Thoughts can be thin fractures in the order of things.
Sometimes my dorm room seems a sterile sarcophagus, like an accusation, or an interrogation of my romantic choices, with nothing warm or inviting there. Sometimes I’ve just got to get out.
Leong and I decided to go to ‘Toads Place’—a bar right across
the street from campus. Still, it was a 10 minute walk from our
residence.
This night seemed different, not the usual, winter, claustrophobic gray. No, the burning heavens were a canopy of spirals and light events—a show put on by an insecure deity needing to overawe.
It was Charles and Chinthia’s anniversary, so Leong and I went alone. The place was busy, and unsurprisingly, we met up with a few friends, including this guy I’ve been calling soccer-boy. His name is Troy. As the night went on, and the martinis flowed, we kind of hit it off.
I have a boyfriend. He’s far away. Sometimes, his memory’s like a warm beacon broadcasting from that far away. Other times, our connection seems to bleed across that distance, and his questions and concerns seem foreign.
At the end of the night, no, well ok, the start of the morning, a group of us began strolling back to our dorm. It’s safe to say that none of us were feeling any pain. At one point Leong paused to chat with a friend and Troy and I carried on alone.
After a certain amount of Facetiming with the boyfriend, the texture of face-to-face is immediate and mesmerizing. Troy’s eyes are the blue of gas flame and there are a thousand flickery reflections dancing there. When I looked in them, I felt like an astronaut heading out for oblivion
At one point, I realized that we’d left Leong behind and we paused under a streetlamp. After a moment, I leaned back on the pole—it was steadying—and Troy took the opportunity to move in close. Have you ever felt a molasses-feeling of lust that made your legs feel ropey?
I half-began to hum a nonsense song as a distraction from the closeness of him and to regain some mental, objective distance. Then he moved very, very close and I could feel my resolve wavering, like a cardboard construct.
He leaned in and kissed me, quickly and so softly that it was almost a whisper. Then the edge of his fingers brushed against me and faded away. When he really committed to touching me, it was with a coiled restraint, backed by the urgency of a ticking bomb.
He nuzzled my neck as hands moved slowly, with the overflourish of an amateur magician—there was no disguise in it—but there was a kind of magic. The breeze had taken to moaning, or was that me?
It didn’t encompass the full range of my thoughts, but it was a strong, representative sample.
However, something dark was rippling beneath the pleasure, like a shark beneath a sea’s reflective aqua surface—it was common sense, and restraint. At first it felt like I was fighting something that wouldn’t properly show itself. I mean, the pleasures were real, but there was an unreal mechanical overlay to them.
We humans are such blunt instruments. Nature’s given us buttons that can be pushed for its own purposes.
With a quick dart, like a bluebird from a bush, I gained the upper hand on my foggy, lecherous emotions.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, gently pushing him away, “I’m going to have to opt out.” I offered a weak smile.
He was a gentleman, he backed away with a shrug. “Another time,” He said, with a wide devouring smile.
“I have a boyfriend,” I said, kind of late—like it was a matter-of-fact that shouldn’t need repeating.
That’s when Leong arrived, she gave Troy a look like a feral cat. She can have cold, flat, judgmental eyes. For me, she had a frown that I could feel—it was that powerful. She likes Peter—I’d get a talking-to.
“G-night, Troy” she said, her disregard for him made him seem like an outline, not a real person.
As we turned to go on to the dorm, I saw that we’d been under one of those stations they have on campus where you can summon help, and there was a little obsidian surveillance camera.
I wondered how many other 2am noir-romance scenes were playing out on the darkened campus.
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Songs for this:
Beautiful Trash by Lanu & Meg Washington
Princess Crocodile by Gry with FM Einheit and His Orchestra
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our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question)
Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia - and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together.
Troy, (soccer boy) He’s 6 feet tall and fit. His hair's a rich, thick, mahogany "collegiate mop" (Think Hough Grant) and there's an easy, uncomplicated strength about him—something polished and fresh, he's like a shiny new phone. When he crosses a room, he seems to move in slo-mo. He's a environmental studies major - whatever that is.
Charles, a 54-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old. His wife Cynthia is also an ex-cop and the VP of a cyber-security company. My Grandmère hired Charles for me when a classmate was murdered in Year 7 (6th grade).
Your author, a simple country girl from Athens Georgia, is also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/03/25:
Sarcophagus = a stone coffin.
*Ok, this little vignette of mine has a bit of flash fiction thrown in, Troy and I did have a walk and a wait, but there was no fleeting kiss or handsy explorations—other than in my lurid and freaky fantasies.
I showed it to Peter (my bf) last week and he said, “Hey! Are you two-timing me in your ***** little mind?! I’m jealous.” 🙃
