Prologue: What the Hell?

All right...what the hell is this?

When I was in high school, I created a character named Erik Armstrong. Erik was based on the more rational, self-conscious side of my personality, and the events of his life were loosely based on those of mine and my friends' lives.

The trouble with Erik? A few stories in, his life had deviated significantly enough from mine that I was no longer writing what I know. By the time he entered college...hmmm, did I even write that last part? Eh, it doesn't matter...I really couldn't continue. The trouble was, he was still together with his girlfriend. He was going to college in Pennsylvania, while she was headed to California. I had no idea what the dynamics of a long-distance relationship would be like, and it would out of character for either of them to break it off because of distance. *sigh*

So I sent Erik off to the big wastebasket in the sky, as it were.

The title of this story is "Adventures in Real Life." I think it's pretty self-explanatory, if a little sarcastic. I also write SciFi/Fantasy, (which is a horrible genre name! When I hear the word "fantasy" I associate it with visions of how life would be life if I were in charge of the universe, not about goblins and wizards and knights. Of course, I went for a Victorian era setting instead of the Middle Ages, but my book still has wizards and whatnot, so I guess it's fantasy) but this story is just contemporary fiction, what I call "cool writing." Let's face it, if you tell someone you're a writer and they ask you what you're book is about "This bunch of wizards trying to save the world from a necromancer," is likely to ellicit a few more unwanted chuckles than "It's about a struggling writer in 1987 New York City." (For an interesting experience, try using the word "elf" in a serious conversation.) Just as an FYI, none of my projects (including this one) fit either description used above (sorry if anyone was hoping for a struggling writer in the '80s. If you want a well-written story to that effect, I recommend The Fuck Up by Arthur Nersesian).

One final note. While proofreading my stories, I notice certain strange grammatical errors where one word is written as another, similar sounding word that is spelled quite differently. For example, I might say "Gun for three days" instead of "Gone for three days." So, if you're reading this and happen to go "...wait, what?" try reading it out loud; it'll probably make more sense. No, I don't know why I do it.

All right, I think that's enough to begin.

Originally posted on December 4th, 2004

A Note to My Constituents

No, this isn't part of the story.

I'm taking a break here to remind everyone that, though Adventures in Real Life is in fact based off of real life, not all the events in it actually happened. Furthermore, most of the characters bear a certain resemblence to people I know. I want to make it clear that I have not simply changed the names of people I already know, I've used those people as a blueprint for the development of fictional characters.

What I'm trying to say is that what you're reading isn't necessarily true. In fact, most of what's coming up was made up entirely. I'm stating this explicitly because I'd rather not have some of my closest friends abandon me for slandering their names.

So remember, if you see a character very similar to yourself, you are probably the basis for that character. However, the actions of that character do not necessarily reflect things you have done or even the way I see you. Instead, they are actions that I think would make for an interesting storyline.

I'm sorry about breaking up the tempo of the story like this, but I'd rather not spend the rest of my time at Allegheny without friends, so I'm sure everyone understands.

Chapter One - Where I'm Coming From

Cleveland, Ohio. Ever been there?

If not, you haven't missed much. The city boasts that it is the city of Rock and Roll, despite the fact that the radio is all corporately owned (with the ironic exception of the classical station my dad listens to on his way to work at Way-Too-Early o'clock) and that the biggest rock band out of the place in the last twenty years was Mushroomhead, whose crowning achievement was hosting MTV's "Headbanger's Ball" once. The title sounds grandiose, but it was a weekly show, nothing too big. Another figure the city maintains, while hardly boasting it, is the highest poverty rate in the United States of America.

It's kind of funny how that happened. About ten years before I was born, everything was normal for a city, especially in the public schools. All the poor blacks and Hispanics were clustered in the tough, inner city schools that did poorly whenever rated and had disturbingly high dropout and crime rates. Meanwhile, around the edges were the lily-white middle class schools where a loud argument in the cafeteria was something people would talk about for days as a "big fight."

Did that description sound a bit racist? Sadly, it's not; it's what was actually happening. However, it did look kinda racist on paper, and in violation of good ol' Brown vs Board of Education (that's the one that made "separate by equal" unconstitutional). So some judge decided that it was time to desegregate the schools by force, since they hadn't be desegregated by nature. Suddenly, middle class parents realized that, at the beginning of next year, their boring, quasi-suburban children would be sharing classrooms with kids who considered leaving the house unarmed a bit of a faux pas. At that point, everyone who couldn't afford a parochial school education for their kids moved out of the city (and by the way, hell predictably broke loose in the schools the next year. For the first time, the white kids got to see black and Hispanic kids as poverty-stricken brutes and the minority kids got to see white kids as arrogant, pansy-ass bastards. What a great way to defuse racial tensions, eh?). This one strikes a personal note for me--my aunt graduated from high school a year early to avoid the butchering of her high school. I've driven past my dad's old alma mater a few times; it's a graffiti-ravage mess now.

Which brings me back to high school. I lived out in the suburbs, where all the middle class people from Cleveland ran to. To say that my school was white was an understatement--"blinding" would probably be more accurate. We treated people of other races like most people treat animals in the zoo--we knew they exist, but if confronted by one on the street, we'd be utterly clueless as to how to react.

So it was hardly a surprise that I wound up in Allegheny College. It's so similar to my high school, it's kinda scary. It's small for a college (less than 2,500 undergraduates), overwhelmingly white (91% caucasian. I swear I'm not a racist, though), and located in one of the most boring parts of the United States of America (Pennsylvania).

So they put me in Ravine Hall. I forget the description listed on Allegheny's web site, but I know the word "nestled" fits in somewhere. What is should read is "Nestled FOUR FUCKING MILES from the rest of campus." Ravine makes up for it by having carpetting and rooms that are slightly larger than the usual three-foot cube called a "Double."

Yes, I had a roommate. And what an interesting fellow he was.

Chapter Two - The Pitfalls of Cohabitation

At some point in July, 2004, a little card came in the mail, addressed to me. The return address was from Allegheny College. I tore it open, revealing a card that told me the name, phone number, street address, and eventual email address of the person I had been fated to share a dorm room with. His name was William Lappalainen.

"You should call him, find out what he's like." said my mom.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." I said.

"Why don't you do that right now?" she asked.

"I'm kinda tired. I'll do it in a little bit, though."

Three weeks later, I called him. I got the answering machine, and left a drawn out, somewhat awkward message asking him to call me back when he got the message.

Ten days later, my mom was insisting I call him again. Apparently, he was dreading first contact as much as I was. I came home from work one day, exhausted (I worked at my dad's machine shop/gulag that summer. The workday was 6:30 AM to 4:30PM, leaving me just a bit bushed by the time we'd get home at 5:30) and with my cache of excuses just about depleted. Around about seven o'clock, the phone rang, and I was delivered.

"May I please speak to Mark?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, Mark, this is William, your roommate."

"Ah, cool. Glad to hear from you. I take it you got the message."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about the delay, we were actually on vacation."

"That's cool. You can tell me all about it when we meet in person."

The conversation continued for awhile, and he seemed like a nice enough guy. The first hint I got that we might not be so compatible was when I brought up the item of video games. When I was five years old, my parents gave me one of the old 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment Systems for Christmas. The first video game I ever played was the original Super Mario Brothers. For my birthday the following March, I was given the greatest video game ever made, Super Mario Brothers 3 (an interesting note: The Guiness Book of Records backs up this claim with the game's world record sales topping 15 million in its NES incarnation alone). By fourth grade, Earthworm Jim and Sonic the Hedgehog from my Sega Genesis were my favorite hobbies. I wanted a Nintendo 64, but never had the means to buy one, being 12 at the time; however, the slight was softened by the arrival of a GameBoy Color, complete with a copy of the life-consuming Pokemon: Blue Version (anyone who's played any of the first three Pokemon games knows what I'm talking about). I scored a Sega Dreamcast at age 13. Anyone who makes fun of that system for its short run deserves to have his genitals cut off (because let's face it, anyone making fun of a video game system is going to be male). After the distressingly short release period for Dreamcast, Mom and Dad decided to hold off buying a new console when PS2, GameCube, and XBOX came out, making sure they'd still be notable the following year. At the time, I wanted a GameCube; I loved the 4-player aspect of Dreamcast, and PS2 was a two player system (and I don't want to hear any crap about that stupid "multi-tap" adapter thing. How many games actually use it? Yeah, that's right!) and I had had a computer running Windows 95, creating an inherent distrust of Microsoft and its XBOX. I'm glad my parents decided to wait; I've since played Nintendo's diabolical Cube and have yet to understand how many fingers the target audience has on each hand--that controller is fucked up. As a result, a brand new XBOX plopped itself under the tree on December 25th, 2002. Well, I wasn't about to part with my beloved console gaming just because I was going to college.

"So, William, do you have a PS2 or XBOX or something, or should I pick one up?"

He seemed taken aback. "Um, no, I don't have either one. Uh, you can get one if you want."

"Okay, no problem. Well, I think that about covers everything. So, I guess I'll see you in a few weeks."

"You too."

"You know, I'd just like to say that you seem to be a pretty decent human being. I was worried I'd get stuck with some weirdo I'd never get along with, but you sound like the kind of person I could spend a year living with."

"Thanks. You too." With that, we both hung up.

By the end of orientation, things became a little less congenial. I was a light sleeper, he was a night owl. Our music collections would probably have had a knock down, drag out fight if they'd met on the street (although I'd like to think my collection would've kicked his ass. I liked punk rock and alternative metal; he liked jazzy pop and soft rock. Our clash of tastes provided me with a humorous mental image of Rob Zombie beating the shit out of Norah Jones). Before he left the room, his clothes had to match; I would simply double check that I was wearing pants.

Ah, well. I wasn't going to let a minor issue like differing tastes ruin my college experience. He wasn't a bad guy; both of us seemed to acknowledge the differences between us, so we each made allowances for the other.

Now I know there's somebody reading this and going, "The bastard gipped me! The title said there were going to be 'pitfalls!'" This is true. The ones stated so far were pretty minor, but I'm still setting the stage. Don't worry, things'll get going pretty soon.

Originally posted on December 5th, 2004

Chapter Three - The Disorienting Process of Orientation

Whoever said "misery loves company" must've been rich in the former and poor in the latter. As I found myself slogging through the experience of having no friends, no points of reference, and no place to run, the knowledge that a little over 650 other people on the same campus were going through the same thing was of little comfort.

The way that Allegheny structured its orientation process so that the students managed to adjust within a few weeks, rather than a few semesters, was to have each Freshman Seminar class form into a "peer group." Basically, it was the fifteen or so freshmen and a pair of sophomores who'd taken the same FS the year before in addition to some sort of bribe this year. They were to accompany us to classes all semester. In the meantime, they were going to help us acclimate in the first twelve days of college, a period in which there were no actual classes scheduled, and I think would have been delightful if I'd had things such as friends.

My peer leaders were Duncan Smith and Kira Vega. Smitty was the kind of guy I would just kind of mutter under my breath about as I passed his type in the hall during high school; too much of a lightweight to be a jock, but a definite partier. He had an effortless charisma with women that I will forever envy. Kira was interesting in that she could switch between intelligent upperclassmen and utter ditz at a speed that would give anyone else whiplash.

One other person caught my eye among my new classmates. The namecard he'd been issued read "Byron Chandler," but he'd crossed out the first name. Chandler had a few qualities in common with me--sarcastic T-shirt, short goatee, etc. But he had a confident, devil-may-care attitude that I would've killed for. He looked like he'd gone through orientation a million times before, but it still hadn't got old. He seemed to be enjoying every minute.

As for the rest of the class, they were an unremarkable lot that I would've expected in any classroom. There was the blonde girl-athelete, the ex-cheerleader, a couple potheads, the overachiever, and of course the ugly slut with no self-esteem. In case you haven't figured out by now, I was the intelligent but self-conscious semi-geek with an eternally pessimistic outlook on life based on endless harassment in high school. Don't get me wrong, I had fun and all, but it was mostly after I decided, "Fuck it, I'm going to do what makes me happy, not what those bastards chuckling in the corner happy." And then there was Chandler.

To this day I have no idea if the following incident was in some form scripted by the college or if it was merely the warped mind of Kira Vega in action. She and Smitty (who kept chuckling) led us onto the lawn outside the Carnegie Building (is there a college campus in America that doesn't have a Carnegie Building?). It was a beautiful day at the end of August, about 80 degrees, a pleasant breeze, not a cloud in the sky. We all sat in a circle under one of the trees on the lawn. It was a perfectly idyllic scene.

Kira opened up her peer leader folder, leafed through a few pages, and scowled. Then she looked up and said, "Okay, this is going to be fun. First, I want each of you to say what chore you hate doing at home the most and why, and make sure you remember what you say."

We looked at each other kind of awkwardly. Of course, that was pretty much the only way to look at people we were capable of executing at this point. A pretty little brunette named Monica began the circle with, "I hate cleaning my cat's litter box, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad."

A few freshmen later, Chandler was up. "I hate having to make the bed, because I know I'm just going to have to do it again the next morning."

I had sat next to Chandler, so I was up next. "I hate emptying the dishwasher, because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it."

A few people down the line, the procession of domestic complaints ended with an Italian guy saying, "I hate having to clean up the bedroom I share with my brother; he always makes a mess." At this point, Smitty just shook his head and stifled a laugh. The rest of us were understandably nervous.

"OK, now that everyone's gone," said Kira, "I want you to say the same sentence you just did, but instead of saying the chore, say 'having sex.'"

"Um, what?" asked the Italian kid.

"Say exactly what you said before, but with 'having sex' in place of the chore." said Kira. Smitty was avoiding eye contact with any of us.

With a little more encouragement, the pretty brunette was coaxed into saying, "I hate having sex, because it's always so dirty and it smells really bad." There was a chorus of nervous laughter. Two strands of confident laughter arose from among it, one from Smitty and the other from Chandler. As the circle worked its embarrassing way towards us, Chandler seemed to be anticipating his turn. When it came time, he stood up.

"Well, I jutht hate having thex, becauthe I know I'm jutht going to have to do it again the nectht morning! Honethtly, there'th jutht no pleathing some people!"

As Chandler sat down, a mammoth grin on his face, Smitty teetered over onto his side in a fit of laughter. A few seconds later, the crowd was roaring. I was impressed.

I was tempted to copy Chandler's routine, but decided it would be a cheap ripoff. Instead, I went for the false confidence I'd learned in high school. "What can I say, folks? I hate having sex because it seems like I'm the only one in my house who still knows how to do it." The reaction wasn't quite up to Chandler's, but it was good enough.

When it came time for the Italian kid to go, he hesitated. He looked like he might chicken out. Apparently the expectant stares got the best of him, though. "I-hate-having-sex-with-my-brother-he-always-makes-a-mess," came the hurried monotone.

Kira wiped some tears from her eyes. "Okay, that's it for today. We'll meet you all at Brooks Circle at 7 tonight for the 'Sex Talk.'"

"Wait, then what did we just do?" asked the indignant Italian kid.

"It's called an 'Icebreaker.' See you at seven!" with that, Kira walked off. I turned to my right.

"The name's Mark. How's it going?" I asked, keeping up the false confidence. If he'd shot down my attempt to reach out, I think I would've broken down and cried.

"Hey, my name's Byron, but I hate it, so just call me Chandler." he said, shaking my hand. "So, you want to hit up the dining hall?"

"Sounds good to me."

Chapter Four - Life in a Parallel Universe

Six weeks into the semester, eight weeks into college, the roommate thing started to become a problem. It wasn't that either of us was a bad person; it was just that we were very different. Perhaps I should be more specific.

Around about age fourteen, I'd decided that wearing clothing thats chief feature is the brand name emblazoned upon it was something I didn't want to be a part of. My logic was that it was the opposite of how capitalism was supposed to work. Companies spend money advertising, trying to get people to buy their product. In the case of >insert popular clothing company here<, people are paying the company for the priviledge of advertising the product. My initial response was to wear clothing--shirts in particular--that bore no writing whatsoever. That got boring pretty fast, and was replaced with the sarcastic T-shirts worn by bored teenagers across the country. When it came to dressing up, it would take a wedding, funeral, or church to get me into a suit (That's right; if you're not getting married, dying, or God, don't expect me to dress up). William, on the other hand, was a slave to fashion. This is one thing that's puzzled me. Most people I know who love fashion are somewhat lacking in self esteem; fashion is a crutch where they can feel superior and get an ego boost. Not true with William; he had one of the most forceful personalities I've ever known. Every piece of clothing he owned (that I saw, at least), was either black or blue.

The things that bugged me were his religious convictions, or rather, lack thereof. I'm just going to get this whole religion thing out into the open right away. I was born to a Lutheran mother and a Ukrainian Catholic father, neither of whom had been to church in years. For the sake of family harmony, I was baptised Catholic. With the exception of a few Easter Sundays and funerals, I never saw the inside of a church until age twelve. Around about that time, I was starting to wonder about God. My brother--six years old at the time--didn't like the idea of going to church every week, but I was willing to try. I'm not going to get into detail, because I know it would alienate a lot of people, but I found God at some point in the Lutheran church. That said, I've got my feet planted firmly enough in reality to remember that lecturing people about how their religion is wrong and yours is right isn't a very effective tactic in converting them. Having gone to a public school, I was put in contact with plenty of people from other religions. Agnostics, Jews, Buddhists, and Atheists were all in my circle of friends, and I knew a couple of Hindus, as well. When you've got a lot in common, even a difference that big between friends is easily overlooked. William's belief system...the only word I can think of it is "antagonistic." My Atheist friends attitudes had been "Look, religion's not my thing. I don't believe in it." William had a mindset more akin to, "Religion's not my thing. I don't believe in it, and neither should you."

One night, we had some people over and were playing Taboo. I don't even recall why it came up, but someone mentioned Jesus. After the round was over, William felt the need to slide in the comment, "Christianity's just a bunch of half-truths anyway."

I don't get mad about a lot of things, but someone spitting at my religion is one of them.

"What did you say?" I asked. He didn't respond. "What the fuck did you just say, William?"

Rather than answer, he gave me a piercing glare. The others looked at me, confused.

"What's going on?" said Ashley, a girl from the next floor.

"Mark's being a jerk, that's all." said William, trying to dismiss me. I've mentioned William's personality being strong; he was used to issuing a statement and having it stick.

Unlucky for him, I'm the adversarial type. "No, William's being an ass, and doesn't care to admit it."

"You know what, who cares? Now come on, let's get to the next round." he said.

At the time, the others knew William better than they knew me; I hated to drop it, but realized I couldn't afford to take him on right then.

There was something else I noticed about William and I. Throughout high school, I was never part of the popular crowd. I don't drink and didn't get my drivers license until after I graduated (it's long story). But I'll tell you something else. My friends and I may not have been popular, but we were happy. I remember one day when one of "cool" kids got suspended for coming to school drunk. I remember hearing the rumors about one of the cheerleaders being on her second abortion. Not us. Sure, we didn't have any great stories to tell, like getting roaring drunk and going streaking in front of the CVS at midnight, but we were happy most of the time. The cool kids had fun, too, (or so I was lead to believe). But the ones who always suffered were the ones who wanted to be cool, but weren't. I had a few friends that were like that; painfully self-conscious with a side order of self-loathing. They couldn't even enjoy the geeky stuff we'd do together. William reminded me of those people. He slaved to make the scene, and seemed to be very unsure of his own standings at any given point. I knew my standings: somewhere near the bottom of the hierarchy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

It was interesting how the two of us meshed. We had the same friends inside the hall, but otherwise nothing in common. It was like we lived in parallel universes that only overlapped inside Ravine Hall.

Early in the year, I found myself hating William. This is something I regret; he hadn't done anything to deserve my ire. The most telling sign of the inappropriate nature of my dislike was the way it vanished; I stopped to think about why I hated him, and came up empty. Having extreme dislike drain away is an odd feeling. By the time of Fall Break, I had decided to give befriending him another try.

Originally posted on December 11th, 2004
For some reason, this particular post loses it's line breaks whenever it's edited. I'm not sure why this happens, but bear with me if it appears to be lacking paragraph structure, since it's probably not my fault.

Chapter Five - Suburban Relapse

It's amazing what you can get used to in eight weeks. I'd gone from living in a suburban house that was honestly a little too big for four people to a 12' X 13' dorm room that was honestly a little too small for two people. In the time I'd been at Allegheny, I'd come to accept the room in Ravine as my base of operations. The Big Blue Box, the affectionate nickname I gave my house in suburbia, was still "home," but the dorm was edging it out.

Fall Break came and changed all that. My mother had her first child (me) at age 32. This is, in my opinion, the worst time to have your first kid. The way things line up, it means that you have your first high school graduation, your first kid leaving the nest, and your fiftieth birthday within the same year. What this means is a mid-life crisis of epic proportions. My mother's midlife crisis was a 2004 black Toyota Solara convertible. It picked me up the day of my high school's Homecoming game.

I was never a football fan, despite my school's team being phenominal for a less-than-500-student school (In my four years at the school, our records were 10-0, 10-0, 7-3, 8-2). I spent many a bored Friday night dragged to those football games by my parents, them wanting to socialize with the parents of my friends and my little brother's friends. Most of my friends were either on the team or in the band. It made for a boring evening.

In contrast, the Homecoming game was fun. I got to see all my friends from high school, some for the first time since commencement. I remember the things that happened that night. Kurtis, one of the "Wish I was cool," types, having come out of his shell in college and introducing me to his girlfriend. Gary, a guy who had a minor mental handicap that kept him out of college, but working hard and looking at a promotion and moving into a place of his own by this time next year. And my eternally stressed, viciously pessimistic best friend Derek, now happy as anyone can be with his new girlfriend. It was an uplifting night. Even seeing some of the faculty was nice. The possible exception was Mrs. Cunningham, the principal.

I'd never been a fan of her; she cared too much. She was the type who created too many rules for the student body to feel comfortable living with. She was one I hadn't missed, and didn't anticipate ever doing so.

So, when she tapped me on the shoulder and set hello, I was less than thrilled.

Just get her to leave. I thought.

"So, how's college going?" she asked. The women was very obese and very short; nearly as wide as she was tall.

"Pretty good, actually. I've got some issues with my roommate, but otherwise I can't complain." Apparently you're not actually supposed to give an honest answer when asked how things are going, but I love to break social rules, so hey, why not?

"Well, that's good. How do you like Allegheny?"

At that moment, I realised that the chains of authority had been severed. My initial thoughts of "Awwwww, she remembered where I'm going to college," were quickly trumped by a little devil on my shoulder yelling "Abuse this opportunity or regret it forever!"

"Oh, I like it a hell of a lot better than here." I proclaimed, struggling to keep a straight face as her smile went limp.

"Um, what did you say?" she asked. I'm sure her stride was broken by her realising the same thing I had about the power dynamics of this situation.

"I said, 'I like it a hell of a lot better than here.'" I repeated, using every particle of self control in my body to keep from laughing.

"Well, you have a nice time, then." she muttered and walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, I cracked up.

But you know, there was one person I looked for, but never found. Kind of like our relationship in high school. It all started in the seventh grade. Now I know some of you are thinking, "Awwww, how cute." Not really. Let me explain.

Her last name was one letter different than mine, so whenever we took the same class, we wound up next to each other. That included my seventh grade social studies class. I'm not sure the exact moment it happened, but one day I came to school and noticed that girls didn't seem quite so...icky...as they had yesterday and as far back as I could remember.

I suppose my brain is wired a certain way. The signs I've seen scare me a little; I'm worried I might have a predisposition for being possessive and controlling--tell me, how do stalkers behave? Hence the apprehension. Anyway, I have a tendency to seek out one girl I like and become...what's the word? Oh yeah, obsessive towards her. I just called it a crush; that sounds less menacing. Anyhow, starting in the seventh grade, I had a crush on this girl. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was, I didn't know how to show it. For five years, I talked to her, was there for her when she choose to need me (don't get me wrong, we weren't as close as this language suggests, it's just the most accurate wording that comes to mind), and never told her how I felt. At the end of my junior year, she started to flirt with me. I didn't know how to reciprocate. She must have interpreted my lack of communication as a lack of interest. I asked her to the Prom; she turned me down.

Her name? Her description? It doesn't matter. I know everyone has a person like this, someone they look back on and say, "If only." Just pretend your If Only is the person I'm talking about. Granted, you may wish for If Onlies in a different circumstance, one more fulfilling. Then again, maybe not.

What ended my devotion to her? A pretty mundane scenario, actually. Her parents were divorced. Her brother and sister were at their dad's house, she was at her mom's. Her mom left for two nights or so. She had a party. Not the kind of party my friends and I had. The kind of parties that you see in movies and TV shows. I didn't go; I don't drink and didn't care to see others doing so. She had no such compunction; she got herself hammered and fucked some guy I barely knew.

Yeah, I didn't sleep much the night after I found out.

If they'd been an item, it still would've busted me up a bit, but I don't think it would've stung quite so much. But the union was meaningless; just a night's entertainment, something to not be spoken of the next morning.

When I felt my hatred of William drain away, I said it was an odd feeling. The sensation of having playful devotion turn into bitter disdain is something entirely different. I avoided her for what little of high school remained. Occassionally she'd try to talk to me either in person or online. I did what I'd always done; I hid my feelings from her. To my knowledge, she never figured out I despised her.

Over the summer, I got over myself. I analyzed what had happened, and it was fairly simple. Over that long crush, I'd fleshed in the details about her that I didn't know with what I wished they were. When you were a kid, did you ever play telephone? You know, the game where one person says something secretly to the next person, who passes along what they've heard, until about eight people later the message has warped into something that sounds similar but means something totally different (well, assuming you didn't have a kid somewhere in the middle who changed the message so it always involved Bob Vila, which is what happened to me in elementary school. Why Bob Vila? I never found out). I played telephone with myself for five years about that girl, until it got to the point where I didn't have a crush on her, I had a crush on my own ideal.

Then reality intervened, as it has a habit of doing to all the best fantasies. Once I figured out that I wasn't agonizing over a pointless hump-and-dump, but in fact mourning the death of a person who never existed, I became disgusted with myself. But you know what?

Disgust will get you over something real quick.

I started talking to her again at some point during the summer. We were friends, for real this time. She still had features that attracted me--not all of her allure had been engineered by my psyche--but they were all roads to a place I had made up my mind I would never go to. Once bitten, twice shy; I never felt a spark for her again.

Looking back, I think the reason I wanted to see her so much that night was to prove that I was still alive, better off without her. As if she cared; as if she was even keeping score. To my knowledge, she never knew how I felt. The funny thing is, after it all ended, I was glad it had happened; I decided that the real girl under all that mystique was someone I was better off without as anything more than a friend.

I offered to drive Derek home that night, and he accepted. We caught up on the car ride back, he told me about Mary, his new girlfriend. I confess I couldn't bring myself to listen too attentively.

After I dropped him off, I had to pass by her house to get back home. I slowed. Her car was in the driveway. Maybe I should stop in and say "hi." I thought.

"No, just keep going, Mark." I said to the empty car. "You never did anything else, why change that now?"

Originally posted on December 12th, 2004

Chapter Six - The Rest of My Life

In late August, 2004, I found myself at my grandmother's house to celebrate my grandfather's birthday. At one point, my Uncle Boris pulled me aside. This is what he told me:

"Make sure you don't get caught up in anything you can't handle. As long as you can do that, college is the best part of your life. The friends you make there will stick with you for the rest of your life."

I guess that makes this the rest of my life.

During orientation, I went to see Troy for free at the Campus Center with some people from my hall (it was abysmal). It was over at about nine in the evening. At this point, I could either wander back to Ravine and talk to my friends back home via Instant Messenger, or mill about the Campus Center. I chose to mill.

The only real friend I'd made thus far was Chandler. Making my way up to the second floor, I discovered that the game room, thus far always closed, was now open and full of people. Having nothing better to do, I decided to see what was up.

Some people were playing pool. A few others were occupying themselves with the vintage video games along one wall (Pacman will forever be a classic). Not feeling particularly invited or motivated to become so, I went around the corner. A few people were playing cards in the corner and a few others were watching a basketball game on TV. I sighed and started to turn back to the door.

"Hey!" said a voice. I turned back to the table of card players. A brunette with glasses was looking right at me. "Want to play?"

I was taken aback. My pessimistic world view has made me forget that such a thing as nice people actually do exist. I walked over to the table.

"Were you talking to me?" I asked.

"Yes." she said. "Do you want in next game?"

"What are you playing?" I asked.

"B.S." she said.

"Bullshit!" put in a big guy across the table.

I chuckled. "I don't know how to play."

"Sit down, it's easy. I'm Katalin, what's your name?"

"Mark." I said, sitting down. "Did you say 'Kaitlin?'"

She sighed. "Katalin. It's Hungarian. Oh, this is Thom--"

"With an 'h.'" said the big guy, nodding.

"Yeah." Katalin continued, "Erick," --a guy who looked like the stereotype of the word "nerd" nodded without speaking-- "and this is my roommate, Linda." The girl seated next to Katalin waved.

I'm not quite sure what happened after that. All I know is that we somehow wound up in the lobby of Walker Annex playing UNO until about two in the morning.

I stumbled into Ravine a little after two and sat down at my computer. I unfolded the paper Linda had given me, with everyone's Instant Messenger screenname on it and entered them in. William came in as I was in process.

"Hey." he said.

"Hey." I answered back, preoccupied.

"How was your night?" he asked. We hadn't yet established any enmity.

"Pretty good. I was actually playing UNO with some people in Walker until about twenty minutes ago."

William gave me a wierd look. He'd been at a dance party at a frat house. I'd like to think he'd spent the night getting shut down, but I have no proof. He certainly came back alone. "UNO, huh?" he scoffed.

I just smiled.

Originally posted on December 14th, 2004

Chapter Seven - The Beginning of the End

My father was fourteen when the last chopper got out of 'Nam. My parents' generation never really had a war of their own, one to tell the kids about. Sure, there were some minor scuffles, but all the big stuff was over by the time they were my age. Not that that's a bad thing, of course.

That's what made it seem so strange that my generation had a war. The War on Terror.

America has a tendency to either ignore a problem or declare war on it. Think about it. America ignored its drug problem through must of the '60s and '70s. Then what? The War on Drugs. See also the War on Poverty and the War on AIDS. Which makes it unusual that the War on Terror actually was a war.

I lived through it. The second half of my high school career played out against a backdrop of the invasion of Afghanistan, and later Iraq. To make matters worse, I did all of this in a Republican household.

If you asked me to pick a party, I'd still side with mom and dad. I'm in college because of the success of a family businiess, so it's in my interests to have an administration that likes businesses. In truth, I call myself a conservative, but not a Republican. Basically, I've become so disillusioned at the corruption shown by both sides. That, and it seems to me that left-wing psychos bug me one hell of a lot more than right-wing nutjobs. For example, take the girl who sits next to me in my FS. At the beginning of the semester, we were all told to come to the front of the room, say our name, and a brief sentence about ourselves.

She walked up to the front of the class. She was about 60 pounds overweight and was wearing a T-shirt depicting George W Bush wearing a McDonald's uniform with the caption "Over 2 Million Served."

"My name is Marie [she pronounced it with a French accent], and I hate George Bush."

That's right. She was told to come to the front, say her name, and say one thing about herself. She used two out of three to decry the Republican President. She knew she would have to put up with these people for an entire semester and deemed that she must use this opportunity, not to bond with her peer group, but to denounce George Bush! Fucking insane (and hardly surprising she used a French accent instead of an American one). At least all the right-wingers do is yell at me for skipping church. Oh, yeah, and something about killing babies.

To their credit, Allegheny came up with a clever way to get the ambivalent and disgusted to show up to the election participation rally at the Campus Center. Two words: all-you-can-eat wings. Okay, that's five words by some definitions. To which I say, I'm the English major.

So anyway, Chandler and I were sitting in the back booth at McKinley's wolfing down said wings. Our plates looked like the rabbit scene from Monty Python. Chandler was a Democrat the way I was a Republican. We'd both lost faith in our government years ago.

"I'm seriously wondering how many chickens died for this." I said.

"The Emcee said something about 1,000 pounds already being eaten." he said between bites. He swallowed. "So, America's fucked either way, am I right?"

"I'd say so. We either get a left-wing cocksucker who wants to turn Iraq into another 'Nam or a right-wing dumbass who can't spell 'Iraq,' let alone rehab it."

"Amen to that, brother. So, how's the roommate situation?"

"Eh, it's all right. He's been a bit touchy lately."

"Don't let the bastard push you around. It's your room, too."

"Easy for you to say. Your roommate's never there." It was true. Chandler's roommate was a transfer student who'd set up his schedule so that he only had class on Monday through Thursday. The guy would show up around eight in the evening on Sunday, stay until his last class ended at 3:30 on Thursday, then went home for the rest of the time.

Chandler grinned. "Hey, we can't all get so lucky. I've never been to Ravine; we should go down there."

"Not tonight, man." I said. "Everybody'll be over there. Ever since he brought back that futon from fall break, our room's the meeting place for our pod and the girls' pod above it."

"Oh, ladies." Chandler said, only half sarcastic.

"Forget it. Most of them are spoken for, one's a ditz, and the other's a bleeding heart liberal."

"You say that likes it's a bad thing."

"What, the liberal or the ditz?"

Chandler just winked.

I sighed. "Damn you, I know I'm gonna wind up taking you back now."

"Mark." said Chandler, looking me straight in the eye. "Before we go any further, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"I don't have sex on the first date."

"Man, fuck you, Byron!" I said, shaking my head.

Originally posted on December 16th, 2004

Chapter Eight - The Middle of the End

Hanging above the rear booths in McKinley's are a bunch of posters made by previous Allegheny students. The one from the 1993-'94 school year is "The Differences Between Ravine and Hell." A few of them have become outdated, but most still ring true. Case in point:

It doesn't rain in Hell.

The rain pattered down around Chandler and I as we made the hike back to my room.

"Chandler," I said. "You're from Pennsylvania, right?"

"Pittsburgh." he said.

I walked for a few more seconds before asking, "It does stop raining eventually, right?"

Chandler snickered. "Yeah; when it snows."

It had been warm for November in the Midwest. However, the difference was between death by hanging and death by lethal injection. Sure, it wasn't as bad as it could be, but forty degrees and torrential rain isn't high on anyone's list of "good weather."

I unlocked the door to Ravine and we went inside. We cut through the D lounge on the way to my room. Thom was there, writing in a notebook.

"Hey, big guy, what's up? Homework?" I asked.

"Nah, it's my story." said Thom.

"You write, too, eh? The name's Chandler, by the way." put in Chandler.

"Hi, I'm Thom. With an 'h.' Are you a writer?"

"I write some. What's your story about?"

"The life of a young god and the world he rules. How about yours?"

"It's about a writer in the mid-eighties in New York City whose life parallels the life of Jesus Christ."

Thom was speechless after hearing Chandler's premise. It was the usual response. I've read parts of the manuscript, and I thought it was well done. Chandler had just introduced Aaron Stone, a forty-something Indie-rock singer who was going to mirror Peter. I was pretty sure it'd make him famous if he ever managed to finish it.

"So, why are you out here in the lounge?" I asked Thom.

"Eh, all this election shit is getting old." Thom was born in Canada and moved to Pennsylvania when he was four. As such, he wasn't a U.S. citizen and couldn't vote. He was one of the few people on campus who genuinely didn't give a shit about politics.

"That's actually just where we're headed." I said. "I'll bet you at least six people are already in my room."

"You're a popular guy." said Thom.

"They ain't there for him." said Chandler. He does that sometimes; his English is superb, but he goes into voices from time to time, one being the uneducated slacker.

"Thanks, Chandler. You're really boosting my confidence, here. But seriously, we'll see you later, Thom. You're welcome to stop by, if you'd like."

"Same here. We can watch a movie or something, if you get sick of the whole election thing." said Thom as we left.

"Nice guy. When'd you meet him?" Chandler asked as we mounted the stairs.

"Orientation." I said.

"Hey, that reminds me." said Chandler, stopping. I turned and faced him. "When am I going to get to meet this Katalin you keep talking about?"

"Well, if you'd gone with us on Halloween, you would've met her already."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I regretted going to the Delt' Halloween Party, happy? Now, seriously, when am I going to meet her?"

I sighed. "We'll probably do something this Friday. I'll meet up with you at dinner, how's that sound?"

Chandler curled out his lower lip. "Sounds good."

We finished the short flight of stairs to first floor E Tower. William's insipid laughter greeted us.

"That'll be him." I said.

"Doesn't sound so grumpy to me." said Chandler.

"Apparently he decided it would be impolitic to be moping around at this juncture." I muttered.

Chandler gave me a puzzled look. "Hey, English Major, you're talking to a Biochem kid, remember?"

"He decided it would look better if he was happy right now. Drama queen."

We came around the corner. As predicted, six people were already in the room: William in the office chair he'd brought from home (dubbed "the captain's chair"), Ashley, Morgan, and Jerry on the much-maligned futon, Amanda on William's bed, and Norman from next door sitting cross-legged on the floor. I'd go into their personalities, but they don't matter much for what was brewing.

"Hey, dude." said Jerry, friendliest of the group, also a Republican. "Our dude's winning."

"Only by three." put in Amanda, the bleeding heart I'd mentioned at McKinley's.

"Yeah, great. Everybody, this is Chandler. He's in my FS. Chandler, this is Amanda, Jerry, Morgan, Ashley, Norman, and William, my roommate."

There were murmurs of welcome. I sat down at my chair before realizing there was nowhere for Chandler to sit. "Um, there was another chair that came with the room. It's in the bathroom across the hall--"

"Nah, I'm good." said Chandler. He scooted in along the edge of the futon, putting him between Ashley and the end. He was about three feet from William's chair.

"So, as I was saying, Kerry is the only logical choice because--" William was interrupted in his pontificating as Chandler nonchalantly stretched his legs out, using William's armrest as a footstool. "Um, could you not do that?"

Chandler had already launched into a conversation with Ashley.

"Excuse me." said William, visibly pissed. "Could you move your feet."

"Sorry, what?" asked Chandler.

"Your feet. Could you move them?" I could tell that every ounce of courtesy was faked.

"Yeah, sure. Didn't think you'd mind." he lowered his feet.

Chandler seemed to be hitting it off with everyone other than William, who seemed less than thrilled at Chandler's presence.

Around one AM, it dawned on me that it was a Tuesday, meaning I had class in eight hours.

"Hey, I don't want to be an ass, but it's getting late and I have class tomorrow..."

"Say no more." said Jerry. The others murmured in agreement and shuffled out, until only William, Chandler, and I were left.

"Well, I'll see you later." said Chandler, shaking my hand. "Good luck, you conservative bastard."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll see you. Take care, you liberal scum."

With that, Chandler headed back for his room in Walker Annex. I shut the door behind him.

"Who was that guy?" William demanded once it was shut.

"My best friend, actually." I said, unpacking my shower stuff.

William scoffed. "Maybe you should reconsider your friendships, because he was an ass."

"Maybe I should reconsider my living arrangements." I muttered under my breath as I went out the door.

Originally posted on December 21st, 2004

Chapter Nine - Dinner and a Show

When I was in high school, I was both lazy and brave enough to buy my lunch each day. This mixture of paste, sawdust, and animal parts best left unnamed was served up by a company called Sodexho. Why a food company choose an anagram of "do ho sex" for its name is beyond me. Why people would employ such a company was an easier nut to crack; they were cheap.

The day I graduated, I assumed--among other things--that I would never have to choke down that garbage again.

Guess what?

Allegheny's sole food supplier for both McKinley's Food Court and Brooks Dining Hall was (surprise!) Sodexho. To their credit, the Allegheny lunch ladies tried a lot harder to make the food edible than than the ones high school had. They succeeded about 60% of the time.

The Thursday morning after the election, I stuffed down a sausage muffin sandwich at McKinley's that probably added a full inch of obstruction to every artery in my body. I made my way to Carnegie Hall for my Freshman Seminar.

Professor Saldauzar split us into four groups of three or four. My luck was somewhere in the middle, as my group contained neither Chandler nor Marie. I was with two girls. One was an innocent young lady named Mandy that Jerry had gone to high school with and described as "a sweetheart." The other was one I couldn't quite figure out; she could've been a stoner or a workaholic who didn't get enough sleep. She was bleary-eyed as hell that morning. Her name was Melissa.

"All right, everyone." said Prof. Saldauzar. He's pretty cool, as professors go. He reminded me of that one cool uncle everybody has. "Your assignment for today is more about my role as your freshmen advisor than as your professor. I want each group to brainstorm ideas on the following questions, then we'll share each answer as a group."

"Question one: What have you been doing well this year, and what do you think you need to work on?"

"Well," said Mandy, "I think I've been studying enough, but I need to work on finding other things to occupy my time. I'm thinking of taking an extra class next semester, just because I keep getting bored."

"I've got the opposite problem." said Melissa. "I keep getting...distracted."

Stoner. I thought.

Mandy giggled at Melissa. "I know what you're talking about!" She winked conspiratorially. "I've seen you around campus with your boy-toy. What year is he? Freshman?"

Melissa smiled. "Sophomore."

"Sounds like you've got plenty to occupy your time." I said.

Mandy giggled and Melissa asked me to give my answers.

"I need to quit procrastinating. For example, I've got a five page paper due tomorrow, and I haven't started it yet."

"What have you been doing well?" prompted Mandy.

"Half of Brooks Hall!" Chandler called from across the room. I turned in my seat to face him.

"You'd better be done!" I called back. He flashed a thumbs-up. "Well, it took me awhile, but I've finally gotten used to dorm life."

The next three questions were "you had to be there" types that mean nothing in retelling. The last question, on the other hand:

"If you could change one thing about your life at Allegheny so far, what would it be?"

Some jackass stage whispered, "My Freshman Seminar!" Prof. Saldauzar laughed it off.

"If I could change on thing, I'd probably have tried to meet more people during orientation." said Mandy.

"See, I would've put Chemistry off until next semester. It's kicking my ass, having it and Calculus II at the same time." said Melissa.

I sighed. "I'd have a different roommate."

"Really?" asked Mandy. She knew I lived on the same hallway as Jerry; all three of us had went for dinner together once or twice. "Who's your roommate now?"

"Class President William Lappalainen." I sighed. He'd picked up the title a month-and-a-half earlier by "triumphing" with 20% of the class' vote. His opponent had been a girl named Maria Bacci, who'd lost the election (which had only 32% participation, the lowest in the school's history) by failing to post a bio on the candidates' web page. I'd voted for her anyway, finding the idea of voting for a stranger less repugnant than either voting for Prince William or abstaining.

"Really? I didn't vote for president." said Melissa. I thanked her.

"What's wrong with him?" pressed Mandy.

"Well, he's really effeminate. Not that in and of itself is bad, but he uses it to condescend on things like fashion. Another thing is that he's really egotistical, and is a total drama queen. He also gets these weird mood swings."

"Wow. That sucks." said Melissa. "How do you put up with him?"

"I've been trying to be patient, it's just that he's hard to work around--"

"Attention, ladies and gentleman," interrupted Chandler, suddenly standing behind Mandy. "Class ended 45 seconds ago."

"Right. Well, have a good weekend, girls." I said. Chandler and I headed towards Brooks. When we got there, Chandler reached into his pocket and swore.

"Shit, I left my ID card in my room." he said.

"Relax, I'll spot you a meal." I offered.

"No, I'll just run and get it. Save me a seat."

Walker was the annex to Brooks, so Chandler's room was nearby. I agreed and got us a table.

As I was digging into the pile of broiled ground-up horse placenta the nutrition information card called a "cheeseburger," Melissa happened to sit down directly in my line of sight. A guy sat down next to her. I wasn't so much watching them as I was letting my head sit in the neutral position. After all, my eyes had to point somewhere.

Without warning, the two of them started making out.

Call me old-fashioned, but I find watching two people (who are marginally attractive at best) swap body fluids in any form somewhat revolting. The fact that they were going at it in a crowded dining hall at its peak hour didn't help me any.

I must have been staring, because I didn't notice Chandler until he spoke.

"Damn, I hope she doesn't have a tongue piercing, or he can kiss his tonsils goodbye."

"Oh, hey. You wanna just sit somewhere else?" I asked.

"What's the matter, you don't want dinner and a show?" he chuckled.

"I would've preferred just some food, thank you very much."

Originally posted on December 24th, 2004

Chapter Ten - Prince William Versus Lord Byron

After lunch, Chandler and I went back to my room. Chander nearly had a single, but he didn't have a TV, let alone an XBOX. William had class until two on Thursdays, so we'd basically have the room to ourselves until then.

While Thom and I were in Erie a week earlier finishing off our respective Halloween costumes, I'd picked up the XBOX version of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for cheap. I was playing some mindless Flash game on the Internet while Chandler reclined on William's futon and engaged in the orgy of unnecessary obscenity that is GTA.

At 1:30, William burst in, a full forty-five minutes ahead of schedule. He looked like he'd been hit by the bus to Screwed on its way from Stressed. Chandler on his futon being the first thing he laid eyes on probably didn't help.

"You're back early." I said.

He stomped over to the printer paper box he used as a nightstand and slammed his keys down, dumping his other stuff next to the box.

"Yeah, Mark, I'm going to need the room to myself for the next few hours, so if you and your friend could just leave, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks." said William, starting to lay down on his bed.

By nature, I'm not a confrontational person. In the past, when William had asked for private time, I'd given it to him. I probably would have this time, if not for Chandler.

"Sorry, not gonna happen." said Chandler.

William was pulling the blankets up. "Mark, tell your friend to shut up."

"Again, not on the menu." was Chandler's retort.

William rolled over to face Chandler. "Then it better get on the menu pretty fucking quick! Oh, and add a side order of get the hell off my futon, asshole!"

"Eh, I'm good."

William had tried butting heads with Chandler and found him to be reminiscent of a concrete slab. So he moved on to a target he knew to be softer, more like rubber.

"Mark, come on, I'm trying to get some sleep here." William appealed.

You know what? Rubber can be pretty damn hard if it's stretched over a concrete slab.

"Maybe if you hadn't waited until 4AM to start your homework, you wouldn't be so fucking tired." I responded.

Now the lines had been drawn. William decided to place a bet.

"If you two don't get out now, I'll make you regret it."

Chandler called it. "You're three inches shorter, twenty pounds lighter, and outnumbered. Bring it on, little man."

William laid down a full house by getting out of bed, grabbing my XBOX, and yanking on it until the connecting wires popped harmlessly out of their socked on William's TV.

Chandler dropped four aces via an amused laugh. "Look at that! Dude, do you know how fucking pathetic that was? You didn't even throw it! You're so afraid of getting the RA called on you that you oh-so-daintily set it down, instead of acting like you've got a pair and throwing it!"

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have felt so thrilled about Chandler chiding William on not doing any permanent damage to my stuff.

William jumped back in with, "If I'm so afraid would I--"

At this point, Chandler wordlessly put down his controller and withdrew his Allegheny College keyring from his pocket. They'd been handed out during Orientation--they were the kind that look like mountain climbing gear. Chandler slipped it over his middle, ring, and index fingers on his right hand, making it into a makeshift set of brass knuckles. With his free hand, Chandler beckoned William closer, his face completely blank.

William wavered, then finished his sentence. "--Do this?"

William stomped out of the room, grabbing my backpack as he passed. Chandler ran up and kicked the door shut behind him.

"What'd you do that for?" I demanded. "We should follow him!"

"No." he said, oddly calm. "I've seen this type before. He wants you to follow; if you do, he holds all the cards."

"So what would you do?" I asked.

"Well, he did just walk off with one of your possession without asking, so he has technically stolen from you. Care to take a trip to Reis Hall?"

"What's in Reis Hall?" I asked, gathering the cables from the XBOX.

"Residence Life headquarters." said Chandler as he bent over to help me.

"I getcha." I said. "But first, let's pack this thing up and take it to Jerry's room. Let William think he's won."

"Good idea. Just make sure you lock the door behind you."

"What difference will that make? He's got the key."

Chandler laughed. "No, he doesn't. He left his keys right over there."

Originally posted on January 1st, 2005

Chapter Eleven - Ashes, Ashes

My mom worked as a Registered Nurse before I was born. She quit her job in order to raise me. By the time I was two, Mom had figured out that she just wasn't cut out to be a full-time housewife (this makes her sound like a bad mother. In truth, she was too energetic and needed something to occupy her time). So when I was almost three, she would drop me off at the house of my paternal grandmother ("Baba;" this was the Ukrainian side, after all). I was her only grandchild thus far, and she was more than happy to have me.

After I turned three, Mom and Dad enrolled me in a preschool program run out of a local church (we didn't attend church yet, but Mom and Dad figured it would be good for me to meet some kids my own age). One of the favorite games of the teachers was "Ring Around the Rosie," a children's rhyme that actually rattled off the symptoms of the black plague. In case you're not familiar with this delightful song (and it's underlying meaning), it goes like this:

Ring around the Rosie (The rosie rash that would spread over a plague victim's skin)
Pocket full of posies (Flowers were sometimes used by the infected to hide the smell of decaying flesh)
Ashes, ashes (Bodies of plague victims were burned once it was determined this would slow the plague's spread)
We all fall down (The tendency of the plague to wipe entire households, or even entire towns, within a few days)

The teachers had taught us gestures to go along with each verse, culminating with everyone jumping to the floor and giggling at "all fall down!" When you're four years old, it's easy to have a good time.

Come to think of it, it's not so hard when you're eighteen, either.

"Uno!" Katalin proclaimed with a bit too much glee. Thom just shook his head from behind the wall of cards that composed his hand.

"Looks like she wins...again." muttered Jerry in a tone that showed he was only faking frustration.

Katalin just grinned.

It was almost midnight two weeks after the incident with William. I'd moved to the third floor of A Tower three days after that. My new roommate was a quiet, athletic guy named Jamie that I got along with much better than William (of course, I probably would've gotten along better with Charles Manson than William by that point).

We were all gathered in the D Lounge of Ravine Hall. It was technically the "quiet study" lounge, but B Lounge was a wasteland with institutional carpetting. As it turned out, William had used his position as class President along with some strategyic bitching at ASG (Allegheny Student Government) meetings in order to get D Lounge an upgrade.

Within a few minutes, Katalin had proven the winner. Yawns passed around the table.

"Well, guys, I'm out." said Jerry. "'Night 'night."

"Yeah, I'm going to call it a night." yawned Ashley.

In fact, no one remained opposed to breaking up for the night and getting some sleep. It was a Thursday, so we all had class the next day.

Katalin and Linda--her roommate that I'd met at Orientation--had apparently had a falling out. They weren't anywhere near the territory William and I had plunged through, but they were maintaining separate circles of friends. That said, Katalin was the only one of us who had to leave Ravine to get back to her room.

Katalin was very jumpy, a personality quirk that I often exploited to hilarious ends. She had the grace to not smack me after I would startle her and chuckle, so I repaid her the favor by walking her back to her room on nights when she came to Ravine after dark.

Now, I know someone out there is reading this and thinking I'm fishing for sex or something. The truth is, Katalin and Chandler were my two best friends on campus. It was genuine friendliness--not some hope of gratification--that motivated me to trudge through the damp November night with her. That, and I enjoyed her company.

"I wish Chandler would come down here one of these times." I said. "I really think you'd like him."

"We met last week, actually." said Katalin. "I can see why you like him."

"Really?" I was thrilled. "How did you two hook up?"

I regretted my choice of words instantly. "Hook up," made me sound like an MTV Veejay, for whom I have a healthy measure of distaste for.

"Define 'hook up.'" said Katalin. At this point, a little red siren light popped up inside my head, unlit. There was noticeable tension in her words. I tried to ease it with some sarcasm.

"I meant 'meet each other.' Unless there was some crazy sex going on, but I think he would've mentioned that."

The long silence made that little siren start to spin and whine.

"Well, there wasn't any sex, per se. Just kind of a random--"

My ears switched off at that point as two sides of my psyche declared war on one another. One side antagonistically proclaimed that Chandler had somehow overstepped his bounds and must pay. The other's jubilant cry was "Linda lied! She's available!"

You see, back in September, Linda had mentioned that Katalin was still together with her on again/off again boyfriend from high school. One of my beliefs has always been that it's just wrong to hit on women who are attached (mostly because it sucks to be the guy on the other side of that arrangement). In consequence, I'd treated Katalin like a sister I never had, never really questioning whether I liked her or liked her. About halfway down the Quade Walk, that unasked question was answered.

However, my newly found affection for her was instantly ripped in half by this percieved act of infidelity. See what I mean about being possessive?

Katalin was still talking. "...So I guess you should go make out with some random girl, so then we'd be even."

"I think I may pass on that, if you don't mind." The voice didn't sound like mine. It was flat, devoid of emotion.

"So, you're not mad or anything?"

I employed the only defense mechanism I knew; I hid everything. "Nah, I's not like you're my girlfriend or anything."

If this were a movie, we both would've stopped walking. We would've looked each other in the eye.

"Do you want me to be?" she'd ask.

"God, yes." I'd reply. We'd embrace, the rain would cease, and we'd have a long, passionate kiss.

But this wasn't a movie, so she sneezed instead. The rain didn't even slow down.

"Um, could you not spread this around?" she asked.

I looked at her face, saw the real concern there. "Don't worry about it. Nobody needs to know."

"I'm worried about this, though. Look, I know you guys like to joke about me being a whore--" There was a running gag that Katalin's FS was "Porn." (And yes, the "oral presention" and "group project" jokes had been done to death) "--and that it's all in good fun, but I'm really not. I'm afraid people will hear about this, and then hear those jokes, and--"

"Katalin. Don't worry. Chandler didn't even tell me about it, and I'm his best friend. It's not going to get out."

"Wait. He really didn't tell you?"

"Not a word."

"I thought you were being sarcastic. So, how did you guess?"

"Um, I was being sarcastic, just not about Chandler telling me anything."

Then, for the first time ever, I heard Katalin swear.

All that came to mind was "We all fall down!"

Originally posted on January 7th, 2005

Chapter Twelve - The End of the End

My dad ran a machine shop. Being the president of a small business, he understood the need to balance the cutting edge of technology with the dull reality of a limited budget. As a result, we always had a computer at home, but it was always a few years obsolete.

I remember playing one of the old games on the household's first computer, a monstrosity with a 286 processor (I'm not going to bother to explain how slow that is, suffice it to say that this machine never filled its 20 megabyte hard drive. That's right 20 megabytes, as in less than .02 gigabytes. Derek once gave me the exact number, but I forgot it months ago). That was back when video games had to rely on captivating gameplay, as opposed to current bestsellers that are lauded for their ability to render a human spleen in flight from its owner's rocket-ravaged body. One of those archaic games was called Heartlight. It featured a delightful little gnome who had to dodge various traps and enemies so that he could collect little hearts scattered around each level. I'm sure there was a storyline behind this endeavor, and I'm almost as sure that it was more mediocre than the game's feeble graphics.

The level I found most challenging was one where the little gnome had to follow behind an enemy's back and slip into a side corridor at just the right time to grab the last heart. The enemy was on a preprogammed path, so it couldn't turn around until it hit the wall a few squares from the passageway. Miss the narrow window in its passage, and the box-shaped enemy would run your little gnome down like it was a jackrabbit under a semi truck, forcing you to restart the level.

After giving Katalin an awkward "goodnight," I felt much like that little gnome, carefully staying out of her line of vision and range of hearing. I had to get down to first floor Walker, but wanted her to think I was headed back to Ravine. Luckily, Katalin lived on the third floor. Dodging her just as the gnome had dodged his 16-pixel enemy, I managed to sneak into the hall without her noticing.

It was about 1AM by this point. I had to get up by eight, but figured my thoughts would keep me wired awake for hours, anyway.

I'd only been there twice before, but I remembered the room number. A dusty nametag that read "Justin" hung on one side of the door; I knew its companion had been ripped down months ago. A bumper sticker that simply said "The Damned" was the only thing on the door itself (Chandler had given me the impression it was the name of a band. Whether he liked their music or simply wanted to have his door marked "The Damned" had never been clear) besides the number plate. I knocked loudly.

Chandler opened the door a moment later. He was still dressed and his desk lamp was on, the desk covered with papers I assumed were homework.

A lot of people are surprised with the contrast between Chandler's personality and his room. Except for the sticker on the door, the walls were unadorned. Everything was neatly stacked into a bookshelf in the corner. It was plain to see that this wasn't where Chandler lived, only where he slept (and apparently studied, as well).

"We need to talk." I said.

"Sure. Come on in." he replied.

I sat down on Chandler's roommate's desk chair. He would've left for the weekend about eight hours ago.

"So, how did you get in here so late?" Chandler asked. "Brooks was locked hours ago."

"Katalin."

"That's right, she does live here. So, what did you need to talk about?"

"The same."

Chandler exhaled.

"Shit." he said.

*

Thirty minutes later, an RA threw me out and threatened to write Chandler up for violation of quiet hours. Nothing had been resolved except that we would not be sharing a table at Brooks for the forseeable future. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have torn that sticker off his door. That's when the real shouting started.

The rain had picked up. I stumbled and fell while crossing Brooks circle and somehow managed to land on my hands and knees in a puddle with the approximate depth of Lake Superior.

By the time I got back to Ravine, I had forgotten what "dry," meant, and "warm," was quickly fading from memory.

Taking stock of the evening, I realized I was having some trouble with "happy," as well.

Originally posted on January 8th, 2005

Chapter Thirteen - The Girl of My Dreams

In my psychology class, we spent about three days talking about dreams. There are several theories about where dreams come from. The one my professor liked best (and thus spent the most time on) was that, during sleep, the synapses of the brain fire randomly. The brain then tries to interpret the firings as sensory input.

It's a pretty good theory. It would explain why dreams rarely make much sense. I think there's more to dreams, though. Something that makes them less random.

After tossing and turning for several hours, I finally fell asleep at some time after 3AM. My mind had been buzzing with the whole Katalin/Chandler problem until it finally burned itself out, affording me some rest.

Most of the night I was comatose, but some time after seven, I started to dream. This happens a lot within the last hour before I wake up. For all I know, I dream all night and only remember the last hour or so. The dream I had that morning seemed like a consolation for the disarray that had erupted into my personal life.

In the dream, knew I had to get up by a certain time. But I wasn't in my dorm room in November. Instead, I was back in the suburban house I grew up in, and it looked like summer outside. The clock on my nightstand read 8:00AM. Time to get up.

I went downstairs to the kitchen. Though the act of eating breakfast wasn't part of the dream, finishing it was. As I put down the spoon and empty cereal bowl, I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was a digital clock, the last working piece of the house's decayed intercom system. It was 11:43.

The only time I was ever late to school (that I remember) was in the seventh grade. I slept through my alarm and went through my morning routine on autopilot, not realizing what time it was until the bus was three minutes away. I had to have my mother drive me to the last bust stop in order to make it on time.

The incident in the dream was reminiscent of that morning. Which is probably why I did in the dream what I'd wished I could've done that day--instantly appeared in front of my high school.

I hadn't seen another human being for course of the dream, yet I wasn't surprised when I saw my old friend Kurtis riding toward me on a bicycle (which is strange, considering I never saw him ride one in real life).

"Mark!" he yelled, not slowing down. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm late for school!" I said, as if the past year of my life hadn't existed.

"There's no school today!" Kurtis yelled as he passed me.

Of course there was no school. I looked around at the beautiful blue skies and green grass, the fully-leafed trees. It was summer. Nevermind that Kurtis and I had graduated--it was summer!

Except that I was a couple of miles from home and had no way to get back.

"How did I get here?" I asked, trying to remember my source of transportation to my alma mater. "And, more importantly, how do I get back?"

I pondered things for a few moments before deciding I would have to walk.

I'd made it about three houses past the school when I saw a familiar figure mowing a lawn ahead. That must have been her summer job, I thought (an idea that made no sense, since I knew she worked at a Burger King drive-thru year-round).

It was my If Onlyl. But something was different. When she noticed me, she let her mower go and (completely undirtied by her work) came over to me. That's when I noticed what the difference was. This wasn't the girl had chased through all of high school--this was the ideal I'd fallen in love with.

We exchanged some words I can't recall. Then we embraced. In that moment, I had everything I need right then.

*

It's amazing how one moment of peace, one that's not even real, can give you the strength to face the day. My alarm went off at 8AM, giving me just under five hours' sleep.

Somehow, those five hours were the most restful of my life. It was time to fix things before I added another pair of If Onlys to my life.

But first, I needed a shower.

Originally posted on January 8th, 2005

Chapter Fourteen - Freshman Psychology

In high school, I had Mrs. Evans for English. She was the toughest teacher on the faculty (one year, she made a bulletin board she would put all the essays that got an A on for the duration of the year. In June, the grand total was three). Fate was kinder to the rest of creation; some people only had her one year, others never at all. I had the misfortune of landing in the class that would shift with her as her curriculum was changed from first year english to second and third in order to compensate for the upperclass english teacher having collapsed psychologically at the end of the 2000-2001 school year. Nervous breakdowns are a bitch, I'm told.

In Mrs. Evans class, it was more or less impossible to complete the assigned reading on schedule. There were three options:
A.) Drop the class. Not a good choice for a prospective English major like me.
B.) Pull a D. An unhealthy course of action if I planned to remain under my father's roof. He was class Valedictorian in high school, and he never lets me forget it.
C.) Learn to skim, speed-read, and generally bullshit your way to a B.

The solution was clear. My mom always told me Mrs. Evans was preparing me for college, she just assumed it was in a different manner.

That said, I'm pretty sure the lesson that day was about a Wordsworth poem that we had had a pop quiz on the week before. I haven't read it to this day (and I pulled a C+ on the pop quiz. Thank you, Mrs. Evans!). To tell the truth, the lesson could've been "Achieve Riches, Fame, and Eternal Life in Two Simple Steps," and I don't think I'd have been able to muster up the attention. At that moment in time, nothing outside my skull could compete with the tempest inside it.

Katalin should be an easy mess to fix. I'd either hidden myself from her or she was too nice (or possibly too embarrassed) to show she'd figured me out. The part that hurt was that I'd have to give her the If Only treatment--it was plain enough she didn't reciprocate my feelings.

I was knocked from my reverie by my prof's loud voice. She had a tendency to conduct the entire class at the top of her lungs.

"So, what is Wordsworth getting at!?"

I decided to make it look like I gave a rat's ass about William Wordsworth in the hopes of getting her to shut up for awhile--lack of sleep and presence of noise were giving me a headache. I volunteered a stock answer, modified slightly from its days in Mrs. Evans' class.

"He's commenting on the dichotomy of human existence, the contrasts of city and country life." I said, reflecting on the fact that I'd been using that line for close to three years and still had no idea what "the dichotomy of human existence" meant, only that educators in general ate it up.

"Good, good. Someone else, build on that!" Hook, line, and sinker.

Chandler might be a bigger project. We'd never been in a fight before, so I didn't know how he'd react. Maybe he'd shrug it off and welcome me back. On the other hand, I wouldn't rule out him jumping me on my way out of Brooks. It was Chandler, after all. More likely, he'd try some sort of mind game on me. I'd put up with it if I had to.

Thom sat directly behing me. I heard him ask me if I was okay. Apparently I'd started visibly when it dawned on me--I was thinking about Chandler the same way I'd thought about William.

"Yeah." I whispered. "Everything's fine."

It was a lie.

*

I needed to talk to someone. Without delay. Katalin and Chandler were both out of the question, and Thom and Jerry had class.

By now it was 11AM, and I had finished English and Psychology, leaving me free until History at 2:30. I knew Ashley didn't have class until after lunch, so I headed for E Tower.

Ashley had switched roommates within a week of me. She had originally roomed with a girl named Gwen. They were both nice people, but Ashley tended toward more conventional behavior while...ah, hell. I'll just go out and say it: Gwen was a party girl, Ashley wasn't. Most of the girls on the floor thought Gwen was easy and rejected her for it. Gwen told me she was a "kissing slut," but swore she didn't sleep around. She wasn't my type, so I took her word for it and left the issue alone.

What this switch meant was that Morgan was now Ashley's roommate. Word had reached me that Morgan was the only one in the tower who'd wanted me to leave instead of William (I had decided it was easier to bite the bullet and move than put up with the drama he'd be sure to kick up at the prospect of getting his ass out of the tower). Apparently Prince William had been unsuccessfully trying to take liberties with the ladies and was quickly wearing his welcome thin.

Morgan was the only classical beauty in the pod, but finished well short of the other girls on self-esteem and general friendliness. She had a tendency to solicit unwelcome advice and to steer any conversation in her direction. To her credit, she made an effort to be nicer to me after she found out how I felt about her. Like most people I've met, I wouldn't classify her as necessarily a bad person, just different from me.

Really, my biggest single complaint about Morgan was that she and William attracted each other like opposing magnetic polls. She was his version of Katalin, I suppose.

The trouble was that when I poked my head in the door, William and Morgan both present in addition to Ashley. There were three people in the world I didn't want in on this conversation, and William was one of them (the other two being Chandler and Vanilla Ice, just because I fucking hate Vanilla Ice).

"Hi, Ashley." I said. "Morgan, William."

Ashely smiled and returned the greeting. Morgan said "hi," absent mindedly. William didn't acknowledge my presence.

"What's up, Mark?" asked Ashley.

"Nothing much. Just looking for somebody to talk to. You're not busy, are you?"

"No, no, I'm clear." she glanced over her desk to where Morgan and William were still enveloped in whatever conversation they were having. "Want to go to lunch?"

"Sure." I said.

"Oh, where are you going?" threw in William.

"Brooks." I said.

"Oh, get us a table, we'll catch up to you!"

"Okay, see you there." I said, faking enthusiasm.

"McKinley's it is." I said once Ashley and I had passed the fire doors.

Ashely giggled. "Sounds good to me."

"So, how goes the new living arrangements?"

"Better." she said. "Morgan and I have issues, but it's nothing like Gwen and I did. How about you?"

"Eh, Jamie watches a lot of TV. That's my biggest complaint, so you know there's nothing bad going on."

We continued with the small talk. Ashley judiciously avoided commenting on the proverbial elephant-in-the-room I had on a leash behind me.

We were early for lunch, and so managed to get our food quickly before parking ourselves in the back booth--the same one I'd sat with Chandler in on election night. It seemed like a year ago now, and it hadn't even been a month.

I explained my revelation to Ashley, leaving the issue with Katalin out entirely. After all, I had made a promise.

"Wow. That's pretty deep." she said. "I'd have thought you'd bring something like to Katalin, or somebody like that." I cursed myself for being so predictable. "Um, Mark? I'm curious, and feel free to not answer if you don't want to, but...well, is there something going on between you and Katalin?"

The question was made with pure sincerity and honest curiosity, thus proving that God not only has a sense of humor, but also a sense of irony.

"We're not an item, if that's what you're getting at." We both knew damn well she was.

"Oh. Sorry." I assumed she was apologizing for asking, not for me being together with Katalin.

Perhaps I should go back a little bit with Ashley's and my relationship. She'd had a steady boyfriend, Walter, since high school. She was a transfer student, a sophomore (which shows you the level of commitment between the two of them). Every couple of weekends, one of them would go visit the other; he was at Penn State, three hours away. Every sign I could read said it was the real thing between the two of them.

Ashley (and apparently Walt as well, though I'd only met him once and then only briefly) had a warped sense of humor like mine. I liked her a lot, but not in the romantic sense--as I've said, I tend to not form that sort of relationship with someone who makes it clear from beginning she's not available.

One thing happened that makes me wonder, though. It was in the interval between William and I declaring war and my moving out. I was watching TV in the D Lounge around midnight. She came in from outside.

I don't recall the details exactly, but I made some crack about watching a dirty movie. She opened her jacket--not her shirt, her jacket--grinned, and said, "I can be dirty, if you want."

I feigned horror. "Think of Walt!"

She giggled and went up to her room. Now, I'm 99% certain she was joking around, (God knows I was) but the look in her eyes just keeps that last shadow of a doubt from vanishing.

"It's okay." I said. "I'm just not sure what to do about Chandler. At this point, I don't know if I even want to fix things."

"But...he's your friend."

"I thought he was. Ashley, I have this tendency to flesh in details about people I don't know with what I'd like those details to be. I think that's what I did here. The way Chandler carries himself made me like him, just like most of us fell for William early on. I noticed some similarities between the two of them early on, before I started hating William. I pushed them to the back of my mind later, dismissed Chandler as different.

"Now I think that Chandler and William weren't so different, after all. They're both manipulators, it's just that Chandler was better at it, harder to catch."

"Chandler seemed like a nice guy, if you ask me." said Ashley.

I cradled my head in my forehead. Too much thought and not enough sleep were giving me a nasty headache. "That just proves my point. And yes, I'm aware that's circular logic. Just give me a moment to collect myself and I'll address that."

I took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll try to avoid demonizing Chandler and William or canonizing myself, but no promises.

"Remember at the start of the year, how everyone was kind of self-conscious and awkward?"

"Yeah, that happens when everyone's new."

"Right, but remember William? He seemed a lot more at ease than everyone else, remember?"

She paused for a moment. "Yeah, he did seem a little more confident than anyone else, especially among the freshmen."

I sighed. "He wasn't. Out in the open, he was infallible. But back in the dorm room, he would stress out over every little thing. His clothes, his hair, the music he was playing when the door was open--"

"I bet your music wasn't a hit with him." said Ashley. She knew that'd I'd had a habit of playing "Supernova Goes Pop" by Powerman 5000 at full volume just to annoy William (it's an uninteresting metal song with a lot of loud, heavy guitars. It could drown out Keane at half volume). I couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"More than once, I had to ask him to put headphones on because of that donging noise Instant Messenger makes when it's receiving. We'd only been there a week, so I doubt he was being barraged with conversations from fellow Alleghenians. I think he was doing the same thing I--and I assume most of the other freshmen--was doing: IMing his friends back home for support."

Ashley coughed. It took me a moment to figure out what she was getting at.

"Yes, transfers, too. Happy?"

She nodded.

"So anyway, he put up this confident facade, but for what?"

"I assume you're going to tell me."

"I'm going to have to shift gears for a second. Answer this honestly, because if I figured this wrong, the whole argument kind of falls apart.

"Of me and William, who did you like first?"

Ashley hesitated for a few seconds, then hazarded an answer. "To be honest? William."

"And which one of us you still like is obvious enough, considering you had no qualms with ditching one of us to be with the other."

"So that has something to do with William pretending to be confident, huh? Look, Mark, confidence isn't a guarantee people are going to like you."

"It doesn't have to be. This is where it all comes together. The reason you liked me is because I presented myself as being your equal and waited for you decide whether or not you enjoyed my company, which you eventually did. You made that decision for yourself, and neither my attitude nor yours has changed significantly since then, so your decision still stands.

"William, on the other hand, used that aura of confidence to push himself up the totem pole, meaning he could present himself as your superior. He seemed like he knew what he was doing, and parlayed that confidence into authority. Rather than wait for you to decide whether or not you like him, he used that authority to tell you that you liked him. As time passed, everyone else caught up to William in confidence, making everyone an equal again. Once you were equals, your attitude changed, so you reassessed your feelings toward William, this time deciding that you disliked him."

Ashley just looked at me. After a few seconds, she said, "And psychology isn't your major because..."

"Well, mostly because I didn't hear a word of today's lecture while I was thinking that whole thing up."

That got the laugh I was looking for. What I didn't tell Ashley was how I knew so much about manipulation. I'd been a manipulator myself in high school. At first it was fun, learning how to make people do what I wanted; sometime I was even able to convince them they enjoyed doing it.

What wound up breaking me of the habit was failure. The one person I wanted to play into my hands had been oddly immune to everything I tried. Finally, I gave up on what I now consider immoral behavior. It was toward the end of my junior year; shortly after, she started to flirt back. By now you should know who I'm talking about.

"But what about Chandler?" Ashley asked.

"He was the same way. Slick, smooth. Acted like he knew everything he was doing. It was the same deal. He just happened to be gifted with a more engaging personality than William, so he was harder to see through."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I...I'm not sure. I mean, I thought Chandler was my friend, but now I'm worried I might have just been his pawn."

"You're overthinking it." The voice wasn't Ashley's. In fact, I knew exactly whose it was. "And frankly, I find it insulting that you're not only talking about me behind my back, but you're doing it in my favorite booth when you know I always each lunch around about now."

"Ashley, perhaps you'd better go." I said. She nodded and left. "Chandler, how long have you been listening?"

"Around about the time you said that Katalin was shutting you out." So, he was in a combative mood. Then again, who wouldn't be by now? I cursed myself for sitting with my back to the foodcourt.

"Well, you might as well sit down in this booth, we've got a lot to talk about." I said.

"Agreed."

Originally posted on January 12th, 2005