Treadmill 4.1

    My wet hair kept bumping into my right eye until I pushed it back into the flopping wet mop. It was harder to do this on a treadmill, my feet gaining traction on the rubber as I flicked my hand up quickly. I pushed my earbuds deeper in.

     A line of black, mechanical treadmills faced the glass wall. There were only a few treadmills taken, girls in spandex and bright blue tank tops walking with their ipads in front of them. I wondered if my shoulders bounced too much, if I looked like a slinky rolling down a staircase. I began to forget what I was doing with my hands.

    

    It was harder to see the freshman on the quad. The sun was setting now, catching on the tall dorm buildings. The grass wasn’t the lush green I had remembered it and the shirtless boys jumped for Frisbees as their girlfriends sat in sundresses under the tree. Their bodies seemed like rubber bands that stretched and coiled, snapping back to their bare white ankles.

     I would have to stop listening to this album in a couple weeks, the songs becoming more of a narrative than an anthem. I would wake up with my hands curled under my quads and my stomach a weight and my body pillow tucked behind me. I’d throw up in the bathroom upstairs whose floors were painted with pubic hairs and spilt toothpaste. I’d throw up because of the combinations of alcohol, the smell of the house, and the fear I would bump into her on my way to work.

    As the sun clipped the edge of the dorm and the Frisbee throwers walked to grab their tossed aside sandals. my hand reached out and pushed the dial of the treadmill. The quad was dark and the buildings remained, stone and resolute as the orange lights began to flicker on around them. Soon students would be emerging with water bottles full of neon liquid. Soon I would collapse in the gym locker room bathroom and use toilet paper to wipe the sweat from my eyes and my brow and the hair on the back of my neck.

    I turned up the speed on the treadmill and could only hear my feet thumping on the rubber.

Bars 3.2

     I stomped up the stairs. The bar had been crowded and lively and dark. It was in the basement I think and I was leaving. As I reached the streets the two bouncers nodded at me as the third checked IDs. I’m not sure how I missed the machine that was scanning and projecting people’s faces on tv screens.

     Well fuck, there were at least three cop cars. Four, four cop cars. The street was full of people.

     “I think she went to the City Tavern,” I said. I pointed across the street to what seemed to be another bar. There was a porch and a line of people. I stepped into the street.

     “We need to find Aidan,” my friend said. She was a girl and a friend from high school. Earlier, I saw my fourth grade teacher in line and gave her a hug. She smiled at me and introduced me to her boyfriend. He was very large man.

     Earlier that night I had a few beers and Erica picked me up. We stopped at a liquor store and then we stopped at the convenience store that Aidan was managing. Aidan had dropped out of college our freshman year. His convenience store basebal cap covered his pale brown coif, which significantly altered his appearance. He looked like anyone now. He was very pale and the fluorescents lights made him an almost sickly green. He shifted about the multicolor racks and his eyes darted about quickly. I thought he had been mad at me since I skipped out on tennis with him. I didn’t think we’d get very far asking him for a ride.

     “My phone’s broken. What’s up?” He said as he rang up a woman’s Coke and gum. She had a tattoo on the back of her shoulder of birds flying away. We asked him if he’d pick us up from the bars after work.

      “Sure but my phone’s broken. I can’t reach you.”

      “Well how about we meet you at the bookstore at 1 am.” There was only one bookstore in this fucking town.

     “The bookstore is a bad spot. I’ll find you.” Then he went back to stock the milk gallons in the tall glass coolers.

      I had given up on the girl. She had left with her friends, a shimmer of dresses running up the stairs. 1:32 am. People I had known in a past life, one of Friday night football games and bonfires, gathered about. My brown desert boots were a bit too big for my feet, the extra length to my toes caused my to stumble a bit on the sidewalk.

     I circled the street. The night was closing. The bartenders leaned on the counters and some counted singles. The men leaned their ears down to the dresses they were talking to. I walked back out onto the street, away from the police and the throng of post grads and grads and working people. I checked my phone out of habit. The air was warm and the skin outside my t shirt hummed. My underwear had ridden up throughout the night. I tugged at the back of my jeans and stuck my phone in my pocket. I looked up. On the street corner was Aidan. In a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. He was scanning the line for the tavern. The orange street lights warmed him his skin and the neon sign from the bar glowed green across his white t shirt. It was a pretty visible location he had chosen, there weren’t many people on that end of the street. He was comfortable alone. He stood straight almost leaning back on the heels of his boots. His shoulders were not rounded like mine.

     I punched him on the arm and we walked past the bright headlights of the cop cars to find our friends.

Bars 3.1

     I stomped up the stairs. The bar had been crowded and lively and dark. It was in the basement I think and I was leaving. As I reached the streets the two bouncers nodded at me as the third checked IDs. I’m not sure how I missed the machine that was scanning and projecting people’s faces on tv screens.

     Well fuck, there were at least three cop cars. Four, four cop cars. The street was full of people. I couldn’t see their faces but they were in dresses and pants and collars. Two officers stood right next to me. They both stood wide like statues. One held the leash of a German Shepard the other had his thumbs hooked into his bulletproof vest. I’d imagine they both had crew cuts.

     “I think she went to the City Tavern,” I said. I pointed across the street to what seemed to be another bar. There was a porch and a line of people. I stepped into the street.

     “We need to find Aidan,” my friend said. She was a girl and a friend from high school. Three of us had gone out, Erica, Will, and I. We were all friends from high school. I was moving away in a month and we had wanted to do something that got us out of our houses and intoxicated. I saw my fourth grade teacher in line and gave her a hug. She smiled at me and asked when we’d be going out again.

     Earlier that night I had a few beers and Erica picked me up. We stopped at a liquor store and then we stopped at the convenience store that Aidan was managing. Aidan had dropped out of college our freshman year. His maroon branded cap covered his pale brown coif. He was very pale and the fluorescents lights altered him. He shifted about the store and his eyes darted about quickly. I thought he had been mad at me for a week and I didn’t think we’d get very far asking him for a ride.

     “My phone’s broken. What’s up?” He said as he rang up a woman’s Coke and gum. She had a tattoo on the back of her shoulder of birds flying away. We asked him if he’d pick us up from the bars after work.

      “Sure but my phone’s broken. I can’t reach you.”

      “Well how about we meet you at the bookstore at 1 am.” There was only one bookstore in this fucking town.

     “The bookstore is a bad spot. I’ll find you.” Then he went back to stock the milk gallons.

      I had given up on the girl. She had left with her friends after all even though I had just received a text she was at The Tavern. A shimmer of dresses running up the stairs. What time was it? 1:32 am. Got to find Aidan. Will had joined us in the street. He’d been denied. Not for his ID but for wearing basketball shorts. He was short and stocky and his arms waved around when he was drunk. Erica held onto him. They mumbled something about pizza. I told them to go and that I would find our ride.

     I circled like two bars. I think it was two bars there seemed to be a division between the outside and the inside. The night was closing. The bartenders leaned on the counters and some counted singles. The people were beginning to pair. The men leaned their ears down to the dresses they were talking to. I walked back out onto the street, away from the police and the throng of post grads and grads and working people. I checked my phone out of habit. The air was warm and the skin outside my t shirt hummed. My underwear had ridden up throughout the night. I tugged at the back of my jeans and stuck my phone in my pocket. I looked up. On the street corner was Aidan. In a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. He was scanning the line for the tavern. The orange street lights warmed him his skin and the neon sign from the bar glowed green across his white t shirt. It was a pretty visible location he had chosen, there weren’t many people on that end of the street. He was comfortable alone. He stood straight almost leaning back on the heels of his boots. His shoulders were not rounded like mine

     I grabbed his elbow and we walked past the bright lights of the cop cars to find Erica.

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.

Bedroom 2.1

     I remember the light reflecting off the wall as having an orange glow. Which can’t be true, I know which lamp sat on the floor next to my bed. It was a white bulb, a desk lamp with a cheap plastic covering. I had it pointed towards the wall below my double bed of which a new blue comforter stretched across.

     I sat sideways at the foot of the bed with my body pillow behind me for support. The opposite wall was bare but for a laminated Irish Writers poster my English teacher in high school gave 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. 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 mute tan and the light was so dispersed I could not tell the difference. 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. She must’ve already taken her glasses off; I could see them on the windowsill at the head of the bed. The plastic blinds were broken.

      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. After she left I had to laugh.

     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 road behind our friends as we walked back from illegal swimming holes.

    The light reflected orange against the walls and I put my laptop on the desk next to me. I reached down and turned the light off. Light from the blue public safety lamp bounced off the snow and sneaked into the bedroom. The window was open a crack, I had been waking up my hair damp with sweat. 

     She was still laying there, curled up like a dog by a fireplace. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked back at her. Her pale skin turned blue in the light. It was smooth, white skin. It reminded me of the ocean water beneath the boardwalk. 

     I decided to lay down and go to sleep. I left her the comforter.