. My teeth and gums turned to ice. Needed to get nicely numbed because I recognized the people inside and they didn’t like me.
The guys were in my high school AP physics or biology classes. They studied like rats in cages and I blew the curve but it didn’t matter because I was going to be a Rock Star. Every once in a while, it was nice to prove I was smart though.
A stone bench by the house invited me to sit. Four beers and two smokes later, I ventured inside as the impending frostbite chewed on my blue fingers. Plus, the scent of horse grew strong.
They were gone.
I wandered the corridors, grabbed two German beers from the kitchen and screwed them into my pockets. As I closed the refrigerator door, Dawn appeared behind it. She dragged me by the shirt sleeve to a door where stairs lead down to a basement. At the bottom, I looked to see a vastness that rivaled the upstairs. We passed by a teak and cedar wine cellar that stored a few vintages behind locked doors and a Swedish sauna.
The echoes of my steps bounced off the far end of the corridor. There a frosted sliding glass door glowed. It opened with the touch of a button. A glorious saloon style mahogany bar gilded with brass, three televisions set in the tan walls emerged. Leather couches crouched along the walls and a professional size pool table looked like match book at the other end of the room as the open space was broken by one central column. The seven couches were full and so were the bar stools.  People were playing darts to my right and the pool table was surrounded.
Dawn told me the taps at the bar were off but there were bottles in the floor fridge. I recognized a face bent over to making a shot at the pool table.  He was from Wessex. Dawn turned her back to the crowd and waved me on. I scoot waved her away and tricked a smile.
The guy who George called Gangly Joe finished shooting stick and saw me. With a nod he smiled and put his pool cue in the hanging wall rack. He grabbed a cup off the bar and moseyed over.
“Hey bro. Strange to see you so far from Sex C. What’s up?” Gangly Joe asked.
“Strange, I agree. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I live in Easton and told Dawn I would come by. So, here I am. How’s the break treating you?” he asked and raised his cup.
“Bored. Just want to get back to school,” I said.
“Me too. My dad set a set curfew but I told him I was staying at a friend’s house. So, I’m staying here tonight. What about you?”
“Do not know,” I said.
“Your parent’s strict about drinking and staying out late?”
“I do not have parents. I have a mother and no curfew since I was fifteen. So to answer you, no,” I said.
“Really, you’re lucky,” he said and scratched above his ear.
“Lucky, no,” I said.
I grabbed a smoke and pull out my lighter. The flint was flicked and the flame glowed. The room turned and stared at me.
Anger twitched.
I wanted to bite people.
“What the hell are all of you looking at? Go back to your little conversations,” came out of my mouth.
A portly fellow with a receding hairline said, “Well, I don’t want a cigarette and second hand smoke causes cancer too. So I request on the behalf of everyone else who doesn’t smoke that you go outside forthwith.”
He tapped his index fingers together.
The irritation tickled.  
I took a puff and blew at him. Dawn’s eyes sank.
“You are fucking serious? Dawn told me I could smoke inside so I am. Shut your fucking mouth or you might not be able to eat solid foods again. In your case that might be a good idea. Punk ass bitch. Avaunt!” I said and took another puff.
Not a peep, they sat silent like scolded children.
I grunted and left to get a beer at the keg outside.
Dawn followed me outside and I couldn’t face her. Still consumed by the anger, I grit my teeth with the shame that I couldn’t control myself.
                       “Please calm down. Reggie didn’t mean to offend you,” Dawn said.  
“That fucker’s name is Reggie. He obviously does not get out much. I thought this was a party and not a youth group,” I said.
“More people are coming. It’s early. I’m sorry if they seem lame but they will relax,” she said.
“I am sorry. I snapped. Things sort of suck right now,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. Wanna jam later? I have two acoustics in the media room,” she asked.
“Maybe? It depends. Ask me in few hours,” I said and she claps her fingertips together and said, “Okay”.
She went in and I drank.
Gangly Joe came out to join me and said, “That was funny.  Cheers!”
“Glad it was amusing,” I said and we raised our cups and finish them off.
Jello shots wiggled on the kitchen counter and guitars were picked up.
Darkness came.


Chapter Twenty-six: Pressurized
Crusty eyes open to a blank memory and my dark empty room.  No idea if I hooked up or drove home. Expecting the worse, I went to the window and looked for the car but I couldn’t see it through the garage window. I wrangled a robe and went out into the autumn morning to look. The car was in the garage and not a scratch.
“That will be the last of my four leaf clovers.”
I didn’t go out the next night and just drank by myself in my room with watered down liquor. Then the day pounced upon me when I had to take a flight back to school. The distressing part was I had to ride with my Uncle Randolph and Patty to the airport. I said goodbye to my mother and she told me I was moody. We took a limo-service and I ended up sitting next to Patty.  She was a wind up doll with a long string. When my uncle fell asleep, she turned to me and asked, “Did you like what you saw in the dinning room?”
Nausea bubbled.
“Uh, just saw for a second,” I replied and she laughed and said, “Well, didn’t think you’d be embarrassed.”
“I am not embarrassed. No big deal. People walk in on people.”
“Come visit us any time, we’re family now,” she said.
The nausea and the pressure began to build.
The rest of the ride was silent except for the sounds of the city traffic and only twenty miles until La Guardia airport.
We reached their terminal first and my uncle brushed the slumber away as they exited the van. He touched his forehead with one gnarled hand as the other skimmed his itinerary.
“Goodbye Keen,” he said and waved from the sidewalk as the Skycap rolled a trolley up to him and took his bags.
Patty blew me a kiss as they crossed through the automatic glass doors of the terminal.
There was no need for me to check my bags so I breezed through security and waded through the crowds to my gate. Then I remembered my ID. A few cocktails would lubricate the motor. I figured there were so many people from different countries that it would be easy to get served and I went to the closest bar. It was a glass window-box jutting out over the tarmac.    
Figured I’d give my Scottish accent a go but the guy carded me right off.    
“Me girrrrlllfriend has ourrr passports at de gade and she didna want to come wit me. I will go get herrr and bey rrrright bachk,” I said and walked off to a crowded restaurant.
The bartender in her flight attendant costume didn’t even look at me.  The pints of ale were expensive but four beers went down and confidence filled my pores. I watched ESPN right up to my boarding call. The only pressing problem was my bladder but there was no time.
I boarded the small jet. The cabin cinched around me getting tighter and smaller as I stowed my bags in the overhead compartment the size of a pillbox.
The plane was half empty.
The flight attendants gave their sermon and we began to move but only for a short time.
We were taxiing.
The internal pressure expanded the seams of my bladder. I hoped the flight to take off soon so we could reach cruising altitude and I could pee.
A woman’s gentle voice spoke behind me, “Sorry, sir but it will be twenty minutes until we reach the runway. Would you like a pillow or a blanket?”
The man behind me responded in the negative. I raised my hand and she came to me and asked, “Is there anything you would like sir?”
“Yes I need to use the restroom. I do not think I can wait until we get up in the air.”
She leaned over and whispered into my ear, “It smells like you have been drinking. A little young aren’t you? Well, you’re going to have to wait.”
I said nothing.
She attended to the woman in front of me.
The pain ballooned and shrank. I couldn’t hear the pilot’s announcements before we took off and the G-forces pressed the pee behind my eyes as we lifted off. My ears popped and chewing without gum didn’t work. We leveled off at altitude and the seatbelt sign went off. I was free to move around the cabin but I was afraid I would wet my pants. Three shallow breaths propelled me out of my seat. With crossed legs I shimmied to the lavatory.
OCCUPIED.
It was coming out if I liked it or not so I grabbed my crotch and rocked. From inside, I heard a guy blowing his nose. Then the faucet went on.  My fist flew without warning and I said “Hey.”
The door crept inward as an elderly man shrunk away from me and headed down the aisle.
When I got back to my seat a liter lighter, the little red dots popped into existence and danced on the ceiling. A patch of turbulence couldn’t shake them free. The shaking stopped and my ears popped. A jet of cool air flowed past the regulating nozzle and purged my panic.
The red dots passed through the fuselage.
A near miss, I had felt as if tragedy had been averted. The flight attendant raised an eyebrow as she pushed the drink cart to my row.
We began our descent and we would be at the first stop on the connected flight. The engines screamed for help and in a blink we fell. A flight attendant in the front was sucked up to the ceiling and dropped like a coin. The red dots flashed back into my realm of freefall and rolled along the ceiling.
The air strangled me.
My eyes imploded and the blood vessels of my skin stretched.
The pilot regained control but I did not.
He apologized.
I hated him.
I started panting, an exhausted dog in the humid summer heat, and bit the inside of my cheek. Emptiness entered so I gave up. I was ready to die.  My weighted eyelids fluttered as my eyes burned. The red dots grew to the size of plums.
I was pulled deeper.
We descended faster.
We bounced.  
We screeched to a halt.
The elderly man walked by as he departed and I contemplated following but I didn’t have enough money to take a train to Wessex. The plane filled up and I figured another attack was unlikely.
The duration of the flight was longer than the first leg but the red dots didn’t return. I needed a smoke and had to figure out how I was going to get back to the dorm.


Chapter Twenty-seven: Never grounded.
I walked across the wind blown tarmac to the tiny airport built on the top of a leveled off mountain and I vowed to never set foot on an airplane again. The warm wind almost stole the bags from my hands.  I entered the airport and went to the information desk, there was only one, and I asked about a cab service.
They called.
A silver station wagon with a thin yellow box on top that read Taxi pulled around the crescent pick up lane and was helmed by a grizzled man wearing a CAT cap. We zipped down the rolling hills lined with stilt houses.  
I dared not speak.
The sun was low in the sky as I drew my Student ID at the security gate at the campus entrance. Some vandal had white washed the sign for the school in front of the rent a cop booth.
“Sex College. That’s funny,” the cabbie said.
We careened up the access road and stop in front of my dorm. George was unpacking from an unfamiliar car. He waved as I got out and paid the driver.
“Thanks, that’s generous of you,” the driver said and shook my hand. It was only four bucks.
The side door was open and I twisted and fought my bags all the way up the stairs. A rank cloud funneled out of my room as I opened the door. A pizza box under the window was the culprit. Inside half an apple grew gray fuzz, two slices of mold covered pizza leaked goo and some cigarette butts spit-glued to the cardboard added that special tobacco stain.
There in the cubbyhole sat Less Than Zero
“I really should read that.”
I held my breath and turned my head to the side as I tossed it in the communal trash near the bathroom. My door remained open to air out the stiff odors and I went to George’s room to see what tales he had to share. He was putting clothes away as I knocked on the open door.
“How are you brother? How was your trip back?” I asked.
“Faster than going up. Tim drives like a mad German on the highway,” he said as he put a white shirt on a hanger.
                       “Tim drove? How did he get a permit for parking?” I asked.
My intestines felt as if red hot hooks were ripping them apart.
“I don’t know how he got a permit but he called and said he was driving down, so I came with him instead of Babs,” he answered.
“Oh, do anything interesting?” I asked as I put my hands on my lower back and leaned back to stretch.
“No, just ate too much and slept. How was the train?” he asked.
“The train was like I remembered it. I am glad to be back. Have you heard about anything going on later?” I asked and my stomach felt like saw blades were spinning in every direction slicing it to ribbons.
“No, but something will come up. Tim and I are going to get some food at Yellow Sub. Want to come?” he asked.
“Sure. Where is Tim?” I asked and he pointed towards his room.
I made my way past a group of girls bundled up in winter layers rolling their suitcases down our hall.
Tim was lying on his back in the middle of his room and yelled, “Joaquin, come on in you smooth bastard. George told me about the drive.”
He proceeded to lift his knees to his chin and held them. I blushed thinking of Cindy.
“So, you did. Impressive kid,” he said, put his hand to his face, made V with two fingers and flicked his tongue.
“Gross dude. you have any smokes?” I asked as I plopped down into his couch.
Dust flew up around me.
“Sure, they’re on the desk. Oh bye the way, hello,” he said and rolled to his side, got up and went to sit on his bed.
“I aszume you saw George, und dit he finish undpacking?” he asked in an improved German accent.
“He is not done yet, but he told me you guys are getting grub at Yellow Sub,” I said.
“Yeah, you coming?” he asked.
I nodded.
Tim bounced off his bed and closed the door.
“You want to smoke before eats?” he asked.
I looked at the ceiling and said, “No, I am burned to a crisp.”
He prepared the room and burned.
He blew through the blow tube and the smoke began to slink towards me so I waved it away.
“Tim ever since I tripped, things have been fucked up.  I do not think I can smoke pot anymore. Had an attack, like the one at the Three Girls house, on the plane,” I said.
He held in his second toke and exhaled very little smoke through the cardboard tube. The room smelled of fabric softener and campfires.
“El Cid, my man that’s what you got. That sucks. Heard it goes away in time, sometimes,” he said.
He grabbed the shell and knocked out the weed ash into the pile of cigarette ash. He melted into the couch.
“What the hell is El Cid?” I asked.
“El Cid was a man who never lost a battle, a Spanish lord, and Cid for Acid. El Cid actually died and his troops propped him up on his trained horse and had a posthumous victory, a corpse led the charge. What I mean is that the Acid should have died off but it didn’t, and it’s still hanging around. Don’t tell a psychiatrist or they’ll lock you up and Thorazine your ass. It will go way just don’t smoke pot and don’t take any hallucinogens. Just to make sure, do you see any trails after I move my hand?” he asked and his eyes drooped.
The corners of his mouth curled.
“Not really, but the problem is these annoying red dots. They keep appearing. The attacks feel like dying. The only thing that kills them is fucking booze.”
“Well you’re in luck because there are four parties tonight and dinner and drinks are on me. So let me finish and we will be off,” he said.
We went to get George, stuffed in Tim’s beaten up sedan and went to the Yellow Submarine.
On the drive, a migraine infiltrated my temples. I hoped eating would clear it away. We pulled in and there was a space right next to the main entrance. We got out in unison. There were a few people there but otherwise the place was ours. I ordered a triple-club and fries. The drinks were provided by a pitcher of frosty lager. Like always, we ate without words and consumed like poor starving children from the hills. The pitcher drained before we finished.
We toked up old cigarettes and I puffed a thin blue cloud out over the center of the room. A draft smeared it across George’s face.
“Man, blow that way,” George said.
Tim coughed and said, “I was just thinking of something I read before Thanksgiving. It was about drug use from the late nineteenth century to the present day. Man, people think drugs abuse started in the sixties but they’ve been around since forever. After the Civil War there were more morphine addicts than heroin addicts now. Fuck they used heroin to stop alcoholism and laudanum, which is mostly opium. You know they banned the Chinese from emigrating because white women were puffing away in opium dens.”
“Yeah man, the most popular soda on the planet had real cocaine in it and was used like aspirin before the twenties,” George said.
“Health tonics. Alcohol and opium. It didn’t cure you, but you felt fucking great. Then some guy poisoned a bunch of people and so government regulation. But the Temperance Movement had a hand in the government pocket and was stroking away too. Did you know bud wasn’t illegal until there were problems with Mexican workers in the border states? Hell, they called it Marijuana because it sounded Mexican and made it scary. There was Harrison Act, where to have weed, it had to be taxed but if you went to get it taxed you were in possession so it was a catch fuck you. But people ain’t gonna stop using, the lotus eaters are alive in us all,” Tim said and lit another smoke.
“The Odyssey, right?” I asked.
Tim smiled and George put his forearms on the table and said, “Same shit different time.”
“It would be better if shit were legal though. Less people in jail and a nice taxable revenue for the government but they would squander anyway,” I said.
“Fucking two hundred dollar hammers,” George said as he looked up at the ceiling and continued, “But at least we have religious freedom and it’s a young nation.” George then coughed himself bright red.
“God bless you George, and thank the Native Americans for that smoker’s cough. You know they can still use peyote in their religious services,” Tim said.
We paid the check and as we walked out Tim said, “Let’s start numbing our concerns and go out now. I’m sure we can find something.” George and I looked at each other and George said, “Sure.”
I hadn’t finished with my room so I made an excuse.
“I have not showered yet and smell most foul. So you guys go on and I will find you later.”
Tim raised his hands and said, “We can wait. George and I will burn a few and when you are done we will search for adventure.”
We went back to the dorm in Tim’s rickety sedan.
I showered, threw on a wrinkled button down and covered it with a black v-neck sweater and dark green corduroys, brushed my teeth on the move and before I could spit we were out the door and back in the car. The early night concealed the flaws.
“Joaquin, did you use that fake I got you?”  Tim asked.
“It worked. No questions asked,” I lied.
“Cool, then you can go buy some beer for us at that ah, small store down the street,” George said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because we’re going to be driving around and I don’t want to stop the flow,” Tim said.  
I didn’t want to accept the task but said, “Fine, but they better not look to close, I do not have it memorized.”
“It’s run by a blind old women. Don’t worry,” George said.
We pulled up to the run down convenience store with a sign that read ‘Mom and Pop’ a few miles away from the highway ramp. I stepped up and opened the door. There was no old woman in sight, but there was a guy wearing an Alice Cooper t-shirt sitting behind the register reading “The Plague” on top of a porno magazine.
The cooler snapped open and I grabbed a cheap case of domestic swill and strutted to the counter with a blank look. I slid it over to him. He didn’t look at me and rung it up. As I paid he asked, “So, you college guys going to a frat party or one of those come-one-come-all things?”
I coughed and lowered my voice and said, “Just going back to my house. Do you go to school around here?”
“Sure, I go to some classes part-time up at Wessex, but I gotta work mostly, not like you fellas,” he said without moving his teeth.
“Later,” I said as the door chimed shut and I threw the case in the trunk.
As we rolled up to the first gathering, we surveyed the scene for familiar faces. The front porch was erupting. I left the beer in the trunk and we walked up the thin stone pathway. No guards stood at the front door asking for money so we bobbed our way through the rifts that open up before us. It was mostly a mix of frat rats, frat brothers and seniors I had never seen before.  Tim found out the kegs were in the backyard.
It was the largest yard I had seen at a college house. The perimeter was lined with long hedges and extended back to the next road about one hundred yards away over a slight hump. There was a semi-circular brick patio off the back of the house. The brick patio matched the red clay of the soil. This was where the underclassmen were banished.
Tim and George noticed a cute girl looking over at us, who I didn’t know, and they went over to her. Didn’t matter, I was on a mission to stop the red dots from showing up. The “kiddie keg”, as I heard it called from a guy inside, was surrounded like a siege and I had no offensive corridor to enter and started bucking for position.
It was a war of attrition.
Then a girl with long blonde hair shifted to the side and gave me an opening. She turned around and it was Elyssa with three cups.
My heart collapsed.
Her head jerked back, stunned, as her eyes widened. I said nothing as she came towards me. I stepped back and lost my spot.
“Hi, long time no see.  How’ve ya been?” she asked and I replied, “Fine and how are you?”
She looked down, sighed and responded, “It was a long trip back here and I almost didn’t make it back in time, but otherwise normal family bullshit, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Let me get a beer and we will talk,” I said.
“Let’s talk later. I have to get these to Justin and Carol, okay,” she said and went up the cement stairs to the back door.
Tim bounded up to me and asked, “Where are the brews bud?”
“I ran into a diversion so I have not really tried yet.”
“I saw Elyssa walk by. That’s no excuse. Well let’s double team this mob and whoever gets there first doesn’t have to get beers until the next pad, agreed?” he proposed and I complied.
While I pushed and jockeyed my way through, he somehow slithered through the seams of the undulating mass of eager students and annexed the tap. Finally I got in and he handed the tap off to me with a laugh like President Clinton.
I remained in control of the tap until a burly chunky guy with a week old red beard broke the crowd up and called for a “House Beer” and snatched the tap right out of my hand. I went over to George and asked, “Does that guy live here?”
He looked at me and said, “No, that’s Kevin. He’s a second year senior. He does that all the time. It happened to me last year. He can be kind of an asshole and get in your face if you confront him, just ask Tim.”  I turned to Tim and shrugged.
“Yeah he tried that shit on me but I saw him do it the night before at a different house, so I called his bluff and he got pissed off. He started saying shit but backed off when I stepped up to him. That fat shit isn’t worth the effort. Dude if you hit him and he fell on you, you’d be squished. It’s better to let that red rotund idiot roll away from the trough.”
“You’re right but he’s a fairly decent guy when he’s not drinking.  He was in one of my classes. I think he’s just compensating for his obesity.”
“Well aren’t you mister psychology today, who cares about that asshole. I don’t care if he’s nice when he’s sober. He’s a prick when he’s drunk. Fuck this place. I heard there’s another party down the street.  Shall we?” Tim asked.
We finished our cups and ventured to the next front.
It was only ten houses down but it was over a bulge in the road, and it could not be seen well from where we had parked. The scene wasn’t crowded and we had to pay the girls at the door. The scent of citrus hung like a beaded curtain in the sterile white house.
The keg was in the laundry room at the back of the kitchen next to the door to the screened in porch.  There was only enough room for one to stand next to the keg and get a beer. For the first time I witnessed a straight line to the silvery buoy. I got in line when a tap on my shoulder startled me.
It was Dawn.
“What’s up Joaquin?  I didn’t think I would see you here tonight,” she said.
“Nothing, neither did I,” I said and faced forward.
“What’s wrong? You don’t seem happy like the last time I saw you,” she said.
Did I do something?
Did I say something?
Blackouts suck.
“What do you mean happy? I am always like this.”
She looked like she was pondering the riddle of the sphinx and then said, “You were just really happy the last time I saw you. It’s nothing. So how was everything in between my party and now?”
“Nothing, I just waited to leave and flew back. What is going down with you?” I asked so she would ramble until I got my beer.
“I had people over. It was a blast, but I hoped you would come back up but oh well. I had so much fun jamming with you. I knew you were good but I had no idea,” she said.
I couldn’t have been that good since I can’t play when I’m drunk.
“I’m glad you apologized to Reggie. That was nice of you, and my friends really liked you after that.”
I was angry as a guy who stood in the wrong line at the DMV for hours.  I twisted to look at her.
“I do not remember apologizing to that tool but I blackout a lot and you cannot take what I say seriously. I have a tendency to adapt. That is why I was nice,” I said with a scowl.
She flushed.
She took a step back.
She looked down and looked back up and asked, “What’s fucking wrong with you?”
“You heard what I said.”
My turn came and I grabbed the tap. She left without a beer and I was numb.
The party filled and I found the guys in a small side room littered with boxes. They went off to smoke buds a few times as the space we claimed constricted. Chugging along, I drank and observed. Tim and George discussed their economic professor. Then Tim tapped my chest and asked me in a Dickensian orphan’s voice, “Do you want to go with me to the car to get some beers and bring them back since the line is ever so increasing?”
“Sure, why the fuck not,” I said.
We maneuvered out the back and went around the side.
We began to walk at a brisk gait because it was getting cold and the wind was picking up. The atmosphere had an unfamiliar density about it. It was thick air.
“Walk, you want to do a line when we get back?” Tim asked.
We cleared the bump in the road and we saw the police cars at the first house we had gone to. They were breaking it up. Someone was in the back of a police cruiser, but from that distance I couldn’t tell who. We both turned on a pivot and headed back.
“No, I am still figuring out what messes with my head like pot,” I said.
“Pot can coerce a flashback, but blow won’t,” Tim said.
“I am not willing to try right now,” I said.
“Fine. But worrying about a flashback brings them on,” he said.
We squeezed our way back into the house and found George where we left him.


Chapter Twenty-eight: Sometimes it is better to hold it
The conversations turned to gossip and rumor. We drank and held our cigarettes aloft. George forged an alliance with the keg master and the beers flowed right into my bloating bladder. Through the rows of tipsy students, I forged ahead to the bathroom. There was a line around the corner into the kitchen so I headed out.
A stillness and silence met me outside.
Someone was burning dry leaves and pine brush. My kidneys pinged with pain as I followed the hedges to the end of the yard. I hopped the chain link fence and my feet kicked up dust on the dirt access road between the houses. There was some trouble getting started but the back pressure released and the vegetation got soaked.
A rustling in the bushes betrayed the presence of something not human. I turned to crunching footsteps. Yellow eyes gleamed on the dark edge of the dirt road. A black dog stepped into a blade of light and ran at me. I bolted.
“Stop where you are!” deflected down the dirt road.  
Remembering the story about underage daughters and shotguns, I flipped back in my pants and fled down the road. A beam of light struck at my feet.
“Stop where you are… This is the Police.”
I stopped dead.
The black dog barked and circled.  I put my hands up and cold spikes shot to my feet.  A cop waddled into sight.
“You shouldn’t a run boy!” he said over the barking.
“I was just going to give ya a written warning but you took off, let’s see what yur up ta.  Wee-ooo boy! You smell like a brewery. How old are you?”
“E,E,E, Eighteen,” I spit.
The pudgy cop motioned for me to approach. I tripped to the rocky road. On all fours I looked up to see the dog baring its fangs.
“Back up Jenny,” he said and the dog trotted to its master.
“Hey, hey, kid, intoxicated in public and under age. I’m forced to take ya in kid. Heal, stay Jenny, good dog. Get up slow.”
The wet spot became visible as I stood up. Dirty hands went behind my back.
Click click.
Tim came running down the yard.
“What is happening here?” Tim asked over the hedges and the officer turned and said, “I’m taking yur friend here fur a ride, so I suggest ya mind your own business boy.”
Tim looked at me like I was going to be sent to a prison labor camp.
“Tim, come bail me out in a couple hours. I will pay you back,” I said and Tim looked at me wide eyed but didn’t say anything.
The stout officer spat and said, “Ya can come get yur friend in about three hours. That’s when he’ll be done being processing. Could be a nifty amount of money, so I suggest you call his mommy.”
He led me around the side of the party house so everyone could see and then down a block to where his car was parked. He gave me a breathalyzer.
I failed.
I was cuffed and stuffed.
The dog stared back at from the front seat through the divider. We pulled into lot behind the police station and he put the dog away in the kennel.  I lead the parade of two around to the front of the three story brick station. We waited to be buzzed in by the sleepy clerk.
“This is where yur going boy and I hope I never see yur college boy face a-gee-an,” he said.
The cop pushed me to the wooden bench and clipped me to a metal loop fastened to the wall covered in what looked to be snot and spit.
I waited for the process of prints, shots, and oddly a questionnaire. The down a corridor of individual cells, I was led to the Drunk-Tank. The holding officer walked me down and said, “Least you have a buddy here.”
I looked and saw Kevin hunched over on a bench that lined the back of the tank. I counted ten townies some were on the bench and the rest were curled up on the floor. A man puked into the metal toilet below a barred window. The enclosure smelled like a locker room and rancid beer.  A jangle of keys opened the door.
A jackal was thrown to lions.
A cowboy, complete with hat and boot, leaned against the wall and snuffed out a cigarette with his heel. I sat next to Kevin at the end of the bench.
“They must have a thing against college students tonight. I am Joaquin. I kind of met you earlier tonight,” I said and he looked at me with one open eye.
“These fucking hillbilly cops suck ass man!  I just yelled a little,” he gasped, cleared his lungs, and continued, “I remember you. I’ve seen you before.”
Kevin gargled a few spit bubbles. A leather-faced man scoped me.
Kevin slurred something and rocked back and forth. The cowboy slid down the wall and closed his eyes. Most of the townies were asleep. For the first time, I was the sober guy. Nothing I could do but keep my guard up.
My hair draped over and hid my eyes as I leaned forward. My hands on my knees were ready to throw a punch.
“Trudy,” a man wept as he launched at the toilet as vomit gushed.
Kevin titled his head and said, “Mannzz, I hope uuuuhhhh zum body come and get us.  I wanna go daaa seep.”
He leaned on me with his fat shoulder. His breath was heavy and he was either was drinking hard liquor or battery acid.
I wanted a drink.  
Kevin slumped closer to the ground so I propped him back on the graffiti covered wall and above his head read Jesus Saves. The toilet rang with puke as the man whimpered, “Trudy.”
The scent of salty bile, acrid and slow, saturated the tank.
A chorus of snores and coughs rattled the bars. There were only two people awake, me and the leather-faced man. A realization slapped me in the face. Tim should have come. I told him I would pay him back. A frightening thought materialized.
They didn’t have enough money.
I would have to call the school.
The leather-faced man rubbed his mutton chops and spat chewing tobacco juice in the toilet. He pat his clay covered jeans while as he sat down.  He looked over and bit down. The muscles in his jaw flexed. He rolled his fingers into a fist. I closed my eyes and heard a loud wad spit land in the can.
“Hey, college boy what you in for? Fighting or did you get caught with something?” he asked.
I was too afraid not to tell the truth.
“I was at a party and the bathroom was full so I went outside to piss. A dog came at me so I ran. Then some guy yelled so I took off down the street.  He said he was a cop, so I stopped. Uh… public intoxication and public urination,” I said.
He slapped his knee and bubbled up with laughter.
“That’s funny. It was Charlie K-9 who got you. Sure is a fat piece of shit. That asshole busted me when I was a kid for having beers in my car. I tell you, you must have had him steaming making him run and all. Damn funny,” he said.
“He said because I ran he brought here,” I said.
“Yup, he’ll do that. Some of these pigs don’t like you kids but I like you. You made me laugh,” he said and inhaled loudly through his nose.
“So why you here? Fighting or something?” I asked and rotated my head toward him as my hair fell across my face.
He turned and gave me a cold stare.
“I’m here because I’m an idiot. I let a woman piss me off and that led to drinking and that led to fightin. I left the scene and was pulled over and arrested for assault, drinking, uh no, driving under the influence, having an unregistered gun, reckless driving and not having insurance. I have priors so I’m looking at time. Sure strange they put me in here with y’all.”
“Sucks.”
“Yup,” he said and hacked a spit into the toilet.
He lit up a cigarette. My whole body ached for a drag. He saw that I was having a Pavlovian response and asked, “You want one fella?”
“Please,” I said and went over to get one.
“By the way my name is Joaquin, what is yours?” I asked.
“My name is Brad.  Joaquin, what’s that Spanish?” he asked as I started back to my seat and I replied, “Something like that I think, it is originally Hebrew. From the Bible. A lot of Hispanics have the name,” I said.
“So you’re a Jew?” he said and an eyebrow lowered.
“No, I am not Jewish it is just a biblical name like Mary or Joseph,” I said.
“Oh, oh well, I never met a Jew around here before but I met some nice fellers in D.C once. I thought this might be the first time around here.”
“Sorry, not a Jew. Thanks for the smoke Brad,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
Before I could finish my smoke an officer came into the hall and called out Brad’s name. He got up and waved a peace sign at me and he was handcuffed right in front of the cell bars. He was being transferred. The symphony of snores resounded through the corridors. I just hoped no one would wake up.
My buzz had worn off and I was feeling the drags of sleep. A cop in plain clothes came to the tank and started banging on the bars to wake us up, everyone up but the guy who curled up on the floor after calling out for Trudy.  The cop called out to him.
He didn’t move.
The cop entered the cell and kicked him. No response. The cop checked his pulse and shouted “Holy Shit!” and yelled for assistance. Two officers came rushing in and started compressing his chest while the other gave mouth to mouth. Another officer came in and watched their backs and guarded the cell door. He was pulled out into the hall and in a few minutes the EMT’s were there.
After the excitement a cop escorted all but one townie out of the tank.  Ten minutes or so later, they called Kevin and he blobbed away. An hour later the last guy was released. The sun peeked through the barred window and I was given a peanut butter sandwich, no jelly, and a soda. I wanted a smoke.  It was too early to call the school so I brushed the bench off, went flat on my back and counted mold spots on the ceiling. My eyes began to close and I was told I was bonded out.
I looked though the plexi-glass partition to see who bailed me out. I expected a Dean or a school official. There stood Erin and Elyssa. The clerk hit the buzzer and told me to push the door.
I was free.
The girls hugged me as I stepped out. They smelled like soap. I asked Erin, “What time is it?” It was ten minutes to nine.
“Thanks so much. How come you two got me out? What happened to Tim and George? I expected the Dean of Students or somebody since no one got me last night,” I said and looked behind me and the clerk behind the partition shook his head.
“I would have come last night if somebody told me but idiot didn’t tell me until an hour ago,” Erin said.
Elyssa put her warm arm around me. Her pink cotton sweater was soft on the back of my neck.
We walked down two hilly blocks to the car as each girl chomped on gum filled lollipops. Low and behold, who should be cowering in the back seat of Erin’s car but Tim. I wanted to pull him out of the car and beat him into a stain but he might have a good reason. Before we reached the car, I asked for a smoke and lit it up.
The sun poured on my face and washed away the anger spinning in my head.  Elyssa got into the back and Erin got in the driver’s seat. As I sat down, Tim tried to speak, but I put my hand up and said, “Do not bother.”
Elyssa began to rub my shoulders form the back seat. The window hummed down as I pushed the button and I ashed the cigarette.
“I did not have the money man. That’s why I didn’t get you last night,” Tim said.
“It could not have been that much. You have tons of cash from…well…your parents. I figured you would tell George and at least he would come get me,” I said.
“I told him. He said let you stay,” Tim said.
At the dorm, I wrote a check to Erin. The girls hugged me and were off into the bright embrace of late autumn.  I closed my door.
I couldn’t feel anything.


Chapter Twenty-nine: Bleak
I awoke to darkness.
The clock flashed nine.
It explained the silence.
Everyone was out by now.
The floor of the hallway was colder than usual and it seemed the heat was off. A sore neck turned to glance at the wall mirror at the end of the sinks.  The ones hanging over the sink were too bright. My complexion was jellyfish pale. My skin was thin as silk and the eyes that looked back watery, like milk. The sockets were craters.
I disrobed and waited for the water to warm up in the boxy shower stall. It didn’t happen. In the next stall over the water was so cold it was rubbery. The only remaining choice was the one in the corner affectionately called the Peeler. It was a fire hose that flayed off your skin. If it was cold I was going to go back to sleep.
The warm water hurt.
Tortured but awake, I rushed back to my room got dressed and fixed my hair. In my mirror above the built in drawers, I saw the image of death from all mythologies. The void right there in person. I closed my eyes and wished for the image to go away. My jaw dropped when I saw the red dots drilling holes into the reflection. I decided to go out before the pressure strangled me.
Outside the sidewalk was darker than normal as if spray painted black and I looked up to the trees bordering the dorm and drops of water clung to the tips of the branches. It rained and I didn’t hear it. I galloped and slipped to stop on the grass at the far corner of campus. My bloated hands struggled to holster themselves in my pant’s pockets.
Fraternity Row was dead.
No lights on at any of the Frat houses. The street lamps sputtered to life but didn’t illuminate the sidewalk. The search was going nowhere and the pressure was building.
Gravity increased around me.
Two cars honked at me as I stood at the crossroads at the end of the street.  From behind I heard a twig snap. My hands slipped out of my pockets and I turned to see Jill. She waved and told me she was going home but a party was rolling at a Rugby player’s house called Shoot the Boot. Hadn’t been there but she pointed it out. Her hand went on my shoulder as she told me I should take it easy.
The gate on the side of the house was loose. It creaked as I latched it.  A bull moose Rugby player, still wearing his clay smeared jersey, waited for me to pay. I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out my wallet. There was only a buck and a quarter. They would never let me in for that. As I looked through my other pocket the guy asked for the money and I said, “I am looking.”
He twisted his chin and examined me.
“Hey, I’ve seen you before. You’re the guy who got arrested and went to jail with Kevin last night,” he said.
“Yes, that was me. Hold on, I will get the money,” I replied.
“We’re having a special tonight. Every guy who went to jail last night gets in for free, just don’t tell Kevin. He paid already,” he said and flicked a backward nod as he crossed his barrel arms.
I nodded in reply and slipped by into the backyard.
I found my hall-mates on the wrap around porch littered with red cups.  An uproar built as I approached. Tim broke ranks of the group and walked up to me and said, “I didn’t think you would make it. I knocked on your door around seven but you didn’t answer. I figured you were just going to sleep.”
“I made it,” I said and passed by him on my way to the keg in the corner.
“Joaquin, what’s up convict? Have a beer,” said a guy with a shaved head whose name I didn’t know.
He handed me a foaming cup.
I killed it and got another. As he handed me my second beer, he said “Nicely done.”
I gave a wave and felt like a tool doing it. Tim, George, James, and Cyrus held their cups high in toast to me as I returned to stand with them at the other corner of the porch. We chugged and as they lowered their cups the red dots covered their faces.
Fear surged up my back 
“Be back in second,” I said and pushed two guys out of my way at the keg.
“Back for more, good boy. You know what hold on,” the shaved head guy said and grabbed a plastic pitcher at his feet.
The pitcher became golden.
“For you but I need the pitcher back,” he said and handed it over as the beer almost sloshed over the rim. Two guys behind me said “Come on. Hurry up.”
The bottom of the pitcher raised to the yellow porch light above.
“Fa uck,” the shaved head guy said as I retuned the pitcher and he filled my cup.
I felt numbness surge as I lower my chin and eyebrows. The guys behind me parted. The red dots vanished form the guy’s faces.     
The guys went inside to check out who was there and I propped myself up on the white railing. Paint flaked off on my hands. Over and over, people kept coming up to me and asked about jail. One girl called it prison.
I imagined the keg exploding and a shock-wave of beer would send people flying away. Then a gold flash caught my eye through the window as it drifted through the dull masses inside. Elyssa sidestepped out the door as she held the doorframe. I slipped off the railing and brushed off my hands as she came close.
“Should you be out tonight?” she asked.
“I am fine. I will sleep tomorrow,” I replied.
“Could you fill my cup?” she asked.
I did.
“You want to come inside and talk,” she asked while batting her eyes.
“Maybe later. I am enjoying the chill,” I said.
She looked back at me as she strutted inside. I remained at the keg.  She came out again and I squashed her attempts to summon me. An image of a gavel popped into my head as I though about my court date. It vanished in a wash of suds. I figured ignoring Elyssa twice was enough and I entered the house. The guys were discussing the over-under line for the football games coming up as I ratcheted by. The sight was set and I found her.
She sat, one leg over the other, on a sky blue loveseat with another blonde girl who was shaded by her Phillies cap. A guy caught in 1985 perched on the armrest. I walked up next to her and waited. She interrupted her conversation and introduced me. I had to get her a way from them so my first move was to put on sad face then I asked, “Could we talk somewhere in private?”  
She got up and took my hand. I took her lead and followed her stride.
                 We ended up outside around the back corner of the clapboard house next to a handsome pair of cedars. The windows above our heads were painted black. It was as private as I was going to get.  
“So what do you want to talk about?” she asked.
The query stumped me because I didn’t want to discuss anything. I realized I better talk about my recent problem.
“I am so screwed. I do not know if the school has found out yet, but they will soon. I have four write-ups and the arrest could get me suspended. I might have to leave,” I said, looked into her blooming eyes and then lowered my chin to my chest.
Her thin fingers glided up my arms and locked on the back of my neck. The signal was flown, I took a deep breath and looked up to the sky and then lowered my head to look at her again and said, “I just have to take it.  Who knows what the future will bring.”
I tried to turn my head away and she grabbed the side of my face and said, “You will be fine.”
She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her.
But then we kissed.
I heard her name being called.
“Elyssa, where are you?” a familiar but annoying voice projected across the yard.
It was coming closer but she didn’t react. I didn’t know if she could not hear it or she was ignoring it. It was too loud not to hear. Then the voice started to turn the corner and it was Justin. She did not stop kissing me as I pulled away, but I returned as she grabbed and pulled me back.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Justin asked.
I stopped.
Our lips held on to each other for a moment but released. My head rotated.
“What are you blind?” I asked.
She began kissing me on the neck and draped her arms around my back. He rushed over with his hand out reaching for her. I turned into him, put my arm out to block his path and shielded her.
“This is between her and me. Allllll ight Joaquin!” Justin yelled in my face.
Rage simmered at my feet.
The burners turned on high.
A convection of searing malice flowed through my veins.
The inside of my chest tickled with every breath.
I was vibrating and hoped he would take a poke at me.
“You can see that this is between her and me. Sorry, but no threesomes.  I do not swing that way,” I said as my eyes widened and a smile crooked forth.
“Fuck you! She’s my girlfriend man. She’s doing this to make me jealous. So be a nice little felon and get the fuck out of here,” he said.
I pleaded with the devil that he try to hit me.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” I said.
He looked stunned and replied, “I don’t fucking care just get the fuck out of here.  Prick.”
I looked at Elyssa and asked her, “Do you want me to leave?”
She rolled her eyes up to mine and said, “No.”  Justin jerked back, his face rumpled as he said, “I’m not going to say this again get out here and leave this loser alone.”
The light of rational thought was eclipsed and the corona of my heated rage flowed around me as the sun. It burned through the fear of being hurt.
“The lady spoke, so I suggest you leave before you cannot,” I said.
“What are you? A movie cliché? I’m giving you one last chance Elyssa,” Justin said and she said nothing.
He closed in and grabbed her shoulder.
The trigger pulled.
I grabbed his right thumb off her shoulder and bent it outwards and backward as I stepped into where he was standing. He was off balance. He went to his right and tried to hit me with an unclenched telegraphed left but missed. I pushed him through his left arm to the center of his chest and he went straight to the ground. His khaki pants were muddied up to the waist.  I laughed like a super-villain. He lunged and I blocked his right cross and rolled my punch inside right to his chin. With my claws, I hooked under his arms around his back, twisted and hurled him onto the side of the house. He staggered up and backed up into the back yard.
My hands relaxed and went up to the sides of my head. I didn’t care if I went back to jail. He swung a limp arm punch. I grabbed it, stepped into him and hip tossed his rag doll body to the wet red clay below.
“You should read The Art of War prick,” I said.
My hands became fists as I watched him push his way up from the ground. They acted on their own and struck him on the back. He went face first flat in the mud. I rolled him with my heel, knelt down and held his arms at his side as I lowered my mouth to his ear.
“I could kill you. Remember that. If she wants you, you can have her but if you bother me you will bleed from your ears,” I said.
The fish was let go.
Elyssa came to me.
Justin might have been right but I didn’t care. We went to her room and another type of battled raged. She liked it rough and I tried to stop when her roommate showed up but she wouldn’t let me. The next morning, I snuggled up to her even though our bodies were still shedding the excesses heat.
She rolled over and said, “I don’t think this was a good idea. I think we should hold off.”


Chapter Thirty: To cross the river Jordan
My legend grew.
I was the freshman who went to jail and beat up a senior but Justin was right. She used me and went back to him. The school found out about my mishap with the police, but not with Justin. Unfortunately I had to go in front of a student jury and they sentenced me to community service work and probation that carried over to the next semester. We only had a couple weeks until we went back for the Holidays. I had my court date coming up but classes and exams preoccupied my mind.
There was a knock on my door. It was a lawyer named Mr. Jordan, he did pro bono work for the school, and I met him at my student trial.
Mr. Jordan was an upside down egg. He was a power lifter who bulged through his tailored blue suit. He came in and I spun a chair out for him.
“We looked at the file when this issue was brought up to me. Probably just a fine and a warning. I heard the testimony at your Student Board hearing and it sounded as if you were just running from a dog. The arresting officer is known for being a hard ass and the Judge for your case knows this. So don’t be bothered too much and concentrate on your studies and this will be resolved. I must go.”
He handed me a folded piece of paper with directions to the courthouse. He did not close the door on his way out. I was barely able to say “Thank You” before he was gone.
I stepped to the door and began to close it as George walked by and waved. The door fit into its seal and I gave him the finger behind the barrier.  Apprehensively I examined the paper and the court date was Tuesday before exams. An electrical shock of insolence frizzled my nerves as warm anger flushed my system. I had to crush the tests and reinstate my superiority over this situation. In my cubbyhole, a glint caught my eye. My guitar string ring sat behind my copy of Less Than Zero under a patch of filtered light. I haven’t worn it in ages. It went on my finger without resistance, the coiled strings were loose, the snakes of silver and bronze didn’t bite, and I realized my finger was thinner.
Weird.
The studying continued and I stayed to myself or hung out with James.  He was the only one who did not ignore me as everyone else kept their distance. He had mentioned that Tim was looking rather nervous and pale and had a welt on his face where Erin smacked him. James said Erin was looking thin and flinched a lot as she always had a lollipop in her mouth. I figured exams were just stressful. James and I did what we did best. Drank and studied.
The day had come for the big questions to be answered. Tuesday at ten o’clock in the Main Courthouse the deck was to be dealt. My poker face disguise went on without a wrinkle as I was numb but nausea was playing peek a boo. Mr. Jordan called and wanted to pick me up. In his car, we discussed strategies and he reassured me that it was just ‘a piece of pie.’  We walked into the stately courthouse and watched the other cases being ruled upon. The Judge looked like Grover Cleveland with his circular spectacles and his last name was Emerson. Erin and Tim showed up and sat behind me.
They both looked amped.
She chomped on a lollipop.
The air pressure took a loose grip around my neck and the gavel cracked.
After scanning the room I saw my arresting officer in the corner and I told Mr. Jordan. He just waved his hand. The courtroom was bleak with just a few people in the pews. Cheap carpeting lining the center aisle blew out the smell of formaldehyde. Effigies of distinguished townspeople were slung along the walls. My case number was called and we went up to the front. The procedures were usual. The verifications of names and the pleas were made.  It was funny that the officer’s last name was Duncan. When his name was called, I thought of doughnuts and how he should keep his chubby hands off them.
Officer Duncan looked at the judge and said, “The suspect was urinating off of a public road and when I went to apprehend him he ran. I shouted for him to stop and then I went in pursuit. He finally stopped after I repeated that I was a police officer. He appeared to be intoxicated and stated that he was under age. Then I gave him a blood-alcohol test and he was one point one, so I put him into custody and I took him in.”
He sat and Judge Emerson asked me to rise and give my version of events.
“I did urinate outside at the end of this yard after not being able to get access to the facilities. I did not know it was public property where I was because it was a dirt access road between houses.”
The judge asked for corroboration and received it.  I was asked if I had anything to say.
“I urinated in the dark around ten o’clock and then a large dog came at me, so I ran off and then he said he was a police man. When I heard, I stopped immediately. I did not intend to run from the police. I just ran away from the dog. No one yelled police dog. I am sorry and I apologize,” I said 
“Officer Duncan did you make your presence know before allowing that dog to be unleashed?” the judge asked. 
“She was not on the leash Your Honor and she was leading me,” Officer Duncan replied.
“So you let the dog go off leash, when this is a trained police dog trained to track people, and you never made it known that the police dog was coming?”
“No your Honor,” Officer Duncan replied and gulped.
The judge rolled his eyes and said, “Is it possible that you did not make your presence known to this boy and that he was just reacting to a dog on the loose?”
“That is possible Your Honor.”
The judge leaned back and raised his hands and said, “Well this is not about resisting or evasion. It is simply a case of bad choices, and I don’t think the boy would have run if he was not chased by a large dog. He stopped when he realized who you were and even with a dog chasing him. I doubt otherwise that the defendant would have run. I think you might have overreacted to the situation Officer Duncan, but he plead guilty to one of the charges. So the defendant is fined one hundred and fifty dollars and may pay the amount to the clerk.”
The gavel descended with a thud.
But the Judge slipped his glasses to the tip of his noses and said, “By the way Officer Duncan sloppy work. You know not to unleash your dog especially in a heavily populated area. You’ve had too many problems with these college students lately and I hope you change your attitude before I must do it for you. As for you young man, you should make better choices because they could lead you where such incidents cannot be overlooked. Both of you need to wise up. Adjourned.”
I felt nothing.
Erin hugged me over the wood banister. She was rail thin. Her bones poked me through her blue cardigan sweater. Tim nodded and they left down the aisle. Mr. Jordan congratulated me on my shaky exposition and took me to pay the fine at the clerk’s desk down the hall. I thanked him. Mr. Jordan gave me a ride back to the dorm in time for me to get lunch.
I wasn’t hungry.
Mr. Jordan waved as he pulled away down the serpentine street. I wanted coffee so I went to my room to get my pass for the cafeteria and Tim and Erin stood there munching on lollipops.
“All right Walking, it’s all cool with the fuzz so let me take you out for lunch okay?” Tim asked before I could say a word.
“Cool. Sorry for being irritable. So, were you two were high in court?” I asked.
“Maybe a little.”
There were no lines and plenty of plastic seats at the local knock off of the Golden Arches. I sat down as Tim paid and knew the fast food was going to go right through me since I hadn’t eaten in a while. I really liked the fries though. As the oil leaked through the yellow cardboard sleeve container, I realized just a little oil made the seams comes apart.
I was the seam.
After slurping down processed cheese burgers and wiping our hands with the cheap napkins, we were off back on the roads filled with holiday shoppers. I saw my first Santa Clause bum holding a sign on the side of the road and felt nothing.
My right hand began to tremble as I was dropped off and slunk into my room. The heat was blasting as a tickle of winter finally hit the area. With a single pull, I closed the blinds half way and looked at the elm. The leaves were gone and the branches were like root reaching out, grasping, for air. The damage caused by parasites on the bark was visible. The trunk had lesions and sappy pus running out of cysts. I hoped the frost of winter would end the infestation.
The whistling vents made it difficult to study but the straight jacket of the court date was now undone and fell off my arms. The only concern now was if my mother would find out. My ten hours of community service to be done on campus started next semester. One other thing did bother me, I hadn’t had a hard on since Elyssa.


Chapter Thirty-one: Not the journey and not the destination.
I awoke to a steady knock I didn’t recognize. Groggy, I stumbled over to answer and yanked.
“What?” I asked.
Jack stood with a note clipped between his fingers.
“Here,” he said and flicked.
I snipped it out of the air as he walked away.
I sat in my chair and ripped the envelope. A warning from the Dean of Students stated if I caused anymore havoc I would be suspended. I spun it across the room into the trash and skimmed through my notes. Two exams were left and my plan following the weekend was simple, I would ignore everything but work.
Time died and I took my second to last test, Augustine couldn’t be simpler, and went to the cafeteria to get fruit and tea. Scattered conversations arose at the long tables. I talked to Tim a few times and rejected his offers of free study drugs.
Isolation was an easy mistress to please.
I avoided people. It was a fine thing.
The last exam was nothing. I prepared for essays but was given multiple choice. All things came to an end and the exodus for the holidays began in a fit. I left telling no one I was taking the train. The same cab driver with the Cat cap picked me up. Getting to the train station was without incident. Boarding was a breeze, I found my seat and watched people hug and say goodbye on the platform.
Exhaustion fell over me.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
I woke up with a sore everything to a quaking train. My feet were dead asleep and I couldn’t feel the rocking ground below. Searing needles pricked my sole. Down the jostling cabins, by the throngs of drowsy passengers, I made it to the front car where they served beer. It was the smoking car. The burnt scent of scotch seeped over from a man reading a magazine at a window table. I grabbed a seat by a starboard window and lit a smoke. An announcement scrawled over the rumble of the train and the conductor said Penn station would be coming up in less than an hour.
I lost seven hours.
We got to Penn Station and the car filled up like a tsunami flowing up river.
No longer did nicotine tug at me so I fumbled back to my seat to find a child of ten years or so rummaging in my backpack.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked and grabbed my bag away from his sticky chocolate grime covered hands.
A woman with frizzled hair that tried to escape her melon head rose like a fifties B-movie monster out of the murky depths of the Amazon and opened her blistered lips from the two seats she took up.
“Don’t you fucking swear in front of my kid asshole. What the fuck gives you the damn right.  Never fuck with anyone’s kid,” she yelled.
Her breath could singe a fly’s wings.
“Your kid was going through my stuff. Keep a leash on him,” I said.
“What the fuck?  Do you think your punk-ass can tell me what to do?  Fuck you!” she said and flew me the bird with a cocktail wiener of a finger pinned to a watermelon of a hand.
The little maniacal monster grabbed the other strap of my bag and began to cry. An elderly conductor pushed his way through the other passengers trying to get situated. He got in between me and the reason why people should not eat so much pie.
“What’s going on here?” he asked me.
“Her child was going through my bag and I stopped him. She then verbally assaulted me,” I said.
Her great girth shifted forward in what I suspect was lunge but was caught on her seat. She plummeted back and said, “You fucking liar.”  I shrugged my shoulders.
“Ma’am, was your child going through this man’s belongings?” he asked.
“I wasn’t watching. I don’t know. All I know is that he swore at my kid and you should kick him off for public profanity,” she said with spite, as well as goop, in her eyes.
“It is obscenity lady, not profanity,” I said.
“Fuck you, fuck you!” she said and the conductor put his hand up and told at her, “Listen you’ve obviously been drinking. Calm down or you’re off the train. This man has been on the train for hours and has done nothing.  You’ve been here two minutes and there are problems. I’m taking you to another car. Get your child. Sorry about the disturbance sir.”
“It is not your fault. Some things are out of our control,” I said.
Hopping back, I let them move past. The lady looked at me like she was the witch Hecate and placing a curse, but she didn’t know that she didn’t have to do that.
This particular Amtrak train didn’t stop in my town, but it stopped in the city of Bridgeport. The late afternoon sun dripped. The wind tossed garbage into mini tornadoes leaving a pile in the parking lot.
I was vapor.
A taxi rolled up as I stepped off the platform. Got in the back seat and told the man where to go. The smell of vinegar poked me in the eyes and a handle bar moustache drove on the driver’s lip as he chewed on a butt of a cheap cigar. The air of coastal New England was sprinkled with salt and diesel. I spun my guitar string ring like a turbine. 
              We pulled up to my house and I tipped him. No handshake was involved. The house was deserted. The junipers were bare of white lights. No ornaments at all. The surrounding houses were in full Christmas regalia, lights along the eaves, candles in the windows, wreaths on front doors.  The black scrolling street lamps would soon be on. It was a sleepy New England colonial village celebrating the holidays with Beamers and Jags on the sand blown streets. I found the key under the frog rock and went in through the side door.
After looking around, I took my shoes off and searched the cabinets for food. The cupboard had oatmeal and cans of condensed soup. I put my bags down in front of the stairs and went to make myself a drink. The liquor cabinet was jammed with green and brown bottles. Cases of German beer were stacked by the wall. It looked like a cocktail party was in the near future.  I got two beers and lined up three shots and took them to the television room off of the solarium and sat down to watch some cartoons.
In a few fluid pours down my throat, I finished the drinks and went out on the screened in porch for a smoke. The onshore breeze was pulsing like an overture and a sense of serenity sunk in or it might have been the shots. I finished the smoke and wrote a note explaining why I was back so early and was not to be bothered.
My mother didn’t disturb me and later on I found her dozed off in her office still in her business suit. We ended up talking about the house and the food. She explained that William thought the decorations were a waste of energy and passé. The food was gone because of a diet they were trying, but I could go shopping and get whatever food I wanted.
Thinking of William made my skin numb.
I was grateful he was not staying there at night.
My mother got a tree against Williams wishes. A most regrettable nostalgia was invoked so I tried to be a nice boy and woke up Christmas day for brunch. Cash was a welcomed gift but the best present was that William wasn’t there, but like a parasite on a pigeon he homed in. He gave me fifty bucks, which I tried to decline. I took my mother’s car and went for a drive around snowy streets. Filled with sickening sentiment, I rolled by my old high school.  
It shrunk.
Parked at Reef beach and watched kids make sandcastles out of snow but soon pulled out as parents looked at me weird. My mother had fallen asleep with the TV on in her room so I worked on a crow oil painting I put off for a year. I took out a few beers and the Diphenhydramine from the medicine cabinet, over the counter sleeping pills, and an hour later was in a state of impaired blurring. The state crushed my focus and the bird flew off the canvas. I decided to not cut my hair and do a Sampson experiment. Time dissolved and drifted away.



Chapter Thirty-two: Back into the black.
New Years’ Eve came to me as a bounding leopard that scratched me out of my coma. I let gravity carry me down the stairs and heard the echoes of dishes clanging together. Intentionally trying to be seen, I stood at the door to the kitchen and asked, “What is going on here?”
“I’m preparing for the party,” my mother said as she dropped a dish in the sudsy water of the steel sink.
“What party?” I asked.
“The one tonight. The one you should make an appearance at,” she said with a smile that quickly sank.
“You did not tell me so do not get your hopes up,” I said and grabbed a soda.
“I won’t. You’re a stranger with that facial hair and the long haircut. You obviously don’t care anymore,” she said.
“I care about different things now. You should not be so judgmental,” I said and looked at the living room.
All the matching striped furniture had been rearranged and the mantel of the fireplace was cleaned off. I snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels and a two liter bottle of Coke and went back to my room to finish writing a chord progression for a new song.
The party started promptly at nine and all of the scavengers circled in their BMW’s, Mercedes and Jaguars. I never saw a soul but I heard them as I sipped the bottle and smoked out the window.
Right before I was to leave my mother became over-affectionate.  Hugs made me nauseous but she gave me some more cash, which was welcomed. I was offered a plane ticket before but declined and got a train ticket instead. My mother drove me to the station and an early arrival cut the conversation short. Without incident, I found a clean seat and waved from the window to my mother. The train rolled off and got up to speed and before I could finish a magazine article we were at Penn station. There were no delays and we were heading down south.
Half of the journey was complete and just a few hours to go as the terrain transformed. Suburban sprawl gave way to rural expanse. Hills rose up to surround the tracks and we rumbled along the passes cut out of mountainsides. Pines poked up from the river valleys.
The call for Wessex came over the speaker. The brakes squealed and screeched and a loud exhaust was vented.
We stopped.
I wondered if I could keep my partying under control. My bags bounced down the aisle and came to rest on the ground level platform. The pay phone was a few feet away and I found the number for the taxi service in my wallet.
The train tracks ran away between the piedmonts of eastern Appalachia. The cab rambled into view snaking down the hillside into the valley bound parking lot. A driver with a Billy-goat beard rolled down the window of his green station wagon and asked, “Hey, you call for a taxi up to the campus?”
I nodded.
The backseat was thick with the scent of marijuana and ripe bananas. I spun my guitar string ring.
“So, you coming back from Christmas vacation?” he asked.
“Yeah just wanted to get back before the rush.”
“On the train, most students take a plane if they want to get back fast,” he said with an ending whistle.
“Yes but I do not like planes,” I said.
“Oh, me neither. Sure enough I don’t trust those,” he said as he turned to look at me over his shoulder and then turned on the radio.
My nose twitched with the scent of bananas. There were no guards at the gate as he pulled up to the barrier. He tipped his hat to me in acknowledgment of the tip and waved. He was off in a puff of engine exhaust as I lugged my bag up the hillside to the dorm. I was a day early but figured some of the seniors would be back so I could find a party later.
Evening came like a wandering dream and I trekked across campus to the cozy convenience store called Buzzy’s on the corner of Fraternity Row. They supplied the beer and always knew where parties were.
“Shoot the Boot is the only thing until later,” said the counter guy, a post-grad student with a copy of Sarte’s Nausea in his hand.
I remember walking out the door and down to the party house but nothing else.
The darkness stomped me down.
The new semester jumped into being. The first day consisted of finding classrooms, meeting professors and discussing whatever syllabus we got. I had signed up for all night classes: two on Tuesday and Wednesday and one on Thursday. I would have all of my days free along with Monday and Friday totally free and vowed to get back on track.



Chapter Thirty-three: Shaved
Three weeks passed into the second semester. My community service, or free lawn care for the college, was done. Discovered that the maintenance crew liked to smoke pot behind the sheds on the back hill where they stowed their riding mowers. Some rifts on the hall were bridged but George and I didn’t talking much. People didn’t like my facial hair so I kept it well beyond the gruff and grizzled look I was going for, but just as I convinced everyone I wouldn’t shave, I cut the bramble of whiskers down to stubs and scrapped the face clean.
I left my hair ear length.
A fat faced boy from a Rockwell print blinked back at me in the bathroom mirror.
Girls walking down my hall turned their head as I passed by shirtless, toiletries in hand. For the next hour I heard “You look better” everywhere.  The more they said it; the more I wanted to slash my cheeks with scissors and waves of tired washed over me.      
After getting my mail at the Foote Campus Center, recently rededicated after a hefty donation, I couldn’t take anymore comments and locked my door.
“I am not going to class in this condition,” I said.
Sleep was my only desire and it penetrated my shriveling muscles. The lights went off.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
Rippling pains of hunger woke me and the fading day was evident. I got up and passed by the cubbyhole. There sitting patiently was my copy of Less Than Zero.
“I really should read that.”
 The soles of my slippers scuffed the hall tiles as I made my way to Tim’s room. Three quick knuckle wraps entered his room. The sound of a couch being dragged vibrated the floor.  Silly stoned people should be more careful, I knew what they were doing but they didn’t expect to see me around. The door opened and Tim looked at me and said, “You fucker, thought you were at class. Thought it was security.”
I passed through and saw Erin chomping on a lollipop and George sat there grinning stoned as granite. The whites of their eyes were blood red.  Erin’s arms looked like chop sticks. She waved me over to hug her and my face dropped. I was revolted by her skeletal ways but walked over to the couch. Careful not to squeeze too hard and break a rib through her blue t-shirt that read No Fear, I hugged her.
George raised his left hand half way up and it flopped down. He went all Hyena and laughed. Erin tried to talk but her lips fluttered and made an engine noise and a bubble of saliva spurted out. She, still seated, bent over and touched her toes.
As she came up, she said, “You look much better without that thang on your face. Looks’ like you blew a porcupine.”  
They laughed as a chorus and I let my irritation evaporate from my skin. 
I was vapor.  
“Glad to get rid of it,” I said and lit up a bent cigarette.  
The hot fumes were a red hot poker searing my lungs. My cough cracked with snapping mucus.
Tim sat down, burned up a bowl and spewed through the blow tube.
“What happened to your voice kid?” he asked.
“I burned my throat with some coffee,” I answered.
“You gotta test the shit out before you start chugging it down man,” George said as he toked the bowl.
As George sucked, Tim reached under the couch and pulled out a daisy yellow can of floral air freshener. The can hissed out a mist of gardenias and grapefruit.
“Nasty, what is that?” I asked.
“I ran out of the under arm deodorant but this works,” he said.
At this point I was getting woozy. A contact high was a real threat and could cause a flashback. They finished as I leaned on the wall. The can of air freshener sprayed. I opened the door, waved and left.
I had no one to hang out with.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
No sex drive just sleep drive. My door closed and the red dots covered the ceiling and descended on strings like spiders. I couldn’t fight them anymore.



Chapter Thirty-four: Under pressure
Winter was breaking up.
Outside was warm as tomato soup. As usual, I awoke around three-thirty on a Friday when most people were at classes. I needed pens so I planned to go to the bookstore. Out the window a breeze rattled the glass. I got dressed in my baggy black apparel and walked out the side-door hands in pocket.
Drudging up the sloping sidewalk, I reached Collin’s field as the ground buckled under my feet and the air became dense. My body collapsed as an invisible force pulled me to the cement. The earth embraced me with a full body slap and I bounced. My eyes felt like they were being pushed into my head.
Sweat leaked and I felt nothing but cold.
Alone and helpless, I laid on the grainy concrete paralyzed. Pressure waves ebbed and flowed. The pressure was squashing me into pulp. I didn’t care.
Infinite sleep might be the only cure.
Damp voices gathered around me but I could only see a blurry tunnel.  It sounded like they were calling for help. Then as if re-inflated, I was able to breathe and gasped for air. Everything came back into focus and I had managed to gather a nice crowd. One guy came up to me with a candy bar and tried to force it in my mouth. I looked at him and said, “Not hungry.”
With protests from the crowd, I stood up and broke away down around the field on my way to the bookstore. As soon as I got back from my pen errand, Tim was at my door waiting arms crossed.
His arms fell and he asked, “What the hell happened?”
“People overreacted. I was just lying down, no big deal. It was nothing,” I said.
“That’s really strange Joaquin. Anyway, listen to this. Remember Tom Chamberlain?  I’m pretty sure the Prof and he were fucking and his parents found out. Prof is resigning but nothing public. More information is coming.  Can I grab a smoke from you?” Tim asked.
I let him in my room and flicked a bent smoke at him. He was wired and didn’t catch it. He was getting thinner than Erin.
I went and put my books down and pulled out a smoke of my own.
“Where is this new information coming from?” I asked as I sat on my bed.
“I have sources. Can I use your phone?” he asked.
The first call didn’t pick up but he made another.
He said, “What’s up sexy?” and it was Erin.
Tim covered the bottom of the phone and turned away so I couldn’t hear. After two minutes of incessant mumbles and whispers he uncovered the receiver.
“I’m on Joaquin’s phone and we were wondering if you heard anything else on the Professor Campbell?” Tim pulled a seat up, sat down and listened intently for another few minutes.
He puffed his smoke, said, “Thanks and I’ll see you later after I finish and yes I have it, bye” and spun around in his seat.
He rubbed his chin.
I spun my ring.
“Nope they weren’t fucking but Prof was too touchy for me, but that’s irrelevant. That dude’s parents are trying to blame someone else. Typical. At least he’s going to recover,” he said, stopped and shook his head.
“Listen Walk, they brought the fucking cops into this. This is very bad for business. Got to be careful. They could trace this back to me and you.  Probably won’t, but if word of it hits back to Rascal, that could be a shit storm.  Fuck!” he said.
I wasn’t concerned.
They had nothing on me.
“Tim, don’t worry. Professor Campbell probably flushed his shit after Icarus took a leap. He would get in more shit than you so why leave any evidence. He would have narked already,” I said while he nodded and rubbed his chin.
“You’re right, you’re right. Way too much other shit on my mind.  You want to go out tonight?”
“Sure, I have taken enough time off,” I answered.
“Dinner or no?” he asked as he reached for the door.
“No, not hungry,” I said.
A warped smile twisted on his face.
“Cool, I’ll get you before we go out,” he said.
He shut the door and I opened a book. Before I could finish a chapter, I laid back to rest my eyes but faded away.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
I dreamt of traveling in a beat up old car on the highway as a whirlwind burned with streaks of dark gray and black. It matched the car’s every move. I woke up to my door being knocked on.
My knees buckled as I opened it.
Tim stood there and said, “Get ready. The train leaves in twenty minutes.”
He put his hand behind his back and walked down the hall whistling. I was shaken by the dream and upon reaching the bathroom I realized I didn’t have any soap. There was a shampoo bottle with a little left sitting under the towel rack so I picked it up. The water wouldn’t get warm and flashed cold to hot. All I could smell was chlorine and shit. I rinsed and a toilet flushed. As I slipped out James exited a toilet stall.
“Quick shower, you’re in there for hours sometimes. You going out?” he asked.
I nodded and went to my room to finish getting ready. A matte black oxford was released from its plastic dry cleaning bag and hadn’t worn that shirt since before getting to college. I styled my hair for the first time since I got back.
The lush locomotive disembarked.



Chapter Thirty-five: A bad connection in the line
We marched as a roman legion out into the static electricity of the evening. I could smell the clean water riding the air.  Roger and Cliff joined us for the first time in months. That wasn’t a surprise but Buzz Cut Brian came out. I talked to him twice, he lived on the hall, and I thought he was a Straight Edge kid on the golf team.
No drinking, no anything.
His arms swung low, an orangutan gait, as he piled through the night in front of me. Tim gave him a cigarette and the smoke ran over his head shaved so tight he was almost bald. The “Just Say No” kid wasn’t.
Everyone wore jackets but me and the chill of the breeze stuck. The sky was scattered white dots of clouds racing across the distance. A dark blue blur covered half the Moon with a fuzzy net. Selene was a silvery cat’s eye peering through the mesh.  
As we rose on the climbing sidewalk across campus, I went up to George and Tim at the front of the pack. Trailing a few steps behind it felt like that first Thursday when I out with them. The houses on Fraternity Row clung to the light of the street lamps.
“Hello,” I said to George with a nod and asked Tim, “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure hold on,” he said and we let the people pass by.
“What’s up punk?” he asked as he lit a cigarette.
“I wanted to know if you heard anything else about what we discussed earlier?”  I said as I got a smoke out of my pocket.
“Nothing really, but I’m not going to stress it. You and George still not back on the up and up I see.  What’s up?” he asked.
I paused and then said, “After what he said last semester, I am not going to act like it did not happen.”
“You didn’t know he was pissed at you at the time did you?” he said as the last of the straggling troops went by.
“What the fuck are you talking about pissed at me?” I asked.
Tim hunched over and chuckles bounced his chest. He straightened up and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Man he was reeling about you hooking up with his sister’s friend that he wanted. Shit you did it right behind him while he’s driving and you didn’t think he might be little irked. Heard she was fine. What was her name Saundra?”
“No, Cindy. Why was he pissed? He was fucking Missy,” I said as my left cheek twitched.
“Yeah but he’s petty dude. He wanted something and you got it. As for me, after what you did to Justin, I’ll try to be on your good side,” he said.
“Very funny, hurry up, we have to get there before the beer is gone,” I said.
He looked at me and I looked back at him. We both took off racing to the party and in a few seconds we passed the group and reached the house.  We tied, but he was more winded than I was. We sat on the lawn and waited for the rest of the troops to get there. The dirty canary yellow house pumped out the songs of Ratt.  The guys lined up at the back gate to pay.
The place was mobbed.
The backyard was back to back full. The loud speakers stopped playing Ratt mid-tune and “No Sleep til Brooklyn” by the Beastie Boys blanketed the rotating mess of students. I bobbed my head and looked for a corridor to get to the corruption of tasty brew. A swarm flew around the keg behind a horse shoe pit by the back fence.
I matched rhythm with the pulsing swarm and dove in, pushing and struggling just to remain on my feet. Jinx’s round head was above the keg.  He was pumping the tap and gave me a nod. He let me slip in as he pushed his way out. I snatched the tap as it fell. It clacked on my guitar string ring.
I reconnected with my group and found that Tim bought a case of beer from a guy who lived there. The mid priced cans went down smooth and the case was killed in minutes. Drunk girls kept coming up to me and would asked, “Are you feeling better?  Did you go to the hospital?” or “I am glad you are doing better.”
Nausea bubbled.
The place increased in population and I began to feel trapped and claustrophobic. It was only a matter of time until a fight broke out and a circle around them formed but the guys were too drunk to land a punch. I felt something was wrong and Police sirens began to wail over the Beastie Boys.  We dashed through the neighbor’s yard and made it to the next party alive from the chase but soon our next destination turned into the last. I got lost in the crowd as I went to get a beer.
The guys were gone.
After going inside to pee, I saw Tim and Erin holding hands near the corner of the house as she chomped on a lollipop and he sipped on a beer. As I got nearer, he whispered something in her ear and she went off in the other direction. He raised his hand up and gave me the high-five sign. I hit his hand with a more of a punch than a slap.
“Calm down tough guy.  What are you doing?” he asked.
“Man it is too crowded. Fucking bored and every person I talk to says the same old crap. Are you all right from your seizure? Or some shit. People thought I was having a seizure,” I said.
“People think you’re epileptic. Ha! Sorry brother, but I do have some good news,” Tim said and chugged.
“I know of a hidden keg. Invite only. Erin just went there and I came to get you. The others bailed and are there now,” he said.
I thought his voice sounded demonic.
“Oh, all right,” I said and the world spilt into two so I squint to realign my sight.
“Just follow me out.  It’s one of Erin’s friends and a really nice house. They don’t want anyone to mess shit up,” he said and I agreed. 
I matched his pace and moved through the mob and dodged the swells.  The tide of drunken students waned.
As we strutted down the block, a question came to mind.
“Are you and Erin fucking?” I asked.
“Yup we’re together. She’s awesome dude. So different than last year.  Last year she was kinda, well, timid. Not anymore. Shit’s going good too but I’ve had to limit her purchases,” he said.
“Why her? I heard you two fight in your room while I was being a hermit.”
“Why her? She mellowed in her judgmental crap ever since she started doing crank and shit. She’s not scared of the world anymore and a freakin Harpie in the sack. The fights were just for fun,” he said, pushed me on my shoulder and his eyes shifted.
He was not telling the whole story.
That was easy to see.
“Here we are and private stock awaits us,” he said and pointed to a house that looked like it came out of Homes and Gardens magazine.
Tim led the way up the front walk and he jumped the steps and went to knock.  I did not jump but I skipped the first step and bounded behind. Erin answered the door with a smile that showed her gums and waved us in. The first floor was one large room splattered with random couches. A looming bar decorated in murals menaced the back wall under slung together track lights. Brass art-deco ashtrays sprung up out of the blond hardwood floors.
All of the couches were occupied but I noticed some familiar faces.  On the bar stools, George, Brian, James, and some girl with a faded Frankie Says Relax t-shirt sat next to Brian. She was transfixed on him with glued eyes. We walked back to the bar and I let Tim and Erin walk before me so I didn’t have to shake anyone’s hands. The taps to the kegs like the ones in a real bar reached out to be touched.
I grabbed a cup, went behind, slanted my beer cup and poured a perfect pour with no foam. I killed the soldier and filled another. A blitz was coming on.
Being less thirsty, I went over to George and shook his hand and said, “How are you kid?”
He smiled and said, “Nothing just perusing for this bruising.”
George then drank the rest of his beer, stood up and offered me the seat.
“I must go drain the main vein, I shall be back,” he said over the background music by Lenny Kravitz.
I spun the stool and sat.
“Brian how are you? This is the first time I have seen you out. I see you found the place of least resistance,” I said.
“Yeah, I am just lightning like that that. When’d you get here?” he asked.
“Just now. This place is nice. Bet guys do not live here,” I said and a sultry voice bowled over Brian’s chest.
“Thanks, we try to keep it nice. That’s why we only have a few select parties,” said the girl in the Relax t-shirt as one drunk eye went left and the other went right and up.
Brian cleared his throat and said, “Please forgive my manners. This is my girlfriend Amanda.”
He turned to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “This is Joaquin and obviously this is her little party.”
Brian grabbed the jigsaw and made the pieces fit.
“You’re that guy my friend saw pass out on the sidewalk by Collins aren’t you?” Amanda asked.
“Yes, I had a small incident, but I did not pass out. It was a temporary.  Nothing permanent,” I said.
“You’re kind of famous around here Joaquin. I mean you and my friend Kevin were arrested on the same night, and now people really wondering about you,” Amanda said.
“I guess. It has been a strange year. Had to community service for the school though,” I said.
Brain put his hand up to Amanda and said, “That’s his business. You just met him. Let’s get some drinks from the kitchen. I think they are done with the Margaritas.”
She wobbled away and Brain turned to me and paused.
“She’s a little drunk. Sorry about that,” he said and tucked his hands in his pockets and followed his girl.
I pulled my stool over to James, swaying back and forth in his chair, and asked him, “Where did everyone else go?”
He looked up at me with glassy English Bulldog eyes. He turned up and shrugged. With a kick off, I sauntered around back through the couches and saw Erin, Tim and George huddled up around a blender in the kitchen while two girls were making shots of fruity drinks. Tim waved for me. I shuffled over and he put his arm around me.
“Come with me I got some good news,” he said and I followed him to the back door behind the refrigerator.
We blended into the deck with the others. A ping pong table was covered in cups as teams played Beirut as other played Asshole on a pull out table obscured by frail light of the side street. We went to the stairs were and I leaned against the railing and he said, “The professor is leaving middle of next week. So no more investigation. We’re in the clear.”
I nodded.
“You want to smoke or do a bump?” he asked.
I was filled with liquid courage and rational thought left so I spun my ring and said, “Fuck it. Why not?”
He searched for a refuge and found that one of the hostesses enjoyed the product as well. We pounded a couple beers for good measure first and followed a leggy red hair with shiny Atomic fireball candy locks that bounced up in curls. Her tight black dress licked her sleek stems. I should have been aroused by her heft cleavage as she turned back to look as I climbed but no.
Around the bend of the second floor hallway barren as a factory, we got to her room. On the end of waterbed sat a watery eyed Kevin.  He shot out a peace sign and made waves. The door closed behind me and locked.
Tim introduced us, “Joaquin this is Casey and you already know Kevin.”
Kevin then looked dumbfounded and asked, “What are you guys up here with Casey for?”
“We are here to modify our conditions. Would you like some frost from where it never snows?” Tim answered.
Kevin’s lips spread across his face.
“You want a line?” Tim asked.
His eyes light up like a child gazing upon a giant lollipop.
“Yes, I would. Thank you,” Kevin said.
Casey pulled out a drawer and reached below it. A plastic tray slipped out of the space under the drawer. Hello Kitty dolls watched from the dresser top. She handed it to Tim. He went first.
Casey stole looks at me when she tucked her curls behind her ear.  She took a bump like she had been skiing pro for years. I took the tray while my hand shook but I was the only one who noticed. Looking at the moguls first, I zipped it down and was reminded of what I missed. The chemical flavor dripped down my throat. Automatic gulps made you savor the taste. Kevin wouldn’t look at me and was silent except for his toots. The rush came and so did more party favors.
It was not a long session.
I couldn’t figure out why my loins didn’t stir with Casey practically erupting out of her clothes so I decided to go downstairs and drink some more. I could be opening up a can of worms that might be dead.
I mentioned to Tim what I was going to do and he said he would do the same. Without obstruction, I went to the door and said, “Later.”
Tim got up from around the small table and said, “Let’s do this again real soon, alllllllright.”
We departed.
As we were about half way down the steps I said, “Tim man, that Casey is hot do you know if she has a boyfriend?”
He stopped, his face looked like he was slightly irritated, and said, “Sure that fat fuck is her boyfriend. Why do you think he was up there?”
My eyes fluttered and I rubbed them with my palms. Drug beauty and the retarded beast.  
“I was shocked too. I wanted her last year and almost had her, but I found out she was a coke-whore. That’s how he got her. He buys it from me, for her, all the time. Don’t look so amazed man, funny though isn’t it,” he said.
I let the shadows loose.
They ravaged the light; the night was a decadent pitch black.



Chapter Thirty-five: Facilitation.
Over and over I wondered. How could Casey live with herself? But I only desired sleep and the thought of using Casey in a jerk off fantasy wouldn’t happen. My poker couldn’t come to a point.
“I won’t obsess,” I said.
The cycle of sleep began taking hold again and I only lived in the evening.
On a gloomy night, drizzle in the air, I had ‘Film’.
It was Tuesday in a large dark auditorium. Most of it was a lecture with movie clips. There were only two tests and no papers and the professor’s name was Charles Lewis and he was passionate about Hitchcock, Kubrick, and Kurosawa.
Chuck talked about motifs and the evolution of special effects. Chuck was jazzed about visual symbols for death such as winter settings, the sunset, and the ocean.
The darkness pressed on my soul.
“Violence in cinema was changed drastically since the forties. It saturates and even sells movies today. It means practically nothing now. It has no impact and has become a vehicle of desensitization of the nation’s youth,” Chuck said and that was the last I heard until, “Mister Chandler, wake up.”
I was shook by Chuck and came to almost in shock.
“I am up. What is up Chuck?” I said and realized I might have insulted him.
“Oh, thank you. Did I wake you? That’s a precious use of my name, but you’re not the first. You can see class is over. Has been for ten minutes but I was so miffed that I had to calm myself down before I could restrain myself from some sort of juvenile retaliation,” he said through his teeth.
“I am sorry, but I have been behind in my classes and have not been getting enough sleep. I am sorry and it will not happen again,” I said.
“Oh all right just try and keep on your toes with your work and try a little harder.  Now get out of here,” he said.
I grabbed my notebook and walked at a faster pace than normal. An odd sensation cascaded down my spine, I was ashamed. This could not be tolerated and I needed to go out.
Recently I met a couple seniors I had Jacobean Lit with. Luke a kid from Manhattan with Yacht club blond curls and Paul was the son of a Gloucester fisherman.
We talked over cigarettes before class.
They lived three blocks from campus.
Luke told me, “We have people over on all of the week nights so come over after class or whenever.”
And I did.
They had small parties and bought cases of cans. Beer can castles took up the corners of the house. As I walked in the front door of Luke’s George, Erin and James along with Jill were sunk back in his couch watching the huge TV.
Tim was standing at the fold out card table in the den advising Paul on his hand. They were playing poker for bags of Raman noodles. He turned and said, “Man you look green. Maybe it’s just these lights. Hold on a second.  Later Paul must go attend to business.”
He waved me to follow and we walked a few feet down the hall.
“I need you to come with me to Rascal’s tomorrow so you gotta get up around lunchtime. Make it worth your while. Lunch too but I need someone with me this time,” he said and stared.
“Ya, sure, whatever, sure I will come but next time let me get a beer first before you start throwing shit at me like that okay,” I said.
“Gotcha,” he said and I proceeded to the kitchen where a giant green tub was filled with ice and low budget beer.
Luke hovered above.
“Joaquin, back again. I’m going to start charging you rent. Nice to see you on this humid night,” he said and plucked out a beer from the ice and tossed it into my cupped hands.
“How are you man? I hate this mountain fog,” I said and shook his hand.
Turning away I cracked the can and went back to the living room.
“I will go with you but not before one,” I said into Tim’s ear.
He grabbed the molding around the door as he fell back.
“I will get you at one-thirty. Deal?” he asked.
“Deal,” I replied.
He stumbled over to Erin and began whispering into her ear. James’ discussion with Jill came to a halt as I tried to cram into the couch. They wiggled and tried to free up space but I was rejected again. A bookshelf filled with empty jars sat below the windowsill so I sat on it.
“Joaquin, how many times you been here this week?” James asked before he took a gulp from his shiny sweaty can.
“Every night since Sunday, why do you ask?” I asked.
“Because. I never saw these guys out before the last time and now here we are again” James said as if an illusionist’s trick amazed him.
“Well you can go back if you want there is no pressure to stay,” I said.
“Na, I’ll stay I don’t have any classes till three anyhow,” he said and finished his beer.
“Cool. Grab me another?” I asked.
The path cleared before James as he lumbered to the kitchen. As he came back around the corner, he threw a can side arm at me. Two hands clasped and I opened it without foamy overflow. A cheer came from the couch.
The party over, I walked back alone to the dorm and tripped face first into the stone stairs at the side door. After feeling around my mouth with my tongue I found blood but felt no pain. I remembered getting a large plastic cup of water and not seeing anyone in the hall and that when my buzzing head sank into the pillow.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
The next day Tim banged on my door. It swung open.
“Come on man it’s one and there are things to do so hurry up, chop chop,” he said.
The door was shut in his smiling face. I didn’t bother with taking a shower. Baggy black clothes gave me no sass as I tied my boots. My mouth was dry as paper and the guitar string ring choked my puffy finger. A little spit let it slip and it went on top of my copy of Less Than Zero in the cubbyhole. I should really read that book.
My only hat, broken down Mets cap, crowned my head and grabbed my warm water on the desk. White-hot needles pushed through my right canine tooth in my upper jaw. The pain pierced the back of my head and burrowed straight down my back. The cup hit the floor and I yelled.
Tim came through the door and yelled, “What the fuck man!  What’s wrong?”
“I broke my fucking tooth man, shit!”
“Let me see,” Tim said.
I tilted my head back and open my mouth.
“Holy shit, you did that last night? You better go to a dentist,” he said.
All I needed was Anbesol and wasn’t going to explain this to a dentist.
“Let me brush my teeth and we can go,” I said, grabbed my stuff and went to the bathroom to examine the damage.
I looked in the mirror and half of my upper right canine was gone. My gum was grated raw and bright red. I brushed around it. With a tiny scrape of a bristle, I went to my knees.
I would have to smoke with my left.
Eat with my left.
Cold food, super hot food, tough foods were off the menu.
I didn’t eat anyway.
Tim had pulled up along the curb in his rickety car. He was playing the drums on his steering wheel over the loud music. The door ground open and I was pushed back by the bass. Violently I waved my arms to signal to turn it down and he did. I hadn’t been in his car in a while. The passenger side floor was buried below an avalanche of lollipop wrappers, soda bottles and fast food bags. He hit the gas and was played racecar driver in the parking lot.
My seat belt was broken.


Chapter Thirty-six: A pass behind the back
We were off to see Rascal. I opened a window let the sound escape and some grassy air inside. Unaware, I took a deep breath.  My eyes watered.  My mouth was paralyzed. I forced my lips closed as Tim bounced away to “Mid Life Crisis” by Faith No More. With an explosive twist, he turned.  His eyes widened.
“Shit, I love this song,” he screamed.
We crossed the railroad tracks of the factory town in sun filled minutes. Lighting and puffing on a smoke hurt so I smoked half and tossed it out the window as it deflected off the window behind me.
We got on to the highway for two exits and pulled off on the outskirts of Wessex. Buds on a few trees were fought to awaken. The forested hills were dotted with scattered houses. Pastures came and went on the road. Tim pulled over and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He stuffed it back and slammed on the gas. We shot gravel out on the shoulder of the road, a greyhound out of the gate on its way to buy a rabbit.
A skein of crows fought on a bare maple above the dirt road we pulled into.
“This is the place,” he shouted and turned down the music.
Each side of the road was thicketed with gray barked trees. I couldn’t see more than twenty yards in any direction.
Fear bloomed like a lotus.
Something was not right. We were too far away.
“Why are we out in the boonies man?” I asked.
“It’s where Rascal told me,” Tim said.
“We are two northern boys just ripe for getting jacked,” I said.
“Don’t work yourself up man. It’s routine business,” he said.
We rolled into a large parking lot where no parking lot should exist. A dilapidated farmhouse rested in an overgrown field in front of us. Forest surrounded a hill behind it.
A sign reading Coming Soon was crossed out nearby in a ditch.
Parked at the far end was a gray-metallic Mercedes with yellow lights and reflective rims. Tinted windows sucked in the light.
“That’s him,” Tim said and drove up driver’s side to driver’s side.
He turned the car off. The other car’s engine ran.
“It’s cool. You can stay in if you want?” Tim said and in one fluid motion was out of the car.
I stayed put.
The window was open so I could hear. The tinted window snuck down to reveal Rascal’s face.
“What’s going down Rascal? I hope you don’t mind I brought Joaquin with me?” Tim said and Rascal’s face puckered as he tipped his mirrored sunglasses to me.
“You can fucking bring Napoleon if you got my cash, and the rest of what you owe me too. Everything else in order?” he said.
Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.  He counted out twelve and handed them to Rascal.
“That’s what I owe and for now. Won’t be needing any more fronts,” Tim said and handed him the rest of the wad.
“Really,” Rascal said.
“This is a nice car man, new?” Tim asked.
Rascal grew a grin and said, “It’s nice but I don’t like the color, but it was alllllllllready customized to my condition.”
They shook hands and an overfed farm hand with black Heavy Metal hair got out of the passenger seat. He went to the trunk as a pistol dangled under his pit stained white t-shirt. Why was he projecting so much heat?
An epiphany burst, Tim brought me as a witness.
The guy unclipped a few metal clamps, slammed the trunk and walked over to Tim and gave him a plastic bag. It was dense like dried up brown sugar. There was not much give when Tim squeezed.
“You can sample it like always,” Rascal said as he turned up a Beatles song playing on his stereo.
Tim declined and shook his hand once again and then asked, “Why did you want to meet here?”
“I have business with a new customer. She came through you, so I wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up. I want you to wait and make a final check,” Rascal said.
Tim was there to pay the piper or get beat with the pipe. The corn fed white elephant man was never introduced and got back into the car without a word.
“Who did I set you up with? I can’t recall anyone recently,” Tim asked and then Rascal raised his hand and pointed at the road.
“There you go man. Your question is answered,” Rascal said and I twisted in my seat to look and see who it was.
It was Erin’s car with two people in it and it came to a halt, engine running. I looked at Tim. Erin and Elyssa popped out smoking cigarettes.  With the same stride, they went straight to Rascal’s window. Elyssa waved to me as they stood next to Tim. Erin was yellow and her cheeks sunken. Elyssa was bright as the reflection of the full moon illuminating a dark primordial jungle. Crazy enough, I got hard for the first time in a week.
“Here’s the five,” Elyssa said and pulled money from her pocket and gave it to Rascal.
Rascal gave her a bag from the car and said, “Well it’s been nice seeing you guys, but I have other clients to attend to.”
He rolled up his window and screeched away.
“What the fuck?” Tim asked Erin as splotches of red became defined on his face.
“I didn’t know you were doing this and we needed a few things,” she said as she batted her glazed eyes.
“You don’t need anything, I told you to slow down. If it was something else you should have told me. And how in the fucking world did you get his number?” Tim asked.
“I got the number out of your organizer when you said I could use it,” Erin replied imitating Tim’s voice.
The veins on Tim’s face engorged.
“I meant you could use it for school not Rascal. Don’t you know how dangerous he is?”
“You never said that. And what? You think I can’t take care of myself?”
“No, I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Tim said.
“I won’t!” Erin said.
Elyssa waved as they got into Erin’s car and took off in a cloud of gravel dust.
Tim slammed into the driver’s seat and said, “Going behind my back shit.”
I did not say a word and lit a smoke and put it in the one good side of my mouth. Tim gave me the product to place in my baggy pants and the package stuck out like I was a potbelly pig.
“What did Erin get?” I asked.
“Crank,” he said and lit up a cigarette as the smoke drafted into his eyes.
“I knew she was doing shit without me, but this treachery is inexcusable. I’m not getting her shit anymore. That’ll show her not to go over my head!” Tim said while sweat dripped from his forehead.
We pulled out to the rural route and green was returning to Appalachia.
“Are we going to get some food or not?” I asked to break the tension.
“Sure whatever you want, and thanks for coming with me,” he said.
I leaned back.
“Where ever since you are buying.”
After a quick meal we plowed back through the thick light of day and wanted to sleep.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
The alarm shrieked but I twisted the knob. Eight blinked on the face.  Another missed class, and another day spiraled down the drain and I needed a shower.
My favorite stall with the broken soap holder was open and the last of my shampoo oozed out.
I made it to Luke’s house and there were people out like it was Friday.  I then saw the sign on the front door that was hanging on its hinges.
Happy Birthday read in glitter lettering.
The joyous sound from inside sickened me and I decided to make this the last temptation. I would not go out on the weekdays after this under any circumstances.
The patched door opened to a table stacked with chips, dips and a party sub sandwich. Three large tubs of beer gleamed behind. A plain girl with a Boston red Socks cap came over with a tray of plastic shot glasses filled with a pinkish concoction. Fruity vodka drinks weren’t my favorite but I took two.
Beers in hand, I went searching for people. A screaming match from the backyard drew me like shark to chum. I pressed the creaky screen door to reveal Tim and Erin entrenched in a battle. I backed away and bobbed and weaved back to the living room. People came flooding down the stairs from the second floor. The laughter of the crowd sealed the envelope and I was going to go out in the mail, but then I saw Luke and went up and said, “Hello.”
“Joaquin, glad you made it. How long you been here?” Luke asked and reached for my hand and shook it with a strong grip.
“I have been here for a bit. I am going to take off now. Oh by the way whose Birthday is it?”
“Mine asshole! You’re not allowed to leave. Show the proper respect and do some slippery shots with me,” he said and grabbed my shoulder and I figured I could have one more.
Another merry band of Luke’s friends came bolting through the sea of slosh and it was time for their own kind of sadistic birthday celebration. They surrounded him and I was added to the circle. One guy with a Calvin and Hobbs t-shirt handed me another beer and said to Luke, “It’s time to earn your age.  Twenty-two in twenty-two.”  A lesser man than Luke could die of alcohol poisoning but Luke was a professional puker.
Red dots danced on the floor.
Luke finished with a minute to spare and then I heard the demons of pressure whisper in my ear. Two beers in pocket, two in hand, I stepped out onto the porch. The demons didn’t know darkness was my ally. I closed the doors of my mind.  In a room, a stool sat in a spot light.
I sat.
The lights dimmed.
And, shut off.


Chapter Thirty-seven: Mirror 
I woke up sweating.
My blankets were soaked and smelled of booze. My tooth bled and my pillow was blotted with human stain. I got up and walked a few steps and fell to floor to cool off.
The ceiling spun.
I wasn’t worth getting up. Why bother? My back ached and began to itch. I had to get up.
If I pulled off average grades at least I could come back the next year.  The overload of unfinished work piled up on the desk. I focused only on the assignments that would put me over the failure point: term papers, exams and attendance were the objectives I faced. I didn’t care if I was unprepared I was not going to miss another class no matter what.
The days were getting longer and daylight was almost encouraging until I was summoned to the Assistant Dean of Students office. Behind a wall of papers sat a spindle of a man twirling a pen.
He pointed to a leather backed chair and I hid my face as I sat.  Rocking back and forth, I listened to a speech on time management. It was but a scratch of sound. It ended with a comment on self-determination. As I stood in the door to leave he wished me well.
“I will improve. There are no excuses. I am sorry,” I said.
He took the token illusion.



Chapter Thirty-eight: A break with…
Time passed in chunks.
The weeks strewn about and the midterms came. Snapshots of people came in and out of my isolation and then they faded.
Spring break was an event broken to me and I was not looking towards it with any plans. I was offered a vacation package to Jamaica but smoking herb was out of the question. George, James and Cyrus were going to Daytona Beach. Tim and Erin were going to some island in the Gulf of Mexico off of Texas.
I hatched a scheme of my own.
My mother wired me cash for a fake trip to Florida. If I could, I would have stayed in the dorms but they were closing. I needed to finance a hotel room in town for six days. The time came when everyone left but me.
I packed a bag and called a taxi. The day outside was closer to summer than spring. The humidity hung and the overcast above lowered as I stood at the main entrance. The cab was late and I heard what sounded like a small car without an exhaust pipe. It revved and sputtered on the side of the building. I went to see.
A team of green jumpsuit clad men hidden by goggles and yellow ear protectors steadied chainsaws in their hands. The young trees that lined the dorm were systematically removed by mechanized threshers.
The small trunks gave no resistance and fell as soon as the metal teeth ripped through them. One man hauled them into a cart attached to a gas powered golf cart.
I watched them destroyed my elm.
The chainsaw stalled twice but the gas-powered monster tore its flesh to chips and compost. I asked the guy who just threw my tree into the cart, “Why are you chopping the trees down? The man uncapped his ear protection, plastic ear muffs, and asked me to repeat.
“Why?”
“They’re diseased. A blight and have to save the old growth. Cutting down seven more,” he replied.
My cab pulled into the parking lot. My ears rang as I told the driver which hotel-motel to take me to with credit card and cash in hand. The fake ID sat behind my real driver’s license.
The hotel-motel was just a few miles away and visible from the highway. The brown building looked like a prefabricated barn. I paid the driver and I yanked my bags out just as he took off. A tall, bespectacled man in the front office watched me through the oversized rectangular window. He came out as I struggled to the curb and he asked, “Can I help you?”
“No I got it.”
The scent of rubbing alcohol burned as I entered the office with a flat chime. He slipped back around the cheap wood counter. The burl veneer was peeling at the corners.
“Do you have reservations?” the tall man asked.
“No, will that be a problem?” I asked.
“Oh no, there are plenty of rooms left, actually it’s somewhat slow.”
I fingered through my wallet, pulled out my credit card, fake ID and counted the cash.
“How much for six nights?” I asked.
“Three hundred and twenty dollars with tax.”
“Could I pay for it now in cash?” I asked.
“That would be fine sir,” the man said and straightened his glasses.
“All right, I will take it,” I said.
He started typing on his computer and asked, “May I see your credit card and another form of identification proving you are twenty-one, preferably a driver’s license.”
They spun to a stop on the counter after a weak toss.
I stepped back and crossed my arms.
“I have a little problem. This is an out of state license and I can’t verify it so I will have to call the police.”
My chest clenched and sweat dripped down my sides.  I put my hand up to interrupt his phone call.
“I have other identification like my school ID and another credit card, so that is enough back up, you think?”
I grabbed them out of my wallet and gave them to him.
“Oh, you go to the college. I thought you were just passing through,” he said.
“My plans for spring break fell through so I was forced to stay in town.”
He looked at me and said, “That’s why the traffic around your school was so busy the other day. Vacation, how wonderful! My cousin went to your school, but she graduated ten years ago so you wouldn’t know her.”
I nodded in agreement.
Identification and credit cards went back in the wallet without resistance and I was escorted to my room above the alley that separated the two main buildings. We climbed the stairs and he warned me the hand railings were just painted. They were shiny black. Up to the second floor and he handed me a key.
“If there’s anything you need just ask,” he said and left me alone.
As I entered, the air conditioning unit was cranking out heat below the window and I turned it off. One bed, one dresser, one table, a phone and TV waited in the dark.
I put my bag at the foot of the bed made up with a quilted eggshell comforter and devised my plan. There was a grocery store two blocks away where I could obtain supplies and there were a few fast food places around if I became ambitious enough to hike. I went to assess the bathroom and it was polished clean. The toilet wasn’t stained and the stooped shower wasn’t filled with mold.  Chlorine emanated from the towels. Soap and shampoo lined the mirror above the sink.
On the slick nylon comforter, I began to read and my eyes failed.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
In what seemed like moments, I was awakened by screeching tires on the main road just a few feet from my room. It was later than I expected.
The night had jumped upon me and I needed supplies. My fear of going down the street and grabbing a case of decent beer beverage was eliminated by the potential of boredom. I checked to see if the television worked and then turned it off as I stuffed the bulk of my cash under the back leg of the bureau.
I strolled on the shoulder of the six lane main road up the hill. Every car and truck that went by honked. The grocery store was crowded, kids and moms everywhere, as I stepped through the electronic door. I meandered down the aisle and crammed the cart with enough junk food to last me the duration of my stay. I was not eating much anyway.
Looking both ways, I grabbed three cases of mid-priced potables and grape soda. No way was I going to drink the tap water.
The wait in line was annoying and I the pressures mounted. A girl in pig tails was rang me up. She never asked for my ID.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Come again,” she said.
I figured my scruffiness ploy worked as I slung the two plastic bags around my shoulders, took one case under my armpit and the others by the handles. The cardboard handles began to cut into my hands half way to my quiet room. The perishables went in the bathtub and I took a plastic bag down next to office where the vending and ice machines sat. The ice machine was coin/cash operated. Each grind of ice spit out just enough to cover the bottom of the bag. I went back four times and spent over two buck in quarters.
A gust of car exhaust coughed in and gave the room a hint of truck stop ambience as I entered. The television clicked on and I opened up a drink. I ended up watching the local news while munching on a bag of Funions. I drank and smoked.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
The cleaning lady in a white uniform came each day. She never smiled.
Neither did I.


Chapter Thirty-nine: Cycle and psychosis
After being dropped by a cab at the gates, I was able to convince the security guard sitting in a white golf cart to let me in. I threw the one bag around my neck and climbed up to my brick dorm baking in the sun. The campus was deserted. The cardkey scanner took a few swipes but I was able to open the heavy fire door. A rush of cold air touched my hair as it drafted by.
I bowled my bags down the vacant hallway. My door creaked open and no strange smells assailed me. The thin sheets and cotton blankets wooed me.  I rolled up my blinds to inspect the carnage of the tree slaughter. My portal had been transformed.
It was absent of rustling leaves.
Below, there was only shredded bark on a circle of topsoil.
I shut my blinds and went to take a long shower and remove the days of accumulated filth. After the prodigious pruning, my stomach churned so up to Buzzy’s I went. The other dorms were hollow. The sky was clear and the mountains set up the horizon on their shoulders.
On one of the parking spots in front of the store I came across Luke’s blue convertible clunker, a hoopdy, called Colossus.
The bell chimed as I entered. There was nobody at the front register so I got on my toes and looked around. Luke and the owner everyone called “Old Man” were at the deli counter in the back. Still on tip toes, I walked up behind Luke and put my finger up to my mouth to signal the “Old Man” not to say anything.
I got behind him and said, “Boo mother fucker!”
Luke spun at his waist.
“Joaquin, shouldn’t you be with the guys in Florida?” he asked and I shrugged my tight shoulders.
“Did not go. Got a room and chilled by myself for the last week.”
“That sucks. What are you doing now?” Luke asked as he pointed to ground meat behind the glass case.
“I just came up here for some grub and a pack of smokes. What are you doing?” I asked.
He was handed a large paper bag.
“Grillen dogs and burgers. Don’t bother buying food come over and celebrate our victorious return.”
“Can I get a ride?” I asked.
“Of course.”
We paid for our items and the Colossus tore down the street. The breeze slicked back my wet hair.
“Why are you back today?” I asked as we pulled into gravel driveway.
“Certain things were said and done. Basically, we got kicked out,” he said.
     “It is a good day for a party,” I said.
     “It is at that!”
We grabbed the bags and I followed him inside to put away the groceries.
“Grab anything you want. Tubs are full. Going to change. Others are out back throwing shoes,” Luke said and bound upstairs.
I went out back to the junk piled backyard and was greeted with “Yo” by the six baseball players and Paul.
Meat burnt on the hibachi as we tossed shoes. More people shifted in and when the tubs were emptied of beer, I strolled back to my room.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
The next day I swung my door open in time to see Tim carrying his luggage towards me. I waved and he nodded a tired and roughed up head. His white linen shirt barely held on to his frame.
“How was your trip?” I asked.
He stopped and said, “I’ll tell you later. Let me get situated. Come down in an hour or so. Any parties tonight? Need to go out and blow off some steam.”
“I think Luke and those cats are having people over,” I said and let him go to his room.
He had just been on vacation and he wanted to ‘blow off some steam.’  Something was amiss in paradise. I went back to my room, got dressed and called Luke.
I knocked on Tim’s door an hour later.
“Come on in.”
I parked myself in the clutter of pillows and figured I should tell him what was going on before I began prying.
“Luke is having people over and other shit is going down like Shoot the Boot,” I told him and slipped out a smoke from my shirt pocket.
“Cool what time we going out?” he asked.
“An hour if you want?”
“Cool, let me shower,” he said.
“What ever. What is up with the bummed attitude and why would you want to blow off steam after being away for that exact particular purpose?”  I asked as he sighed and lit a smoke.
“Everything was great. The hotel was huge and the outlook for the week was shining. The first night was exploring and drinking. Then Erin scored Meth from some guy. I warned her to cool it but she did the whole shitload by herself over three days and I realized she’s a Tweaker. That’s why she went to Rascal behind my back. The forth night there, I was talking with this hot girl by the bar and Erin walks up grabs the girl’s hair and beats the snot out of her. I pull her off and the girl’s friends come over and a brawl breaks out. Erin run away and I took off. Found her later in the room ripping my shit up. I stayed with Rob and Lisa until we left. I tried to speak to her but she spit on me. Rode back in separate cars.”
“Fucking crazy. I think you should tell Rascal to cut her off. You should take a shower so we can get out of here,” I said.
“Easier said than done. Rascal’s not going to give up a client. I’ll see what I can do. Might need your help man,” he said.
“I am here,” I said.
He nodded once and I left.
We gathered James, who told us he “Didn’t do shit.” and were at Luke’s in a matter of minutes. There was a small crowd of about thirty.  We broke away from each other and mingled. Tim went to the tubs and talked to every girl that came by. I went to find Luke and he was occupied with some girl I had never seen before. Not wanting to cock block, I let him work. Soon the house couldn’t contain another body.
I sifted through and sipped my beers and came upon James with a cute brunette who came up to his armpit. With an acknowledging wink, I went to find Tim and maybe I could do a line or two. He was at the tubs.
“Anything good happening around here?” I asked.
He poked me in the chest and said, “Erin’s here man.  She just walked in the door. You think I should talk to her?”
“Talk to her dude. Go out back where there is room,” I said.
He chugged, grabbed two and turned away.
The evening lingered.
It amazed me how long the night could be when I wasn’t drunk. Then as I scampered around the kitchen, I overheard that a fight was going on in the backyard. Rushing out the door, I pushed my way through the crowd expecting to see guys brawling.
As I broke into the ring, I saw Erin slap Tim and scream, “Fucker.”
Tim stood back with his hands up and she flailed him with her fists. He didn’t retreat and grabbed her shoulders and yelled for her to stop. She rammed her forehead into his nose. He went down on all fours and checked for blood as he got up.
“Erin chill.  You can’t…” he tried to finish but she spit in his face.
Erin covered her face with her hands and ran off into the chaotic camouflage of the night.
I went over to Tim while as some idiot said, “I would have hit her back.”
I lead him inside where he washed his face in the sink and dried his face with some paper towels.
“You all right?” I asked.
“I’m okay, but she’s not. I’m done,” he said and then blew his nose.
“Give her some time,” I said.


Chapter Forty: Dashed
The days were getting hot so I made an oath not to party and clear up. I wasn’t smoking as many cigarettes.
The second semester went by in flashes and pauses, a series of abrupt edits. Some weeks seemed like they never happened and some days lasted an Alaskan winter. I didn’t know where I stood because people for the most part ignored me and when I walked by Dawn she never looked.  The attacks hadn’t attacked and the red dots seemed to have left me alone.  I could read without falling asleep.
It was almost good.
On a boiling day, I went to see George since I hadn’t talked to him in a week. His door was ajar.
“You want to go to the Kaf?”  I asked though the crack and he put down his book.
“No, I ate, but I think Tim hasn’t gone yet. See ya,” he said.
I left and got a drink. The water fountain tasted metallic like blood.
Tim’s door was open and knocked. I stood firm in the doorway.
“I am going to check my mail and stop off to get some eats.  Do you want to come?” I asked.
He had a toothbrush in his mouth and nodded. He waved his finger for me to wait as he left and went to the bathroom. I sat down and looked upon the garbage that appeared to reproduce asexually in his abode.
As we passed Collin’s field, infested with joyous faces playing Frisbee, sunbathing or tossing a baseball, I felt the cold urge to ask Tim about his situation.
“So, are you and Erin doing better or are you two bifurcated for good?”
“Bifurcated, that’s a good word. And no, we’re not together anymore if that’s what you mean.  I tried to stop her but she’s crystalline shattered. She’s going straight to Rascal. What the fuck’s up with the hermit act?” he asked.
“I needed to focus and straighten out. I went out last Thursday,” I said.
“Everyone goes out on Thursdays but you tea toddled,” Tim said.
“I wanted to keep away from things, you know Elyssa. But whatever, are you going out tonight?” I asked.
“Yes and you are too. It’s Thursday and tonight we splurge,” he said.
I agreed.
We get to the Foote Campus Center and head down the tile corridors by the campus restaurant named the Hillside down into the deep rows of mailboxes trimmed with brass sunk in the walls. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted by on the thin air.
My box overflowed; offers for credit cards and catalogues spilled to the tile. Tim went around the corner to his box. A letter simply addressed to Joaquin-Box 311 on top caught my attention. On the top left corner was written From Erin. I folded it and jammed it in my pocket. A letter with my mother’s stationary then slipped out of the stack. Tore the top and fifty bucks in a folded piece of paper went into my wallet. There was a blue slip indicating I had mail being held by the postal worker at his desk in the front. The trashcan ate the junk mail and I went to obtain my correspondence.
I waited for the clerk as he filed through white crates of envelopes at the back. He finally came over to the window and took my slip. He went to a cabinet and pulled out two letters. The clerk examined the letters as he came back through the thin halogen light.
“Well, I guess you don’t check your mail every day. These have been here a week and a half,” he said.  
“Thank you,” I said while nodding with shut eyes.
Over by the trash can, I ripped them open. They were from the school: one was from the Dean of Students. The second was from my advisor.
I saw him once.
The first letter acknowledged the completion of my community service work but was really a warning in disguise. The second letter’s first sentence read-You are in danger of failing and being placed on academic probation for the next semester.
I didn’t read the rest, crumpled it up and dropped it on the ground.
“Ready to go eat? I’m starving,” Tim asked as he tossed his mail in the trash can.
“Sure,” I said and followed him down the corridor.
We filled out trays at the buffet, the scent of freshly chopped onions of the salad bar floated across the room, and Tim was eating before his butt hit his seat at a long table. I nibbled and the small bites felt like lead. As I sipped lemonade from my left side, Tim looked at me with a smile.
“Why you smiling?” I asked.
He gave me a quizzical look and said, “Can’t a guy just smile?  Not with you I suppose, but I got a letter. Can’t tell you anymore, yet.”
“Okay,” I said.
Tim scanned the dining hall and excused himself. He walked to a circular table under the street side windows. Erin, Elyssa sat with a gaggle of girls I didn’t know. Erin waved for him to sit. He sat down, hands waved in the air and the girls laughed. After watching the lines at the buffet for ten minutes, I saw him come back with a booming smile. Tim sat with a thump and slapped both his hands down on the table’s edge.
“Everything is all good. Erin and I are friends again,” he said.
“Well, keep it in your pants,” I said.
“You’re right about that,” he replied.
“What were you talking about over at Erin’s table?” I asked and wiped my the corners of my mouth with a napkin.
“She was just saying how we should get together and discuss things. I asked her how classes were going and she asked the same. You know,” he said.
“Cool, you two should talk about you know what,” I said.
He nodded.
We finished and left together but Tim made a turn to go to the parking lot at the bottom of the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I asked before descending.
“I’m going on an errand. I’ll be back later. About an hour,” Tim said as he waved and trotted off behind a bush and out of sight.
I directed myself toward the dorm and walked at a snail’s pace.  People passed by and the clouds blocked the sun’s embrace.
I could not fail.


Chapter Forty-one: Allegations, Insinuations and Investigations
I managed to not go out until Friday. 
A small victory.
I got up early at one o’clock and studied Pliny the Elder and Hitchcock until dinner. Frenzied, I got ready to go and went to find people to join me.  Maybe Tim or James would be around? James was gone and his roommate Henry, the dirty hippie now clean shaven, told me I just missed him. On to Tim’s room, a knock clattered down the hall. There was no answer.
The cumulus clouds bent and rampaged overhead in the azure sky as I tread the path around Collin’s field. Loose rocks rolled under foot.  Rubber sole was left behind. I walked with a steady, speedy gait and tightness roped around my lungs and cinched a knot. Hunched over at the double glass door to the Cafeteria, I hack coughed and bounced off my feet with each convulsion.
No cigarette had touched my lips that day. With a small survey of the dining hall, I found James eating by himself so to the snack bar I strolled and full tray in held firm, I sat down next to him in a clump.
“What is going down big man?” I asked.
“Not much, you?” he asked and swigged his apple juice.
“What is taking place this evening?” I asked.
“Many things,” James said.
“What are the guys doing?” I asked.
“Tim is off with Erin. He said they had business. George and I are heading out. You’re welcome to join us. Cyrus went home for the weekend,” James said and proceeded to demolish a triple-decker sandwich.
I nodded and figured I’d earned it.
 The night was crowded and noisy.
Beers were warm and foamy.
My tooth didn’t ache.
It was the same as ever as the darkness concealed everything.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
Hypnos came but I didn’t remember any dreams. I woke up sporadically, ignoring the revived pain in my tooth.
Sunrise came and went.
A heavy bang at my door jumped through my stale room. I was ready to yell as I opened the door but glanced over at my unopened copy of Less Than Zero and chuckled.
“I really should read that.”
I heaved the door open and raised my serious gaze to the trespasser.
Uniforms came into focus in the sunlit hall. Cops were at my door, guns, badges and all.
What?
“Can I help you officers?” I asked.
“Do you know Timothy Baumgarten?” the bird faced cop asked.
“Of course, he lives down the hall,” I said.
“Can we come in? We have to talk to you about Mr. Baumgarten. Your RA said you two were good friends,” the bulldog faced cop said.
“George down the hall knows him better than me,” I said.
“We must talk to you sir, so may we?” the bird faced cop said.
The air became thick. The long banished demons of pressure pressed me down.
The officers came in and stood arms at their sides. A grimy shirt was lifted of the floor as I sat on the edge of my bed. It struggled to fit.
“My name is Officer John Peters and this is my colleague Officer Samuel Kraft,” the bird faced cop said and reached to shake my hand.
His palms were mushy like dead squid. The dog faced cop crossed his arms and stood with his weight on his back foot. My hands fell.  Officer Peters pulled out his note pad and pen.
“I need to ask some questions about Timothy. There’s been an incident,” Officer Peters said.
“What do you want to know,” I asked.
“How long have you known Timothy Baumgarten?” he asked with a furrowed brow.
“First semester,” I said.
“Do you know if he was involved in any illegal activities?” Officer Peters asked.
“What, no,” I said.
My pulsed stopped, started again and I felt sheets of heat ribbon across my face.
“Do you know Erin Douglas?” he asked.
“Sure, but not that well.”
“Do you know if she was involved in any illegal activities?”
“No idea.”
“Were Mr. Baumgarten and Ms. Douglas friends or did they know each other well?”
“They were a couple up until recently.”
“How recently?”
“A couple weeks, I think.”
“Thank you Mr. Chandler. That’s all we needed. We must be going now,” Officer Kraft said.
“Are they okay?”
“Something happened but I can’t tell you. There’s an ongoing investigation,” Officer Peters said as Officer Kraft opened the door.  Officer Peters put his pad in his pocket, nodded and they left.
I was shaking like dog left out in the rain.
My lungs wouldn’t fill with air. My bowels boiled.  A minute later James’ face was suspended in the doorway. He closed the door behind him.
“What was that all about?  I saw the cops,” he asked and leaned back on the wall next to the light switch.
“They asked me some questions about Tim and Erin,” I said.
“So they did not say if they were in jail or an accident?”
I took a deep breath.
“No.”
“Let me know if you hear anything. George and I are going out later if you want to come?” James asked, curled his hand into a claw and tilted it back and forth by lips.
“Cool, I will be ready just come and get me, later” I said.
He rubbed his face, opened the door and it closed behind him with a flat click.
I got ready and ordered a sandwich before my shower. The shower felt like sand. The deliveryman was waiting for me the main entrances front desk. I apologized and over tipped. Even though the nausea bubbled up, I ate as I walked back up the stairs.
The words on the page became fuzzy as I sat reading at my workspace and a daydream of Elyssa undressing on my bed tore through my concentration. For the first time in over a week I got hard so I grabbed a tissue and was about to deal with it when the red dots appeared and crawled across my hands and down onto the floor.  
The staff turned into a noodle.  
I sat on my bed and tried to breathe but only shallow air could be captured.  I wondered if Elyssa would ever give me second chance? All I could think about was Elyssa until sleep couldn’t be denied.
At eleven my alarm didn’t sound. Groveling over to the paper covered computer half on and half off of the workspace, I snatched by bent pack and lit up a smoke. I started to read and a half-hour later someone knocked gently three times on my door and I was naked. My robe didn’t want to leave the safety of the closet until the wire hanger lost its grip.
“What, what?” I asked as I opened the door.
Elyssa and Dawn in sweat shirts and pajama bottoms stood arms crossed. Dry streaks from tears twinkled under the hall light.
“What?” I asked while rubbing my forehead.
“We wanted to know if the rumors were true. We heard that you talked to the police yesterday,” Elyssa said and rolled her chin up.
“What rumors? The cops did not tell me shit yesterday, what rumors?” I said and scratched my stumbled chin.
“The rumors that Tim and Erin were murdered,” Dawn said.
Her voice echoed as Elyssa pressed her face into her trembling hands.
“Wa, wa, what, What did you say? Murdered?” I asked.
Dawn put her hand around Elyssa’s shoulder and nodded three times. I waved them in.
They sat on my bed before I could straighten the blankets.
“Where did you hear that?”
“A townie told some girls on our hall that two college students were found dead. They take a class with her, and she works for the town paper. Erin has not been seen in over a day,” Dawn said.
Her eyes welled up.
“Whoa, slow down. Has anyone from the school said anything or is it just speculation? People go away for the weekends without telling anyone,” I said.
“I heard that the police were here the other day asking about Tim and she was with him last,” Elyssa said.
“That does not mean anything. There are other schools around. Two students could mean two guys or two girls,” I said.
“We were told a girl and a guy. The police came and talked to you yesterday,” Dawn said.
“They probably were busted for drugs. You two should go back and chill.  Either way the school will tell us,” I said and escorted them out the door.
In a jog, robe flapping, I went to George’s room and James was sitting on the couch.
“Hey, either of you hear any shit about some murder around town or something?” I asked in the doorway.
“No, I haven’t heard anything,” James said while skimming through a playboy. 
George put down his guitar.
“You know they searched Tim’s room. That’s what Jack told me and they bagged some shit, what are you getting at?” George said with eyes wide open.
“Elyssa and Dawn heard that Erin and Tim were murdered but they are not sure. Some girl told them about students being murdered. Erin was with Tim,” I said.
Silence whipped through the background noise of the hall.
“You’re fucking kidding me. They didn’t say that,” George said.
“No, they said it,” I responded.
George went to talk to Jack leaving a huff behind.
Click, tick tock, the time stalled but in about a minute George returned.
“Jack said they had a warrant to search his room, and they didn’t discuss it with him either,” he said.
“So they haven’t told him anything yet,” James said.
“No, nothing yet but he will tell us when he finds out,” George said and I went over to sit next to James.
We just looked at magazines while George fumbled along trying to play the guitar.
George’s should have closed his door. Pestering clutches of whimpering idiots infiltrated our hall. Every few minutes someone would pop their head in and ask, “What was going on?” and tell us a rumor. Some, who knew about Tim, said it was drug related.  Another rumor was that their car exploded, and another was it was a burglary and they were killed in her car at a Walmart.
I listened but never spoke a word and thought how cute Elyssa was in her pajama bottoms. The gossip hounds were lead to another scent in time and I just wanted to get drunk. George took off to investigate. The world pressed down with heavy hands around me.
Another attack might come.
“Are you going out tonight?” I asked James
“No, not with all of this bullshit. Wanna get a case and split it, watch some videos?” he asked.
I agreed asked him to pick me up an extra one and left George’s room. My phone was ringing when I got back. It was Dawn wanting to know what I had found out.
I told her nothing.
James got a few cases of beer, one for me to stash for later purposes, and we just camped out in his room because Henry went to be with his girlfriend. The TV, VHS built in, played Mel Brooks movies and a mini-fridge kept our beers company. When “Young Frankenstein” was almost done, a knock came at the door.
We hid our beers.
To our relief, it was George informing us that he was returning from the night early. He swayed down the hall knocking into the walls all the way back to his room. We commenced our viewing and then five minutes later another knock. We thought it might be George again. Jack stood rubbing his forearm in the hall.  The street lamps cast a yellow glow over the parking lot that seeped through the hall window.
“Guys, there’s an important hall meeting at nine tomorrow morning in the Jasper building. You know, it’s where the Bursar’s office is but the meeting is on the third floor. I will gather everyone. I just wanted to tell you guys. Now, I must tell the rest of the guys so don’t indulge too much,” he said.
James closed the door and Jack didn’t bust us for having beers in our hands. This was an ominous omen.
“Something went wicked man. Tim did not get busted,” I said.
“I think you’re right,” he said.
We watched the rest of the movie.
I dreamt of Elyssa. surrounded by angels who wrapped her in silk sheets 


Chapter Forty-two: Shattered mirror.
“Joaquin!  Hurry the fuck up, go!” came through my door.
I stumbled around putting on what was closest to me on the ground and donned my Mets baseball cap. For some reason I snatch the guitar string ring off of my copy of Less Than Zero in the cubbyhole. I need to finally read that book.
Out into the harsh light of the day, sharp pains blistered the back of my eyes. My eyes adjusted and I saw what I was wearing.  A dark maroon shirt, light green shorts and one black and one blue sock made the clown outfit complete.
There was no time to change.
Through the harassing haze of the Virginia heat, I lit a smoke and followed the group across campus to Jasper Hall. We entered between the hedge row on the first floor and the back entrance in silence. The building was a granite glazed tomb. The vents chilled us from above. Secretaries holding stacks of paper looked like they were going to cry as we passed. Our troop came to a stop next to a line of guys from the other side of Taylor. Above the double doors a sign read Conference hall 2.
Jack pushed the doors wide and a table that belonged in a corporate board room lounged in the center of the expanse. At the far end, a man read a bundle of papers. He looked up and was the Dean of Students Terry Huss. His chair was too low. His head and shoulders were just above the rim of the table. He stood as both groups piled in.
The purple carpet rebounded under my steps.
The gray walls hunched around us.
The dean blinked and said, “Will you all sit down please,” and all did except George who leaned on the wall.
The dean surveyed the situation and asked him, “Um, would you like my seat?”
“I’ll stand,” George said.
Two men and a woman in matching tan uniforms entered through a single door behind the dean.
The air stopped.
No one blinked.
Silence coalesced and the seal was broken.
“Gentlemen, I regret to inform you…,” the dean said, exhaled, a tiny bead of perspiration condensed at the tip of his widow’s peak and ran straight to the tip of his nose, “There is some tragic news concerning your friend Timothy Baumgarten. I’m sure you’ve all heard rumors. Last night, the police confirmed...” his eyes reflected the over head light in his bowing tears, “um, ah Timothy was pronounced dead along with Erin Douglas. They believe it was a murder-suicide but they’re still investigating. I’m truly sorry to tell you this horrible news and we have hired grief counselors to help y’all through this ordeal,” he said.
He fell back into the over-fluffed cushion of his low seat.
The silence reclaimed its space.
Eyes blinked and lips were still.
Color bled away.
My ring spun.
A gentle weep fractured the silence. A thump came from the floor behind. George had slumped to the floor curled up with his arms around his knees. He sobbed.
“What the fuck”
“Holy Shit”
“No way.”
I wondered if Rascal was involved but if he was I didn’t have to worry about him coming after me. Leaning back in my chair, hungry roared and thirst screamed so I spun out of the seat.
Down the aisle between the chairs and wall, I dashed to where George was in a heap. A woman in a tan knelt next to him. Stepping by, I was ambushed by a brindle headed grief counselor. He wedged himself between me and the doors and stood six inches away.
“Do you need to use the men’s room?” he asked and put his hand on my right shoulder.
I knocked his hand off and said, “No.”
“You shouldn’t leave. We need to have y’all in one area,” he said and put his hand on my shoulder again.
I knock it off.
“Am I obligated under any kind of disciplinary action to stay here?”
“No, this is for your benefit,” he said.
Black pools rippled behind his eyes.
“Then I am leaving,” I said and looked down at George as I pushed my way through the grief gurus with a single stare.
The clock in the cafeteria read nine thirty-five. Weak coffee steamed dripped out of the black tap and I hoarded bacon and sausage on my plate. My tooth hurt like hell but I was hungry for the first time in months. Every time I bit down, my tooth lacerated with pain. I squeezed my hands into fists as I thought about the grief counselors. I never trusted anyone who tried to help someone when they didn’t want it. My coffee tasted salty.
Blood poured from my tooth.
I surmise I better tell Dawn and Elyssa. They deserved to know. I went back and put my dishes on the rack and tray on the stack. Off to Donner hall.
Pain pulsed from my tooth to my feet with every step on the pavement. Donner hall was busy as a hive and I was a bee from another colony. People buzzed around paying me no mind. At the top of the stairs, I looked down for a second and bumped into a guy.
It was Justin.
His eyes went round as tarnished quarters.
“Shit. I’m sorry about your friend man. Tim was good people,” he said with his head down.
“Why, what happened to Tim?”
One nostril flared, one side of his mouth arched, he put his hands on his hips.
“Uh, uh I heard your friend Tim, uh was, uh,” he said.
“I know what happened. Just fucking with you.”
“You’re sick man,” he said and ducked behind the landing’s door and took off. I figured if he knew what happened then the girls did too.
The hall was barren. All but the tiles.
They must have had the same drill at Jasper. The event had to be known campus wide so I started walking. All I yearned for was sleep. I kept my head down as I walked out into the feverish day. When I did look up, I saw people whisper to their friends. Others turned away. As I walked by the Cerrone building, I saw a group in front of Jasper hugging and wailing. The long route around the other side of the building was clear.
I reached the sloping sidewalk and saw James sitting on the steps of the side door.
“Hey man,” I said.
He swiveled his head up and shrugged. I stepped by and he said, “You should have heard the girls crying. They told them after us. George and Cyrus are at Jasper. What’s up?”
“I will tell you on the way up,” I said as I opened the door.
He got up slowly and dusted off his pants. I held the door for him and he led the way.
“So?”
“I feel fine. I think I should be in shock but nothing. I figure when you are in shock, you do not feel anything, but I feel normal. I even feel guilty that I do not feel anything. I guess that is probably a bad sign.”
“It’s good you see it,” James said while rubbing his hands.
“I just think of movies when people go hysterical. It does not feel like that,” I finished as we get to his room and I turned off to start down the hall to go take a nap.
“I’m right here,” James said.
I raised my hand up in a fist.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.


Chapter Forty-three: Nil, nul, nothingness
It was hard to tell where sleep began and a blackout ended. I heard people knocking on my door all day but I ignored them. Blankets covered me like butcher paper. It was three in the afternoon and I couldn’t sleep anymore and needed a shower. There might have been more information divulged and I wanted to see how George was handling it.
Dawn stood at my door as I returned towel around my waist. She looked older.
“Hello,” I said, held up my bottle of shampoo, turned and continued, “Hold on a minute.”
“All right,” she said.
The clothes vacuum sealed to my wet skin. While scratching my chin, I let her breach the threshold of shadows.
“People are worried about you,” she said and sat on the foot of my ruffled bed.
“Thank you for your concern. I am fine. Is there anything you need?” I asked.
“Elyssa and I are worried. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
“I am fine,” I said.
Dawn stared with a look that would paralyze a bull. Her cry trembled.
“You don’t feel anything, do you?” she asked.
“I am fine. I suggest you go back and chill. I have to see what is going. Thanks for your concern,” I said and waved her to the door.
“Go relax, bye,” I said as I helped her out.
I went to see George and music siphoned out of the walls. In a dither, I knocked but there was no answer. I punched the door. The door opened and classical music impacted my gut. George tilted his head as he looked at me and asked, “What do you want?”  
“I was just seeing what you were doing?”
“Blasting Beethoven, come on in,” he said.
I nodded.
As I walked in, I saw James on couch smoking a cigarette. That was new.  Calloused feet lifted as I sunk into a seam between the cushions.
I recognized the song as Beethoven’s  Symphony No. 3 Eroica. James shrugged and ashed his smoke in a Mountain Dew can by his feet.
“I know, I know,” James said.
George motioned to his lips.
I threw him a smoke.
The next track that came on was Fur Elise; the only song I could play on the piano in full. George air-pianoed. My arms crossed. James closed his eyes. George looked to the ceiling and turned away to his window as I saw a glint of tears.
The music over, George ejected the disc. He spun to us, shook his head clear, “Classical is always cleansing.”
“Very moving,” James said.
“The parties have begun. So grub and venture out early?” George asked.
“Cool. Tonight is going to be weird,” I said.
“Just want to get today over with,” George said.
“I am going to put on other shoes,” I said.
“Hurry up,” George said.
In my room of shale light, I switched my shoes faster than a magician or runway model changing behind curtains.
The Kaf was compressed with zombie students but they came alive to come over and us and spew “Hello” or “How are you doing?”
Nausea bubbled.
The sickening display of false regard killed my appetite.  I drank apple juice out of the side of my mouth. I did not want to upset the guys by yelling at the gawkers so I just shut up. They finished eating after second helpings and George took point and we followed to the The Three Girls House.
As we came up the front yard was over-planted with people. We didn’t worry about the parties getting busted. We had a one night get out of jail card. And the student body played it. Beer bongs were raised in the air along with people’s feet for keg stands. Girls puked on the sides of houses along with their boyfriends.
Fraternity Row ruptured energy.
My tooth no longer ached. Reality was oil paint on a glass canvas, smeared and shiny.
The colors blended to black.


Chapter Forty-four: Platitudes 
I felt fine the next day. George’s door was open so I knocked.  I looked around the door and he was writing something in his notebook.
“How are you?” I asked.
He looked up from the paper and shook his head.
“Dude, there’s a memorial in the chapel at seven thirty.”
“Oh.  What are you writing?” I asked.
“It’s for the memorial. They asked me to say something. I don’t want to but you know, respect,” he said.
“Respect. I will leave you to your business,” I said as I turned away and he said, “Come get me for dinner.”
“Sure,” I said and walked to get water.
Dinner was a diversion, steak and real mashed potatoes, probably for finals originally. I put down one thin slice of bloody rare beef before the nausea bubbled. Tea was all I could handle. George and James boxed out their shoulders to shield the world from their plates as they gobbled. My scruffy chin went into my hand and I watched in silence.
We marched back to the dorm. Showers were swift and the formal wear was taken out of the dry-cleaning plastic bags. George left to practice his speech at the chapel.
James, Cyrus and I followed the slope around the north side of Collin’s field up by the Dopp Studio Art building to the entrance of the domed chapel.  Jack rolled back his sleeve and looked at his watch from the double doors. He led us up the center aisle to the front pew. The wood was slick with high polish. The marble altar levitated behind a podium and was covered with a black cloth. A minister in silken vestments held the sides of the podium and started a prayer that some, but not all, repeated. I sat in contempt and listened to the air molecules buzz in my ear as I waited for George.
A dark suit with George’s head popping out of it ascended the set of three stairs to the podium. He rested a note card below the gaunt light and grabbed hold of the podium.
“Forgive me for my brevity. I am not a good public speaker. This tragedy hasn’t fully registered and I find myself in disbelief every moment. I don’t know why this happened but it should not have. I am stricken by both people’s deaths and can only say that he was my friend.  He helped me when others would not. He stood up for me when I could not stand up for myself. I never doubted his friendship for a second no matter what argument we would get into. We got into a lot of debates in which one would storm out of the room and not speak to the other for a day or two. It always resolved and reconciled. He was a unique person and he respected my strange behavior and I respected his. I am going to miss him. A great potential has been extinguished. I know he is in a better place than this and this idea comforts me from the sadness. I hope it comforts you all also.”
He looked to his note card as he blinked away tears.
His head bowed and he continued, “I’m sorry my statement is short, I, I, I can’t…  I can only say good bye Tim. You were my friend.  Good journey.  God bless you.”
George could no longer hold the tears as he descended the steps. One professor after another got up to speak. They were hollow clowns. I didn’t listen. After the last one left with fake tears, the minister waddled back and said a prayer that ended in, “Go in Peace!”
Peace was not appropriate.
Fuck peace.
We got back to the dorm faster than the rest. George’s stereo blasted Metallica down the hall as I changed and he popped his head in my door.
“Joaquin get ready and grab James. There are some houses going down now,” George said.
“I will be just a few seconds,” I said.
Time ate itself and we race-walked to Luke’s house. A soft breeze dampened by early flowers rushed by as we left campus. George’s neon white legs reflected the stray light. I couldn’t believe he was wearing shorts. We reached the party plump as a pig. We separated and found space to claim. Luke came up to me as I stood behind the blue bin of beers in the kitchen.
“Man, I’m sorry. Way too fucked up. Way too fucked up. Dudes jumping out windows and now this in the same fucking year. It’s a fucking wasteland. Sorry, take what you want bro,” Luke said.
I nodded as he was absorbed by the pulsing crowd as two brunettes eyed him. A series of growls came from the front yard. I weaved my way out to the porch and frat boys were fighting. To my advantage, this cleared out the crowd around the beer so I pressed my way back in. I drank until my world broke into threes and the darkness encapsulated me.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
I woke up tired the next morning at ten-thirty. My joints and eyes ached. I stretched out and an image of Elyssa twirled through my mind but no morning wood was there to be chopped. After a few attempts at putting on clean clothes, I stopped and went back to bed. As I fluffed my pillow red dots covered it. Gravity tripled around me and pressed my face down into the divots of the mattress. I couldn’t move and all I could think was I really should read that.


Chapter Forty-five: Non Sequitur
Torn from myself, buried, I didn’t go to Erin’s service. The rumor machine was seizing from overheating. James told me a girl in his class said Tim drove her to do it.
People were spreading lies.
George told me others said it was a drug deal went wrong and it only looked like a murder-suicide. This scared me until more information was leaked.
Cyrus used a contact in DC and found out that Tim was shot in the back of the head. They found his corpse on a hiking trail just a few miles away where bones chips were scattered in shoots of grass surrounded by blood mixed with the red Virginia clay in a dark pool.
His face was gone.
They found her next to him, head in pieces, with a stick in her hand she used to push the trigger. He was forward and she was back. There were no other fingerprints than hers and there was a receipt found for the gun from a mega-store.  If it were a double murder there were more cryptic places outside of the town where they might not have been found for years, if at all.
I knew the truth.
Speed kills.
Tim’s parents came and took his belongings and erased his existence from us. They wanted to meet everyone on the hall, so I obliged them. I just introduced myself and said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
They were the most normal parents I had ever met, at least in the television version of reality. They were older than I thought and dressed like they were going sailing. I left them alone and retreated to my room.
Wondered if the cops stuck themselves when they opened the drug drawer?




Chapter Forty-six: Eventuality
Finals were upon me with a flippant formality. I missed most of my classes and couldn’t think anymore. Isolated and hermetically sealed, I sat in my room in the twilight of half drawn shades. I didn’t play the guitar or think about painting. Time accelerated with numbness until a knock. Elyssa stood at my door.
The frayed tassels of her jean shorts slipped up and down on her smooth legs as she sat on the end of the bed not even flinching at the pile of dirty clothes below her feet. I spun my ring.
“Joaquin, you changed. You’re like a stone. You hide away and are so bombed when I see you that you scare me. I want you to be okay,” she says and rubs her knees.
“I am fine.”
“If you think you’re fine, you’re more fucked up than you think.”
“I am fine.”
“It’s not just about them. Your face is cold and angry all the time.”
“What the fuck do you care? Sorry, sorry. Just a little surprised to see you.  I am fine,” I said.
“Fine Joaquin. Come see me when you go back to being the guy I first met. I’m probably staying around for graduation at Jill’s so…,” she said and bolted out door.
I took off my ring and tossed it in the cubbyhole and tore up my take home exams. The world passed over me like the hot, humid air that was scented with red clay. The red dots returned.
The day came when everyone on my hall would be gone or leaving. Senior week started and Luke popped by my room to tell me to come by his parties if I was around. Most underclassmen were gone and I didn’t get to say anything to Cyrus but I decided to tell James and George that I wasn’t coming back. In the hall I saw, James’s father and he waved.  I needed water first so I went back to my room to grab my red cup.
A timid knock clacked on my door, it was Jack. His face was the color of soggy white bread.
“Joaquin, I was sent to discuss the problem with your exams,” he said this with his head turned down while rubbing his right thumb across the tips of his fingers.
“Do not bother. I am not returning so you can be on your way. Oh, thanks for not being a hard-ass. Have a good life,” I said.
“You’re leaving and you didn’t tell anyone. I’ll tell the administrators but I’m here to tell you something. You failed your exams and therefore your classes. Your professors had a conference and are willing to let you drop the classes and you won’t have to accept the F’s.  They won’t go against your record.”
“It does not matter. I just want to finish packing so if you do not mind?  Good bye once again,” I said while I tried to shut the door but he blocked it.
I was going to crush his foot until he said, “If they let you drop them, they won’t exist, and count against you at another school. They never let you do this.”
The offer made me rethink my plan.
“You have a sensible proposition and I thank you for bringing it to my attention. I am willing to accept your offer, but do not tell the profs I am leaving because they may recant. Thank you,” I said and he looked at me as if I just became transparent.
“I hope you will consider coming back. I’ll tell them to drop the classes and won’t say anything else,” he said.
He tried to hug me and I put my arms up to block him.
“Well, have a nice trip. Take care,” he said as I shut the door and I said, “You too.”
I changed into a baggy t-shirt and realized I was hunched over. My low cut Chuck Taylor’s tracked down the slick hall to James’ room. I knocked twice on his open door and took some skin off my knuckles.
“Come on in.”
I tapped the door open with my foot and his room was dismantled, just boxes and trash bags.
“I see you are ready to jettison out of this place,” I said while he loaded two boxes into the hall.
“Sure am. This place is vacant,” he said.
“So when are you leaving?”
“Now. My pops is loading stuff downstairs right now. Glad you came down. I wasn’t sure if you took off.”
“I am leaving tomorrow.”
“I’m out as soon as we get finished loading. Joaquin give me your number in CT and I will give ya mine in Jersey.”
“Cool, you have paper?”
“Nah, I packed it”
“Hold on. I will get some. Do not leave,” I said and rushed to my room and grabbed a blue book and a pen I left out on the desk.
I got back and James’ father was disappearing down the steps again with another load of James’ monolithic boxes.
“Here James write the digits down on this pad.”
“Cool, feel free to call me anytime during the summer. Maybe we could meet up sometime?”
“Sure man, that sounds all right. Listen, I am coming back next semester. I just wanted to say thanks. We can definitely get together and go conquer the city since only live a few hours away. I just wanted to say adios and anon,” I said.
He gave me the blue book back after peering at it for a moment.
“Wait a fucking second. You know you are like the third person I have talked to whose not coming next semester. Shit so many other people are leaving and it would be down right unoriginal of you to copy those people,” he said.
“Listen man, thanks for trying but I cannot throw down the cards here right now. The deal is wrong. Good bye brother. Not forever, just for now. I have to go see George before he leaves too, but be well and do not work too hard,” I said and went to walk away.
“George left this morning. I saw him pull away when my father just got here. He didn’t say good bye or anything.”
“No shit. He said nothing to me. Oh, well.”
“Take care Joaquin. I’ll see ya,” he said and waved his massive hand.
I dragged my feet and heard James’ father come up the stairs and they took the rest down to their car.
I threw George’s number away in my trash. Sitting on the end of my bed I stared at the stacks of boxes and bulging bags of garbage. Emptiness surrounded and filled the atmosphere. An image of Elyssa bending over on my bed and taunting me with her titty test resolved in the emptiness. I blinked and the red dots hovered in front of me and the hand of pressure ground me down to my knees.  I propped myself up on my bed and forced a deep breath.
The attack stalled.
An epiphany came, every time I thought of Elyssa an attack smacked me. I did not know if I could control myself anymore but if I told Elyssa how I felt about her, maybe I could exorcize the demons. The dense Virginia air drifted through the hall scented with apple blossoms and honeysuckle.


Chapter Forty-seven: Sanctuary Asylum
The revolting word and place, home, rises.  Familiar scenes race by. The smells of Dogwoods mixed with the aroma of low tide invoke memories of spring time in coastal New England. I’m not glad to be back but I’m not displeased the journey is near over.  
We come up to the exit for Fairfield. Surging sooty thunderclouds roll towards us as we speed along. The dog hot air pants through the cracked windows covering everything with spit.
With a sniffle, the sky cries with all of the grief I have forgotten. A soothing torrential bombardment of drum shot raindrops, beads of clean water rat-a-tat-tats on the windshield and we hit a break in the clouds. Columns of sunlight scan the highway.
The rain holds back.
My hopes for an overwhelming display of nature dry up and the breaking clouds give way to glaring rays of the night’s nemesis. I can’t smell anything but the steam from the road as it bellows into the car.   
How am I going to free myself? I feel an attack coming on.  
We pull off the exit and in a couple shoreline miles I will be back in my exile. My clothes are soaked with sweat and I itch from head to toe.  My face is an oily mirror. The neck of my guitar must be warping in the trunk.
The oaks and spruces flag down the lane leading to the beach.  Children play roller hockey on the sandy asphalt and they pull their nets away as we roll up. The sunlight slides through the budding canopy above.  We pull into the driveway without ceremony. My mother and William unbuckle their seatbelts with a click and open their doors.
They get out and my mother heads directly to the front door and pulls a jumble of keys out of her pocket. I sit for a moment and watch William stretch his back.  
He is sweat stained.
He comes back to my open window.
“I’ll help you with your things later, right now, let’s go inside and crank the AC,” he says as I mechanically nod and he begins to stroll, arms dangling, to the door. My mother steps inside. I spin my ring.
I feel fine.
Outside the car, an onshore breeze evaporates the moisture from my face. I stack my boxes on the sun bleached driveway and head inside through the front door. They stare at me from the kitchen doorway. My mother attends to her pile of mail on the counter. William heads to the refrigerator. I pass by my mother into the kitchen and grab a cup out of the cabinet by the sink.
“Nothing missing chief, so we’re in business. Look at the good time we made,” William says.
“Great,” I say and twist the faucet on looking at the junk food lining the tile countertop.  
The stairs do not bend under my weight as I make my way up to my room. It’s hot as clothes dryer. The AC vent to my room closed so I flip the latch to open it. I slip by my easel and crack the window on the front of the house to let the broiling atmosphere out.
A tube of blue paint sits hard as set glue on the palate at my feet. The cap was not screwed on completely. Out the window, the dark line of thunderclouds surge above the trees. A single engine airplane turns toward the beach. I rush down the stairs with short steps and fling out the door. There is no time.
The largest boxes reach the side porch first. I pile them by the door and with five fast forays all my belongings are under the porches protection. William opens the door.
“What are you doing?  I said I’d help you.”
“A storm is coming. I do not need any help now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
It takes me ten trips to put everything in my room. The stairs add weight to my burdens. A click echoes through the room as I turn on the light. The clouds stole the daylight. I survey my possessions and put my books in neat stacks under my desk and then start on my clothes. I didn’t remember having so much in my dorm room.
A bright white light projects through the window like a flashbulb. Then a howl of thunder shakes walls and the foundation of the old house, a salvo to acknowledge my return. A crack in the sky opens and a wall of water falls. The rain pounds the roof and I watch the road become a river. Children dance and splash the run off. I hear mothers yell for their children from their sheltered doorways. The children danced but left the joy of the storm behind.
The spring shower washes away the humidity. The smell of renewal seeps up through the crack in my window. My room is finished and I slump down in the glittering twilight reflecting off the facsimile Renoir and Van Gogh haphazardly hung, half-illuminated.
My door is jolted and I leap up to answer.
“What?” I yell before I open it.
“I’m going to order a pizza and I wanted to know what you wanted on it,” William asks.
Nausea bubbles.
“I do not want any. You guys go. I am taking a nap.”
“Your mother wants to talk to you. I’m just warning you,” he says and I shut the door, grab an old magazine from my desk and begin to read until sleep can’t be denied.
I wake up and look at my clock and it is eleven-thirty. I’m not tired. I am not hungry, but I am bored so might as well go watch cable TV. A little soft-core porno might wake up my little buddy. I creep down to the kitchen for some water.  The top of the pizza box is open on the counter. A half-finished mushroom and meatball pie mocks me. In the TV room, my mother sits with a martini.
I sit down in the leather recliner and she says, “So I see you are up. I’m just off to bed. There’s some pizza left if you want it?”
“I am fine. Are you working tomorrow?”
“No, why is there something you want to do?”
“No, I just wanted to know.”
“Remember if there’s anything you need tell me,” she says.
“Mother, you know what happened. Yes, one of my friends was murdered and the person who did it committed suicide. You must think this messed me up, but I am fine.”
“I was told he was one of your good friends.”
“He was. By the way, I do not think I am going back”
“Good. There are better schools around her for you. We will discuss it at a more appropriate time,” she says.
“There is nothing really to discuss. I have not figured out my plans yet. Go to bed and I will see you tomorrow,” I say.
She puts her drink down and shuffles into the unlit hallway. She turns on the hallway light and I hear the door close. I take a few shots of bourbon to keep the red dots way.
It doesn’t work.


Chapter Forty-eight: A scream at the sunrise
After two days of not sleeping, I take my guitar out and play it for the first time in what seems like months. My fingers are rustier than the iron nails in the antique garage. I have regressed to the point of losing two years. The guitar fits tight into the case and I decide to go for a drive.
The downtown is set in motion with hoards of soccer moms and kids in strollers so I turn on Newfield Road and pull into Veteran’s Park. The tennis court has no net.
The field is brown with withered grass and patches of dry dirt.
I admire the couple walking their black lab next to a No Dogs Allowed sign as a policeman sitting in his patrol car sips his coffee. The dog defecates in plain view but the woman in a pink picks it up with a blue plastic bag. The engine turns over as I crank the key and I smell nothing but low tide. As I pull in the garage, there are no signs of life in the house.  
Having a smoke on the screened in porch, I observe crows flocking around the next door neighbor’s bird feeder posted over their shrubs. The cigarette is ground under heel and I go over to the fence and look. The crows are eating a squirrel on the ground. The image of the crow dive bombing the reporter comes to mind as I go inside. My parched lips smack so I walk over to the refrigerator to get a pitcher of chilled water. The light spills out along with the red dots. They spread across the floor like a puddle.
Paralysis strikes.
My eyes blink.
The atmosphere radiates heat around me and I sweat from my elbows and knees. I don’t want to be found flat on my face on my mother’s kitchen floor so I strain to sit against the cabinet.
Gravity increases and I roll to my side. I have no bones, or muscle-tone. I can’t take this. Die or talk to Elyssa?
With the thought, I can breathe again and decide to decide but not here. I must do it away from this house.
Sleep can’t be denied.
My eyes open to red lights. I pushed back against the wall. The fear breaks as I see it is only the red digital letters on my clock that read six o’clock. The darkness holds on but the sun will soon ascend. I put on a pair of jeans and a black baggy oxford. Gliding out, I grab my mother’s keys off the rack. I know she has to go to work soon but the sunrise calls to me.
I open the garage and put the car in neutral. With only the sound of the tire’s friction on the asphalt, I push it out to the road. The car is a willing accomplice and starts up. Two orange town sanitation trucks sit coughing out exhaust across the sand swept parking lot of Reef beach. They pull out as I pull right up to the sand’s edge next to the stone retaining wall.
Mid-tide scrawls below the horizon. Whitecaps trip and fall off-shore. The beach is clad in a white and gray uniform and the sun is just peaking out over the edge of inky sky. The dune grasses wave in the onshore breeze.
I can hear the wind whip against the car.  It looks too cold to go out and sit in the sand and smoke. The choice is made. I connect the car CD player and took out the last thing I bought at school. A Fishbone CD titled Give a Monkey a Brain and He’ll Think He’s the Center of the Universe.  I light a smoke and the song End the Reign plays with sounds of liquid rebellion.
The somnambulant sun crowns.
The day fights to be born.
An edge of sunlight penetrates the car. I look at my cigarette and the bluish smoke claws up to my eyes so toss the smoke out the window.
The light shines on my hand in slats The scars on my knuckle glow. My fingernails are bitten down to the irritated flesh and my skin is dry. I make a fist and it does not feel natural. They crack every time I flex. My hands are small and no longer paint or play the guitar well.
Nausea bubbles.
The pressure builds.
The sunrise breaks over the horizon and a concussion wave of white light blasts through the windshield and pins me back to the seat. On the dashboard a few red dots spin like a coin on its side. I laugh. The cymbals crash in the song. The power chord strums. The dynamic tension builds and the voice sings. The music enters my skin. I realized that whoever wrote this knows loneliness and rejection like me. 
I am not alone.    
The pressure blows away and my hair begins to tingle.
I am not numb anymore.
My eyes begin to water and cloud up. My facial muscles spasm and it is harder to exhale than to inhale. I force out choppy air and a sort of dizziness fills my head. As the song continues my emotions become stronger. I crack my neck and it sounds like a dry pine beam being twisted into splinters. The song has become my impetus and is a key to open up a fused lock.  
Music is the last magic.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The sun is up. I wipe the tears away but they are replaced. I am crying. The song sings the last chorus. The task is done and I have little life left in my larynx. This new day challenges yesterday and so I whisper to the past, “You no longer hold sway.”
What was the question?  The answer is to be.
The pain in my tooth returns and I know what I must do.
Freedom feels like it sounds.
Pain is progress and numbness is not.
I wipe the tears from the sides of my nose and lips. Up in the rearview mirror staring back at me is a smile, Tim’s smile. He sits in the back seat. He nods his head once and dissolves into light. The darkness stood no chance.
I pull out of the lot and drive home to let my mom get her car before she freaks out. She’s in the breakfast nook drinking orange juice. I wave and pull her keys out of my pocket.
“So where did you go?”
“Just to see the sunrise.”
“That’s nice. Are you all right?”
“Thing is mom, I don’t know. I think I’m having mood swings for no reason and I can’t control it. Feel like I’m losing it sometimes.”
“You know your aunt was Manic-Depressive. I’ll set up an appointment for a psychiatrist. Will you go?”
“Yeah, I will. I don’t think I can handle it on my own. But I’m really hungry right now.”
“We’ll take care of this. You’ll be all right. Don’t worry therapy isn’t a bad thing.”
“I know.”
“Let me fix you some breakfast.”
"Thanks but that’s okay. Go to work. I’ll tell you about the sunrise later. There’s much to discuss and do. There’s a book I’ve been meaning to read and there’s a couple things I have to deal with today. I’ll see you later,” I say.
Down at the table, I sit in a heap and pour a glass of OJ. She stands and hugs me.
I hug her back.
She leaves with a growing grin. The pain in my tooth pierces my gums. I’ll call the dentist later but first another issue needs to be addressed.
On Saturday morning the scent of the beach is strong and I pack my guitar in the trunk of my mom’s car. Maybe I can revisit the opportunity I squandered in the first semester and sing to Elyssa? It’s time to open the letter too. Over the border I drive and pull into the Westport Stop and Shop grocery store parking lot.
The vast rectangular lot provides solitude. Rows of cars are barriers to prying eyes. I dig the piece of paper with Elyssa’s address out of my pocket and Erin’s letter. As her address unfolds, red dots come pouring out over my lap. I roll down the windows so I can breathe. The dots aren’t going to stop me this time.
The envelope is then straightened flat on my knee.
It’s like the glue on the seal gave up and back of the envelope just pops open with a gentle tug on the edge. A sky blue piece of paper rests between the paper walls and slips out while holding onto the creases.
Here it goes.
The letter is written in scrawling cursive letters and takes me a bit to adjust to reading.
“Dear Joaquin Theodore Shepherd Chandler. Find real love. Good bye. Erin.”
Tears merge with the ink on the paper in a cloudy black smear. I compose myself and put the letter back in the envelope. It gets wedged between the seats.
Through the woody hills of the Westport, pine scented air swirls through the driver’s side window as I find her black mailbox at the end of a private road.  I pull past half-way onto the soft shoulder of the two lane road where a drainage gulley sits with stagnant rain water.
Cars honk as they pass by.
“I follow and the red dots follow me.”
There is no where to turn around so I head north to find a street but end up in the town of Weston. The car idles at crossroads as a box truck sputters and honks behind me. I yank the wheel and head back down towards the shore. The folded piece of paper flutters around like a paper crane inside the car. It gets sucked out the passenger window and the red dots follow. 
I know what I must do to make them go away.
***


Down the driveway I seek, the car comes to halt. I pop the trunk and sling the guitar around my back. Up the snaking sidewalk, tiny stones are kicked under foot. and I stab the doorbell with my finger and tap on the glass with my guitar string ring. The door lurks open to reveal a stunned face wearing granny glasses.
“So, you want to jam?” I ask.
The beginning is the end.