Bedroom 2.2

     I remember the light reflecting off the wall as having a mute orange glow. Which can’t be true, I know which lamp sat on the floor next to my bed. It was a Walmart desk lamp with a cheap plastic covering and a white incandescent bulb. I had it pointed towards the wall below my double bed. I had never had a double bed before and had just gotten a thick brand new blue comforter for it.

     I sat sideways at the foot of the bed with my body pillow behind me. The walls were to cold for my exposed skin. The opposite wall was bare but for a laminated Irish Writers poster. An English teacher in high school gave it to me. She was a kind Italian woman and I hung it mainly as a joke.

     My computer created creases on the inside of my legs where the metallic edges rested. To my right was my college-issued desk. It was covered in loose papers and a novel I hadn’t touched in weeks. To my left was my roommate, leaning against my shoulder.

     The light on the wall could not have been orange but perhaps the walls were a light tan and the light was so dispersed I couldn’t tell the difference. She must’ve already taken her glasses off; I could see them on the windowsill at the head of the bed. Above them the plastic blinds were folded and cracked. My eyelids tapped together and as the edges of my vision went dark I could still see a tuft of her long blonde hair curl towards my face.

      I had asked her to leave but she was already asleep. This had been going on for weeks.

    Later that month she would storm out crying, only to return for the glasses she left on the windowsill. I had kept my eyes closed when she came back in.

     Later that life she would say hello and not much more. After my girlfriend and I broke up she became friendlier again. She would get drunk and ask me about my post graduation plans. We would talk on the path well behind our friends as we walked back from illegal swimming holes. I pray she never texts me again.

     But the night with the orange light bouncing off the wall, she stayed. I closed my laptop and placed it on top a pile of textbooks on the desk. I arranged my pillows and turned off the lamp on the floor. I could still see the room; the blue public safety light outside bounced off the snow. Cold air hovered in by my head. Those days I would often wake up sweating. One of my roommates kept turning the dial on the thermostat up. I had left Kathleen where she had curled up like a dog warming by a fire. Now she adjusted herself, turned all the way around to lay her head on my chest. She did not open her eyes. She was not wearing a bra. It was at least 2 am.

     I looked down at her. Under the light her smooth white skin was like water rolling underneath the boardwalk. I slid her hand off my chest and then slid the comforter solely onto her small bird-like shoulders. 

     I had only athletic shorts on. The hair on my chest was coming in thin and uneven. I rolled to my side and went to sleep.