Monday
I want new friends, but they don't want me
They're making plans while I watch TV
-- The Strokes, Brooklyn Bridge To Chorus
For the first day of class, Theodore took a nice shower, combed his hair and put on some of his favorite new clothes. His reflection moved and swayed in the mirror, despite how still he stood, but at this point, that was simply how the world worked; the lyrics in his notebook had swayed all night long. He wasn’t tired at all, lost within his own mind, hyper fixated on a picture, or a thought, or an idea until it vanished forever. It was unclear whether he’d manage to stay up all day and watch every class, but part of the fun was not knowing what would happen or if he’d remember any of it. He’d never been this high, after all.
Following directions on campus was complicated. There were signs everywhere, but since he had no idea what most of them meant, they ended up being pretty much useless. All he knew was that business was his major and that was the extent of it. The only place that the signs successfully led him to was the cafeteria, where he took a seat and checked his phone.
He knew this place had a website, and hopefully, his schedule would be on it. It took him a minute, but he managed to find it—his first class was in room 203. Okay, where? There were dozens of buildings around. Surely, they all had a room 203. A quick online search told him that business lectures were held in B05 and B06 in the southern part of the campus, closer to his apartment than Ryan’s.
Apparently, each major had a group of buildings where most of their lectures took place, and the moment the words Business and Finance caught his attention, he felt too stupid to be here. How had he missed this? Mentally kicking himself, he climbed up to the second floor and looked for room 203. The door was closed—most of them were—and a quick glance through the window told him he was too late, that lecture had already started. Shit. What a great first impression, missing his very first class ever. Defeated, he leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. The least he could do now was make sure he arrived to his next class early.
Before he could figure out which room he needed to go to next, a much older guy approached door 203 and walked straight in. Baffling. Could they just do that? Timidly, Theodore pushed the door open and slipped in as well. To his utmost surprise, nothing came of it; the professor didn’t acknowledge his late arrival and neither did the students. Okay, some heads turned to glance at him, but none of them cared. So this was the college experience.
The professor gesticulated as she talked, hands moving to ascertain her points in a very delicate, very chic manner. It reminded him of Laith, despite the fact that the way she moved was completely different from him. She paced back and forth, chin held up in the air, eyes small behind a fancy pair of glasses. Somehow, none of the words that left her mouth registered in Theodore’s brain. Why? The speed of her speech was perfectly normal and the words that she used were easily understandable; he just had to pay attention. He had to focus.
The ruffles on the collar of her shirt climbed up her neck, a match with the sleeves that cascaded down her forearm. She held her arm out as if she had a purse hanging from the elbow, the way Theodore’s mother carried her own. Dammit, he was focusing on the wrong thing! He had to pay attention to the words that she spoke.
Her voice was nice and low, a soothing echo that bounced across the room. As she walked, her shoes tapped lightly on the ground, covered by long pants that almost touched the floor. She didn’t wear heels, but flats that poked into view with every step, pointed toe, bright red. Oh god, what was she saying? He couldn’t understand a single thing. Focus, focus, focus—he was going to fucking scream. How had he forgotten the entirety of the English language overnight? This made no sense. My god, weed was so powerful. Why hadn’t Justin told him that?
When the professor turned again, her eyes caught his own. It was a very brief and incredibly terrifying moment, gone in a flash, that told him she knew he wasn’t paying attention; that she knew he was high as a kite, sitting in her lecture room, pretending to listen to her—an imposter. Heat crawled up his neck, warm under his shirt. Did everybody else know too? Could they tell? Surely, the girls knew; they’d only not told him because he hadn’t exactly given them a chance to, tossing a bombshell as soon as he’d taken a seat.
Since he’d sat in the back of the room, not many students had the opportunity to look at him, but he had a feeling they knew; judgmental eyes were glued to the back of his neck. His legs bounced, heart palpitating. He had to leave. This room was too warm and the stares were too intense—he could barely breathe. Without a thought, his legs stretched and his feet scurried outside.
The bathroom door moved slowly behind him, swinging shut as he approached the sink. The water was cold on his hands and colder on his face, a necessary shock that sent a shiver up his spine. In the mirror, his image twisted and turned, eyes bug-like and terrified—he’d never seen them so blue. Was that how Laith saw him, scared and innocent with big blue eyes? His only consolation was that his hair still looked neat and brushed, just how his mother liked it, just how Laith liked it too. He didn’t particularly care for it this way, having grown fond of Laith’s elegant disarray lately, but it was fine. He wouldn’t be looking at himself very much anyway; they would.
As the morning dragged on, he sat in lectures, always in the last row, something he’d never done before. None of them made any life-changing impacts on him, given by professors that talked without being heard and walked in fancy shoes. He followed the online schedule for the most part, hopping from classroom to classroom as demanded, though some definitely felt more targeted than others. No one looked at him in the back of the room, and next to the door, he could leave whenever he wanted. Over time, his eyelids grew heavy and focusing became impossible, even if it’d never been on the right thing anyway.
***
The soft pitter-patter outside came accompanied by a freshness that permeated the air, wet and heavy, leaves in the rain. Opening his eyes, he found his bedroom swallowed by darkness with a draft coming in through the window, cracked just a bit. The blanket above him kept his body from freezing, face cold without it. Out of bed, he noticed he’d fallen asleep in his clothes, having only removed his shoes beforehand. When had he gotten home? The last thing he remembered was sitting in class. His watch informed him it was eleven p.m., hence the dark and quiet—the girls must already be asleep.
The world felt weird, detached from its axis, lost in space. In the silence of the room, a heavy loneliness filled his stomach with rocks. Checking his phone, he found a few texts from Daisy asking whether he’d be joining the others for lunch, a text from Nadia saying that there were leftovers in the fridge, and a text from Ryan asking him whether he was with Laith or not. That last one was bizarre, considering this was essentially Ryan’s first ever text to him. Why wouldn’t he just ask Laith about it? Theodore sent a negative response back and got up for a glass of water. For some reason, he was absolutely parched.
A shower and a change of clothes did him wonders, even if they were ultimately unable to fill the hole in his chest. Instead of brushing his hair this time, he ran his hands through it, like Laith did—effortlessly elegant.
The leftovers were microwaved and eaten on the couch, lit up by the strip of light that crawled from the kitchen and the glow of the TV screen. Out of consideration for the girls, the movie wasn’t turned on very loud and was only really there for company. It was at moments like this that something usually moved on the corner of his eye and came up behind him, but somehow, this apartment just wasn’t haunted. He’d never seen anything here, even in total darkness, and could confidently say that Laith was of the same opinion. The reasons that certain places were filled with creatures while others didn’t have a single one were elusive to him. If he read any of Laith’s books on metaphysics, he still had a feeling he wouldn’t have any of the answers.
With the dishes in the rack, he thought of what to do next. He needed company, but who? The first person that came to mind was Justin, whose number he didn’t have. Then Marquis, who was probably asleep, since he had classes tomorrow morning. The difference between them was that he actually had Marquis’ number and could confirm his suspicions. In case his friend did happen to be awake though, what would he even ask? The chances of Marquis wanting to party tonight were slim, but then, his boyfriend might have a different opinion. Fishing his phone from a pocket, he tapped on Marquis’ contact.
Hey, it’s Theo. You gave me your number on Friday.
Sorry for only getting back to you now.
Alright, that should be fine. He leaned against the counter, waiting. The sound of the rain hitting the window was very soothing, a delicate melody. Soon enough, Marquis replied.
Hey, it’s fine. How are you doing?
His legs bounced.
I’m okay.
Thanks for looking after me at the DP. I acted like a psychopath, huh?
Haha, nah, it’s cool.
He almost smiled.
What are you doing later? We could hang out somewhere.
It’s late, dude. Don’t you have school tomorrow?
Fuck.
You should be in bed.
He swallowed hard, face heating up. Without another word, he locked the screen. Shit. Why couldn’t he have gotten Hwan’s number instead? That guy was most definitely having fun right now. Not just him, but Laith too, and everybody else who lived in the tunnels—everyone he couldn’t contact. Ugh. What was he going to do? Going back to spend yet another night scribbling in his notebook wasn’t even an option. He lived near so many cool places; why did he only care for the ones that required him to be twenty-one or older? Putting on a jacket, he left anyway. It didn’t matter where he went as long as it wasn’t here.
The rain was very light, a drizzle that tapped on his jacket and made his hair even wetter. At this hour, the street was very quiet, completely deserted. He started down the block with no destination in mind, walking for the sake of it, just to do something.
Every business was closed except for one, a bar three blocks down, which he’d never been to. It looked very fancy with a big window out front and steps leading up to the door on the side, a contemporary building. Inside, a long bar lined the far wall with backlit shelves showcasing all kinds of expensive bottles, bright in the low light, beer faucets poking out over the counter. There was only one guy here, wiping some glasses, that eyed him the moment he stepped in, unfriendly. It was clear this guy thought he was much younger than he really was. Considering growing a beard, he took a seat.
“Can I help you?” That question lacked so much enthusiasm that it was practically a plea for him to leave.
“Do you have those little paper squares for rolling tobacco?”
“You mean rolling paper.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need an ID for that.”
“But it’s just rolling paper.”
“I don’t make the rules. You need to be twenty-one for that now.”
He scowled. “What about a lighter?”
“Twenty-one for a lighter.”
An exasperated breath left his nose. “Fuck.”
“I could get you a ginger ale.”
That comment pushed him up from the stool and out of the establishment entirely. Fuck a ginger ale. Sadly, he knew the only place he’d be able to get any of that was underground. From where he stood, Cantaloupe was just around the corner, up the block a little bit—maybe he could get someone to buy him a lighter.
As usual, the entrance was full of rats standing around, smoking, speaking to each other. There was no way he’d be able to approach an entire group by himself, yet no one seemed unaccompanied. They eyed him a little bit, out of interest rather than disdain, differently from last time. Did they think he was attractive?
Tentatively, he walked over to the railing near the entrance, between two big groups. There was no fleshed-out plan here, only improvisation and the hope that someone would talk to him first. Over the railing, steps led down into the ground, dim lights flickering along its walls. Disembodied voices came up the shaft as evidence of people being there, even if he couldn’t see them. That was when he caught sight of something in the corner, lodged between a step and the wall, baby blue. Curious, he walked down just enough to grab it—a lost lighter. Talk about luck. On second thought, was it really luck if this was a notorious smoking point? Perhaps he should’ve expected it after all. Pocketing his precious find, he left Cantaloupe altogether.
His fingers felt the lighter as he walked; the smooth body, the strange texture on the wheel. Would Laith be smoking at a time like this? Aimless, with nowhere to go and no one to be with. He saw his friends over the weekend, sure, but what about the time lost in between? Outside of work and the dark rooms, in the quiet of his own home. What was he doing right now? At two in the morning, he was definitely awake. Was he reading about metaphysics? Did he have any apparitions in his room? The streets overflowed with them, but Theodore wasn’t scared. He hadn’t been scared in a long time.
Back in his room, he lit up the joint Justin had rolled for him. It didn’t taste any differently from the one with the hash, but he knew this one didn’t have any. A few puffs burned off an inch and still he didn’t feel anything, just like the time with Laith. A thought crossed his mind that maybe weed just didn’t have an effect on him, but then he remembered that morning, his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the way it’d twisted. He hadn’t felt anything while smoking, so it might just take a minute.
Toking on the joint every now and then, he scribbled in his notebook, fully aware of the irony of this moment, the one thing he didn’t want to be doing tonight. If there were any other options, or anyone to hang out with, he certainly wouldn’t be resorting back to this, but what else could he do? Emily wouldn’t help him, Marquis didn’t want to see him, and the girls were all asleep. He had no one, not even Ethel. God, he almost even missed her, but the feeling of her hair brushing along his arm was enough to make him push the thought away.
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