Peter knocked and Lisa opened the door. She didn’t greet him, like she usually did, she just nodded and looked away, making a face that reminded Peter of when he was ten - and in trouble. I was on the large, red couch, coiled up tightly at one end, a textbook in my lap and a highlighter in hand, like a knife. The song “Bad Sneakers” was playing throughout the suite.

Anna was in the kitchen, washing glasses in the sink and she didn’t look up, watching the suds like she thought something important was happening beneath those bubbles. Peter knew something was wrong - it was a little obvious - he just didn’t know WHAT.  

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, maybe a bit too brightly, as he settled on the edge of a stiff-backed chair. After a moment of silence, he said, question-like, “You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”

“I won’t ALWAYS be in a good mood,” I said defensively, “and you won’t be warned ahead of time - good luck to you.” I’d looked up but I quickly looked away and took a deep breath.
After a moment Peter asked, “What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking around, then I added restlessly, “take a walk.”

The common room windows were full of a night sky and harmless rain clouds, which spread out like a soggy layer of wet bread. A misty rain was falling, only to be thrown about by the wind. “Ok,” Peter says, standing and turning back towards the door, “Let’s do it.” I slipped on shoes and grabbed a small umbrella on our way out.

Occasionally, rain drops made a popping sound on the taunt skin of our umbrellas as we walked in a silence that lasted about five minutes. “Your girlfriend yelled at me in the cafeteria today.” I said, watching my feet.
“Wha..” he started, and after pausing for a moment, said. “I’m sorry she did that.”

After a little more walking he started, “ Shriley’s an EX girlfriend. We were together for about a year,” he paused again. “She cheated, I found out, but somehow she’s angry at ME because I won’t let her “explain” it.” He said with a shrug. “We’re DONE.” he said softly, “It’s an established fact.” He looked at me as we walked.

The feeling I’d had of a great weight on my chest seemed to lighten a bit. The clouds were clearing and the crescent moon was reflected, small and waxing, over and over in little puddles formed by the uneven pavement, as if the moon was following us around, watching us.

“That was a minute ago - before we met and that situation, it’s locked-down. I’ve got twenty people who can testify to that.”

“Still,” I said, “She seems 730. Maybe we should take a pause and take a breath.” After another minute of silence I added, “The game seems saturated - and with midterms..” my voice trailed off.

He looked disappointed. “Sure, I get it,” he said, “craziness and midterms don’t mix.”

Shriley knew confronting me would elicit turmoil - but what could I do? They’re graduate students and I’m a lowly pre-med freshman. I was sad and discouraged when we said good night. We’d never even kissed.

After the door closed, I leaned against it and mumbled “Grades ruin everything.” Leong hung up my umbrella and gave me a hug.

I’d just sat down for lunch with a tray loaded with pizza slices when an attractive redhead plopped down in the chair in front of me. “You’re trying to steal my guy,” she said, clutching her purse close, like it was in danger.

“I’m sorry?” I said, searching my book-bag for the small garlic powder I carry everywhere in case I encountered a pizza.

She inspected my tray, piled generously with a selection of pizza slices and said, “You know, you could just start with a couple of slices and then go back later for pieces that are HOT.”

I nodded thoughtfully at the idea but countered with, “Now I can just sit right here and eat them all.” Which was a lie because I was planning to take a few slices back to my room. Then I followed up with, “Your BOYFRIEND?”

“Peter,” she said, “he’s my longtime boyfriend,” she seemed excited to deliver this news.

“Well, Peter and I are just friends - so far - What’s your name?” I asked.

“Shirley,” she said, not offering her hand.
“Hhmm, your name hasn’t come up.” I reported.

“You need to pump-those-breaks,” Shriley said, becoming suddenly serious.

I thought I’d offer a distraction since she seemed to be winding herself up. “I wonder if Amazon sells a little, battery operated, heat lamp I could carry with me to keep my pizza warm?” I touched my phone, lying face down by my tray but decided looking it up now might be rude.

“It’s actually a whew,” Shirley noted, “being faced with the thing I’ve been absolutely hyperventilating over.”

“Peter and me?” I ask for clarification.
“Peter and ANYONE,” she clarifies and puts me in my place with one sweeping comment.

“Again, Peter and I are friends-without-benefits, but he hasn’t mentioned a wife.” I said, giving as good as I got.

“Peter and I are.. taking a break,” she revealed, “but we’re getting back together.”
“You should talk to Peter,” I said, my mouth finally full of pizza.

“You need to **** YOURSELF!” she snarls. I was shocked by her sudden force. I went into self defense mode, wondering if I was going to be physically attacked but I chose to disassemble and not give her any energy to feed off of.

“I’d LOVE to, but this lunch isn’t going to eat itself.” I said apologetically. “It’s not like I haven’t thought of THAT before,” I confide, leaning in conspiratorially, “my parents bought me an electric toothbrush when I was twelve” I entrust.

Shirley snarled like a panther and left in a huff. I noticed several people furtively looking at me, like I’d been caught in the act of something, and I felt besmirched.
“Nice meeting you!” I offered cheerfully to her back but I don’t think she heard it.

Lisa immediately sat down next to me. “You homewrecker,” she offered. “Who's arianna?”
“Ha! Thanks for THAT” I laugh. “I never had this play in prison.” I said, shaking my head.
“Better late than never?” Lisa offered.

The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.