Jim - Eleven

Jim

 

            The scarf was in my bag. The scarf was in my bag the scarf was in my bag. The. Scarf. Was. In. My. Bag.

            No matter how many times I muttered those words to myself, I could make myself believe it. Delilah, or Becky, or whoever the hell she really was, had left her scarf in my bag.

            What the hell? Did she want me to have a goddamn souvenir? Did she WANT me to remember her? Because I was planning on forgetting the whole incident as soon as I could, thank you very much. And from the way things looked when I came to she was as ready to have me out of her life as I was ready to get her out of mine. So why the hell wouldn’t she just keep the goddamn thing? I couldn’t make it make sense.

            I hadn’t told the guys, obviously. And they were all perfectly happy to move on like London had never happened. So I was glad to escape from them for a while and clear my head when it came time to finish that essay.

            Once I snuck into the library (using Hersch’s lock picking pin), the essay practically wrote itself. It wasn’t that hard to begin with. Plus I loved the library. I had wandered through the dark, musty smelling aisles of books for ages before I actually started working. As I squinted through the dark at the pages in front of me, I felt more at ease than I had since I left home.

            At the risk of being branded as even more of an outcast, I would never let the other guys know that I was actually smart. I mean, how else could a kid from Wisconsin make it all the way to a London academy with a full scholarship? The fact that they hadn’t figured that out yet pretty much proved that I was the smart one.

            My parents actually had me on track to become a doctor, which was why I was so good at Biology. I had been reading Gray’s Anatomy when I was twelve years old. My parents’ plans for my life were really the only things that I didn’t feel the urge to rebel against back home. Medical schools were all lined up and everything.  All I had to do was survive this semester.

            Once I was finished I reluctantly made my way back to the dorm. It was all dark in the hall, and I had to flip on my lighter (well, the lighter I stole from Hersch) to see. I still couldn’t see to far, though, and I ended up smashing my legs into the laundry tub, which we had started leaving outside because it took up so damn much space. I cursed loudly I wondered to myself why I was the only one who ever had trouble sneaking around in the dark.

            Inside, I heard Hersch shifting around in his bunk. What a bum, I thought, hasn’t moved since I left. I planned to kiddingly threaten to take his name off the essay. But I never got further than one step inside the door and “Hey assh…”

            I knew what I was looking at the second I saw it. I mean, it wasn’t like walking in and seeing a corpse or anything, where you don’t really comprehend what you’re seeing, though it was probably just as scary. I knew what I was looking at because it was no bizarre thing. I, and every other man in the world, had done it a thousand times. I wasn’t in the room for more that two seconds, but I processed everything in disgustingly accurate detail.

            Hersch was propped up in bed, with a photo in one hand and his massive circumcised dick in the other. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was screwed up in concentration. His tongue stuck out a little at the corner of his mouth and he groaned with every thrust as the headboard of his bunk knocked against the wall…

            That was when I got out of there.

            He didn’t see me, thank God. Too focused on his wanking agenda, I guess. So at least I was saved from the suicide-inducing moment when he would realize I was there. Let me tell you, I got out of that room faster than I had ever moved in my life.

            I galloped down the hall, away from the now-all-too-obvious noises coming from the dorm. When I got outside, I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it. I lit a cigarette shakily and wished for a second that I could burn the memory out of my brain. What now? WHAT NOW?

            I knew one thing now for sure: Hersch really missed that girl.

            The scene played back at me in my head again and I retched dramatically. Then I shook my head and took a few long drags, calming down. I would give him enough time to finish, I decided. I owed him that much. Besides, it was all part of rooming with guys, right? I had known what I was getting in to when I came here, hadn’t I?

            Then I sighed and went back inside, heading for the kitchen. Maybe there I could find something to eat, or at least something I could use to poke my eyes out.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the gift of the scarf. A good reminder of someone who will stay on your mind because of luck and situation. No weakness in this excellent chapter.
Coyote

[Jake Donald Stephens]

Gosh, you hit the bulls eye with this one. That's a really, really bad trauma. I feel bad for Jim.

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