50

green tea in two cups and a teapot

Tamara slams the teapot down on the table. Startled, Barbie recoils, then asks, “What’s wrong Tam?”

“I’m just so mad at Q. I hurried home last night and made dinner and he never showed. Didn’t even call. He was in bed when I woke up, but I don’t have a clue when he came in.”

“That stinks.”

“I feel so stupid.” Tamara slides into her seat. “Everybody was right. We shouldn’t have gotten married. Wait til after college my mom said. Be a doctor first and then be a wife.”

Pouring tea for both, Barbie asks, “So why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. Then he proposed. And like the song says, we’re the now generation. I wanted him now, you know? I didn’t see he’s not very grown up. All he wants to do is play. Probably why he’s so good at playing.”

“But play is important. He still turns your crank, right?”

“That’s half the problem. He can turn my crank whenever he wants. It’s hard to have a serious conversation when you’re makin’ whoopee. Just thinking about him gets me hot. Still.” Tamara shakes her head ruefully, smiling dreamily. “Even when I’m mad as hell. You just can’t imagine how good the sex is, girl. I just wish he’d grow up.”

Barbie giggles. Flashing on the clinch with Jose, she says, “Oh, I can imagine.”

Tamara sighs. “I didn’t know his idea of higher education was access to a better class of drugs. Pretty much all he wants to do, hang out with the gang and smoke up. I mean I like partying, just not twenty four seven. I have to work hard at it if I’m gonna be a doctor.” Tamara takes a deep breath and says, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and being a doctor is more important to me than being married. I know I’ll be a good doctor. And I want it so bad I can taste it. But Q just hasn’t been there for me.”

“Is it that bad?” Barbie asks, surprised.

Tamara nods miserably. “I can’t party all the time or I’ll wash out. I have to focus on my studies. But how can I even concentrate if I’m spending half my life wondering where he is.”

Barbie shakes her head, “Wow, Tam, I had no idea. What are you gonna do?”

“I’ve been hoping it’d pass, telling myself he’ll settle down. Start participating in his coursework, get involved, But if anything it’s getting worse.” Tamara sips her tea, staring at the steam rising up out of the mug, “I just don’t know, Barb. I didn’t hardly get any sleep last night, trying to wait up for him. It was after three when I put out the light and he still wasn’t back.”

“You have to talk to him about it.”

“I try to but every time we end up in bed having even better sex than the time before. I freaked on his head this morning and he still almost got me back in the sack. Just talking about it hours later I still feel equal parts lust and anger. How do you handle that?”

“Whoooo, sounds kind of tempting actually.” giggles Barbie.

“You are not helping. But it sounds like you regret not giving Jose a tumble. Maybe you should, release a little tension.”

“If there was any chance at all of a no strings roll in the hay with Jose I’d be there in a heartbeat. Maybe what I’m really afraid of is that once would never be enough and we end up game over. Married and dead.” Barbie blushes and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh Tam, I’m sorry I didn’t mean …”

Tamara smiles sadly, “You did, and you’d be right. I gotta figure something out ’cause this married thing is gonna kill me.”

Barbie suggests, “Maybe it would help to talk in public so he can’t put the moves on you. Go to the pub or something.”

“Maybe. He swore to me he’d be here for dinner tonight but he just blew it off. He knows I’ve got a lab and he’ll miss me again.”

“Maybe he missed on purpose ’cause he knows you’re mad.”

“If he doesn’t bother to show up it only makes me madder. He knows that too.”

“Yeah, but guys. I mean, don’t they all do that? We all make choices, and it’s hard to know what we’ll regret later.”

Tamara leans on her hand, dejected. “I regret too many things now, I can’t afford to worry about later. What are you worried about regretting?”

“When I’m a little old lady sitting in my rocking chair in the old folks home, when I stare into the fireplace and think about my life, will I regret passing up a chance at Jose? Oh hell, I was doing so well keeping the fantasy Jose separate from the real one until, god, I was such a slut, I practically attacked him, and you know, it was so close, Tam. It was way better than my imagination. And part of me still wishes I did jump him.”

Tamara says,”Sounds like you’re regretting right now.”

“Maybe I am. What I really better do is call Terrence.”

Tamara snorts. “Barbie girl, you are the only woman I know whose vibrator has a name.”

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51

Casting golden/red light through the trees in autumn

Jake and Quentin have the path to the Fyfield House Res to themselves.

Gesturing, Jake says, “Lets check this one too.”

The side path Jake is pointing at isn’t groomed with wood chips, it’s just worn into the undergrowth by students creating their own shortcut. Jake has no idea where it goes although Quentin knows it leads to his circle’s favorite clearing, surely littered with roaches. Still, they need to check it. His friends won’t have been back since it got so cold.

“Liz is probably being a bit alarmist,” Quentin tells Jake. “Nat’s probably just out buying shoes or something.”

Jake nods, not really believing it.

Natasha has never struck him as one of the girls who buys truckloads of shoes. She’s willing to get dirty if it’ll get her a good picture. She never seems to care what she wears or if it’s a mess. He doesn’t quite get the bond with Boris, either. Boris is the one he can see maxing the plastic buying new clothes to make himself feel better. Bo always makes him aware of how tattered his own off the rack wardrobe is. Boris generally looks like he just stepped out of GQ or something, but Natasha’s favorite couturier is Goodwill.

“Natasha!” Jake calls. They stop and listen but hear nothing but the distant sounds of the creek.

“I hope you’re right.” They follow it to the clearing where they find lots of trampled grass, cigarette butts and roach ends. But no Natasha. No anybody.

Quentin peers into the bushes as he does a circuit of the clearing. “Natasha!” he calls, but gets no response.

Looking through the parking at the path going through the woods

On the opposite branch of the path Ethan and Liz walk toward the parking lot. Periodically Liz calls out “Natasha!” but there’s no sound beyond the rustling of leaves in the trees.

Liz says, “We have to find her. I have such a bad feeling.”

“We’ll find her.” Ethan gives her hand a squeeze, then looks into the woods.

Most Christie students are off somewhere eating, or studying, or whatever, leaving the walkways nearly unused as night falls.

As it gets darker the sensors activate and the lights mounted on the poles lining the path wink on, one by one. They’re losing light fast so it’s getting harder to see.

Ethan says, “Let’s just check the parking lot.”

Liz nods and they hurry up to where the footpath widens into the lot that’s used by day students with cars. Unless something’s scheduled in the Arts Centre, its pretty empty nights, so now only a handful of cars are flung across a space large enough to accommodate a few hundred.

Although the bus shelter looks empty, Liz crosses the lot to check while Ethan starts peering in car windows.

Approaching the residence, Jake rubs his hands together vigorously, then stuffs them in his pockets. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Quentin nods. “Go on up, Jake, I’ll keep looking around down here.”

“Why don’t you come up with me. Warm up.”

Quentin laughs. “Then it’ll just be harder to come back out. I’ll keep moving thanks. Bring flashlights, that’ll help.”

Jake nods and keys his way in the side door.

Walking around the back of the building Quentin peers through the trees. Although the forest is thinner here it is almost dark. No sign of anyone, certainly no one taking pictures. He doesn’t want to scare Jake, but he is starting to get worried. Maybe it’s just because Liz is so worked up.

But.

Turning it over in his mind, Quentin knows hiding out is terribly out of character for Natasha. Or shoe shopping for that matter. The Natasha Quentin knows would have gone to the shoot and taken a bunch of fantastic photos of antique cars. When she came back she’d either apologize to Bo or knock him down again.

Rounding the building he comes to the residence parking lot. A quick scan of the cars tells him they all have Christie parking stickers. He doesn’t think Natasha has a car, but he looks in car windows just the same. Maybe she’s catching a nap or something.

Nothing. Looking back at the building, he notes a line of dumpsters backed up against the lower wall. The higher floors all have windows, but most of the lights are out. Students seem to resist going into their tiny cells until they have to to sleep.

Quentin looks at the dumpsters, but isn’t sure he really wants to even think about them, let alone look. Back home in Ottawa his brother is a cop, and he’s heard too many grisly dumpster stories.

Please don’t be in a dumpster, Natasha.

Upstairs Jake lets himself into the residence, passing through the common room where Elsie is curled in a chair eating a cream cheese bagel. Elsie smiles at him. She always smiles at him. That’s part of what scares him. Jake knows other guys think she’s hot, and he’d probably think so too if she wasn’t so frightening. She’d make a great Lady MacBeth or a wild haired Boudica leading a charge on the Romans. But in real life she’s a bit much.

“Have you seen Natasha?” he asks heading to the kitchen.

Elsie watches Jake, clearly amused at the reaction she always provokes in the boy. “I’d expect her to lay low a while.”

Opening the junk drawer Jake roots around until he finds a couple of pencil flashlights. Then he decides they really need a big one, too. Coming back through the common room he asks Elsie, “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

Elsie laughs. “No, just the results of her handiwork.” Jake looks confused, until she adds, “I had to ice Bo’s eyes and put him to bed.”

Elsie makes eye contact with Jake, who’d momentarily forgotten how uncomfortable this woman makes him. But when she smiles and runs her tongue suggestively through the cream cheese Jake mutters, “Oh” and turns and escapes to his room.

Watching Jake flee makes Elsie smile. God that little one is too easy. Maybe she should take him to bed. Been a while since she’s had a virgin. Then she chastises herself. Stop it. She’s already made a mess in her nest, better not compound it.

Safe in his room Jake slips into his coat, wondering if he should wake Boris. Better not, probably wouldn’t be a good thing to have him there when they find Natasha. She’ll probably be mad.

He reaches into the night table drawer for the lantern flashlight his mom gave him. He pockets spare batteries fresh from the charger, since it eats batteries ridiculously fast, but it’s bright.

Locking the room Jake wishes Q had come up just to get him get past Elsie. Bracing himself for the gauntlet, he’s relieved Elsie’s not in the common room this time, and he hurries to the stairwell.

Jake hopes Liz is over-reacting, but he’s afraid she’s not.

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52

The computer club members spread out in Kate and Nick’s married student bungalow. Although the same size and floor plan as Tamara’s, Kate has dispensed with a dining room, merging the intended dining area with the living room to make one larger living space. Sofas anchor either end with two folding tables down the middle. Oscar and Maggie sit on junk shop easy chairs flanking the Jelly Belly bowl; Krystal and Adam sit along the side on two of Kate’s vintage vinyl and chrome tube chairs.

Kate sets a bowl of ChedACorn beside Krystal before curling up on the window sofa. “I thought Jake was coming.”

Krystal nods, “Me too. He was gonna try and bring along some other photography students.”

Oscar very formally announces, “The Christie Computer Club Is Now In Session. Hear ye hear ye hear…” When they start pelting him with jellybeans and ChedACorn Oscar shuts up.

“Who died and made you president?” asks Maggie.

“No one,” answers Oscar as he picks jellybeans out of his lap and pops them into his mouth. “I assumed possession of the biggest mouth and the largest ego made me a shoo-in.” Lifting a ChedACorn from his shoulder he sends it after the jellybeans.

“Well,” suggests Kate, “Far as I’m concerned if you’ve got an agenda you can have the job. I have no idea how to run a club.” Gesturing toward the snack food array,’ “Parties yes, clubs no. Whose idea was this anyway?”

Kate looks at Maggie who says, “Uh. Yeah, that’d be me.”

“What is on the agenda today, Maggie?” Adam asks.

“That’s the problem,” says Maggie. “I don’t have one. This meeting is to figure out what we want the club to be for.”

Adams says, “Why not evaluate and compare software?”

“That’s a great idea. Give us a focus right off.” Oscar nods. “A ratings website. We could post software and hardware reviews.”

“Not bad,” says Maggie, “Call it Computer Science Department. It should be easy enough to do it for our coursework web pages.”

Krystal says, “It would be fun to have something besides celebrity gossip to tweet about. I could plug the website.”

Kate shakes her head. “Identi.ca is better than Twitter for security issues, especially if you host your own instance.”

Maggie says, “I signed up to Twitter for Stu, but we hardly ever use it; we’re more likely to just text each other.”

Oscar shakes his head. “I can’t believe you lot call yourselves computer geeks.”

“Wait just a minute, there. Oz, microblogging is social network than a geek haven.” says Kate.

“I prefer the term ‘nerd’.” Maggie grins.

“Depends on who you hang out with, doesn’t it now.”

“There are plenty of geeks and nerds on Twitter.”

says Krystal. “You guys just gave it up without giving it a chance.”

“I connect to Twitter through Identi.ca” says Oscar. “All the better to be anonymous.”

Krystal’s eyes widen. “Are you in Anonymous Oz?”

Oscar smiles, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Twitter is simply too frivolous.” says Adam. “If I want to connect with programmers I’ll go though IRC.”

Krystal frowns. “What’s that?”

“Internet relay channel. Live chatting without that ‘following’ business, so everyone can see the conversation.

Maggie laughs. “It’s what Sheldon Cooper would use instead of Twitter”.

Krystal asks, “Who?”

Oscar says “To live chat with Moss and Roy no doubt.”

Krystal frowns. “Now what are you guys talking about?”

“Geek sitcoms.”

Krystal shakes her head. “There are Geek sitcoms?”

Maggie says, “Oh yeah. I’ve only seen bits of I.T. Crowd on YouTube but I told my folks I want the boxed set for Christmas. Oz and I have a running argument about which is better, Big Bang Theory or I.T. Crowd. My favorite I.T. Crowd clip is where the cops break down the door and gun down the girl.”

Krystal says, “Uh huh. Sounds real funny. Not.”

“No really, you have to see it. I didn’t explain it very well,” Maggie says. “It’s a take off on those theatre piracy ads.”

Adam says, “I am sick of being lumped in with criminals. All computer people are not pirates. I wish pirates would stop downloading and making me look bad. It is illegal after all.”

Kate says, “But all downloading isn’t illegal, and an awful lot doesn’t even infringe copyright. They’re trying to make it sound as though all downloading is illegal.”

Oscar adds, “You should look at the laws they’re pushing before you judge. The worst of them require no conviction nor evidence. You don’t even have to download anything to get barred from the interwebs. Accusations can evict you, and not just you, but everyone at your address, innocent family, flatmates.”

Adam says, “That doesn’t sound right. Are you certain?”

Kate says, “I thought it was to stop copyright infringement.”

Oscar says, “That’s what they want you to think, Kate. But in this brave new world you’re guilty until proven innocent.”

Adam says, “But they have to do that to stop the pirates.”

“You mean like at our terribly depraved Ubuntu release party with all of those torrents.”

“That’s not what I mean,” says Adam.

Maggie says, “I hadn’t thought of that, Oz. That means when they throttle torrents it means they target Ubuntu parties.”

“Of course that’s wrong, but that’s not what I mean though. What I’m talking about is people who steal music and movies.”

Oscar says, “Lets think about that a minute, Adam, shall we? How are people stealing music exactly?”

“People download it then share it with other people.”

“Have you ever watched a movie on TV Adam?”

“Of course.”

“Was that stealing?”

“No, but we pay for cable.”

Kate reaches for the remote and switches on the TV. “You know what? I pay for cable too.”

Adam says, “Of course you do. I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t. I mean …”

It’s the new House episode. Adam trails off as he notes that Kate isn’t really listening, she’s intently watching the Chase wheel out the crash cart and shock the patient until she’s stable.

Oscar says, “Is that why we didn’t recruit anyone new? I didn’t realize it was a House conflict. We’ll never get any new members at this rate. Better pick a new night.”

“Or include House watching as a bonus.” says Krystal.

When the show breaks into a commercial, Kate mutes it, then turns to Adam. “How is watching my cable broadcast different than if we shared a download?”

Adam opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again, frowning. Then, “I will have to think about that, Kate.”

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53

The darkness of the night is emphasized by the flashing lights of the police car angled across the parking lot behind Fyfield House. Jake’s stomach drops as the worst case scenario catches his throat and he hurries over.

But wait. This isn’t it. This is something else. Quentin spread eagled against the car in the time honored tradition of TV cop shows. Why is the cop frisking Q like they do on TV? This is bad too. Just a different bad.

As Jake approaches he realizes it isn’t a real police car, it’s campus security. “Hey, what’s the problem?” he asks.

The burly guard dismisses Jake with, “Move along son.”

Jake moves in closer, ignoring Q’s warning head shake. “You’re making a mistake here.” says Jake firmly. Facing up to this beefy guard is nothing compared to dealing with Elsie.

Planting his hands on his hips to maximize his chest inflation, the guard glares down at Jake, irritated at the skinny kid’s challenge. “I caught this guy lurking around down here, but that isn’t any of your concern kid. So just move along.”

Jake crosses his arms. “Q wasn’t “lurking”, he was waiting for me. Now just let him go.”

“Just piss off kid.”

Righteously indignant, Jake says, “Didn’t you hear what I said? You have no call to harass him.”

“Oooh, are you a lawyer, boy?”

Quentin is shaking his head more emphatically, trying to get Jake to stand down, eyes wide, trying to will Jake into silence.

“I live in Fyfield House, he lives in the cottages. We’re both Christie students, boy, so that means we pay your salary. Now are you gonna let him go or do I call a real cop?”

Quentin is aghast, now worried that young Jake’s heroics are gonna get them both killed.

Quentin says, “It’s OK, Jake, really,” when the guard rounds on him with raised fist.

“You. SHUT UP,” shouts the guard as Elsie comes out of the building and barges into the tableau lit by strobing cruiser lights.

Elsie says, “Just get into the car, I’ll tell you where to go.”

“What the hell are you talking about girl?” The guard is not about to take any more crap from these snotty rich kids.

Elsie shifts the large cloth bag she has over her shoulder so she can whip out her cell phone. She punches a single digit then says, “We’re having a problem, can you come out to the lot?”

Elsie snaps the phone shut and tucks it in her coat, folding her arms and glowering up at him. “I’m sorry, I mistook you for someone with a brain.”

“You aren’t making it any better for yourself, bitch,” bellows the guard, “I don’t know what you smart ass kids think you are up to but I’m going to take you all in, and then we will get it straightened out.”

The guard is startled by a very large hand clamping itself on his shoulder. “I don’t think so,” says the owner of the hand, who wears the same uniform but with a bit of gold braid on the shoulder boards. Val Thompson, the campus security chief, has a physique roughly equivalent to the Incredible Hulk’s. “I think you’re about done here, Connor.”

“Uh, sir, but I was on my rounds and these people were behaving suspiciously.” Val fixes him with a look; Connor pales and shuts up.

“This is what we’re gonna do. You are going to give me the keys to this car and then you will go inside and cover the main desk until I get back. You will be polite. And deferential. Think you can handle that Connor?”

Connor swallows, “Uh, sir,” carefully avoiding looking at anyone but Val, “I’m not sure what deferential means.”

Val pins him with a laser glare. “Deferential means you kiss ass. Do you think you can handle that Connor?”

Wearing a poker face Connor executes a military precision salute. “Yes sir.”

Val holds out his palm and Connor digs the car keys out of his pocket and hands them over before marching back to the building, head held high.

Disgusted, Val gets into the driver’s seat. “Guys, if you’ll get in back, please, Elsie will ride shotgun.”

Quentin and Jake pile in although they have no idea what is happening. After belting up, Elsie twists around in her seat to tell them, “Liz found Natasha and she’s hurt. When we get there you’ll need to stay on the path to flag down the ambulance.”

Elsie says, “Val, this is my roommate Jake, and his friend …”

“Quentin Bradbury. I live in the cottages.”

Val nods, carefully backing out, doing a three point turn onto the footpath, then driving slowly. “Tomorrow I’m gonna want to talk to you about what was happening with Connor.”

“He was acting like a Nazi thug.” protests Jake.

Quentin nods, “No problem, I’d love to come by and give you a statement.”

“Sorry. Our budget doesn’t buy us the cream of the crop. I’ve had suspicions about him but suspicion isn’t grounds for termination. That’s why I’d like to talk to you both. Later.”

“Elsie, what happened to Natasha?” asks Jake.

“Liz said she was attacked. She’s probably been out there most of the day, and she’s hurt, so it’s really lucky Liz found her.”

Quentin mutters, “Luck, my ass.”

The campus security car arrives at the fork in the path. Val makes the tight turn and drives toward the parking lot.

“Please keep your eyes open for…”

“There!” yells Jake. As the car approaches they see Ethan standing at the side of the road, shivering in a T shirt. Val stops the car, and Elsie is first out, handing Ethan a large sweatshirt.

He starts “They’re in here.”

Elsie shakes her head. “Put it on, you’re freezing, then you can take me.” Ethan nods and pulls it over his head, while Jake climbs out and hands Elsie his brightest flash light, then one of the penlights to Ethan. Elsie flashes Jake a non-predatory smile and follows Ethan into the woods.

Quentin climbs out of the car and positions himself with Jake just off the path, and they watch Val take the campus car down the path to the parking lot. Sirens wail in the distance.

Elsie’s light bounces along the path, variously skidding off trees and shrubs until it lands on Liz kneeling at the side of the path, cradling Natasha’s head in her lap.

Elsie bites back an admonition; a lay person should never move a head injury. Blood encrusted in her hair clearly indicates Natasha has one. She has also been bundled in Ethan’s voluminous pea coat. Elsie fleetingly hopes the rescuers haven’t done more damage than good as she passes the big flash to Ethan and she opens her bag. Ethan fiddles with the flash light until it slides open, transforming into a lantern.

Elsie pulls out a gray felt blanket and kneels beside Natasha’s supine figure. Ethan goes around and crouches beside Liz, one hand holding up the lantern for Elsie, the other arm slipping protectively around Liz’s shoulder.

Elsie can see matted blood on Natasha’s head, quite a lot of it, clotted into her hair. Reaching out to gently touch Natasha’s neck, Elsie deftly takes her pulse. “Getting her warm was good, and her pulse is strong.” she tells Liz matter-of-factly. “May I have the light please?” Ethan hands it over silently, and Elsie lifts the corner of the coat and shines the light in.

Liz asks, “Is she going to be okay?”

Natasha’s clothes are ripped and bloody, the beginning of heavy bruising forming on her thighs. Looks like blood and semen. Elsie lightly probes her arms and legs.

“Nothing seems broken”.

“But there’s so much blood.”

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Doesn’t have to be serious. I can’t tell about the head injury, it could be bad or she might be fine. I’m just here for first aid. We are not even going to try to move her, we just keep her warm until the paramedics arrive. I’d say she’s in damn good shape for someone who’s been laying out here for hours.

She passes the light back to Ethan, and settles the heavy wool blanket over the unconscious girl. “I think they’re here.”

The thrum of the ambulance engine slows and stops out on the footpath. Doors open and close and lights strobe as Val leads the paramedics through the trees.

With practiced ease a portable gurney is set up, and Elsie gets up and steps out of the way. The paramedics squat on either side of Liz, expertly sliding a board under the unconscious Natasha smoothly transferring her to the gurney.

Ethan gets up, and Liz tries to as well, but she’s shaky from squatting so long. Ethan encircles her with his arms and pulls her to her feet. Liz rotates one ankle and flexes her knee, to restore circulation, then the other. She leans back into Ethan, and they watch the gurney being carried out.

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54

popcorn litters the counter beside and under the bowl

The Untrue lyrics are like a knife slicing pieces off his heart, Eric thinks as he listens to the song playing on the CD player in the common room. It might have been written expressly for Elsie. God, that Amelia can sure pick depressing songs. He thinks he might counter with Queen’s Somebody To Love, but then he decides against it. That might be too cruel.

In the kitchen, the air heats up and the popcorn kernels begin to rattle, then explode one by one. Amelia tucks a bowl under the outlet to catch the popped corn shooting out. Eric tries not to let the Untrue lyrics get to him. The butter is exploding so he shuts off the microwave before it can beep.

Eric says, “So we listen to depressing music.”

Amelia nods. “Yup. I pick, you pick. Having fun yet?”

Eric wonders, is it just this song, or will every break up song rip out his heart out now?

It’s starting to get to him but Amelia’s popcorn machine is going nuts. The popping is picking up and shooting popped corn kernels into the bowl with such force they are bouncing out, landing on the counter or the floor.

Eric and Amelia scramble to catch errant popcorn, with little luck. The comedy inherent in being pelted with flying popcorn removes some of the sting from lyrics that are just a touch too close to home. The laughter they’re sharing isn’t exactly something he expected from Amelia’s description of a ‘depression party’.

Finally the corn is all popped so Amelia pulls the plug. “That was an exercise in stupidity.”

“I have to tell you, your popper’s design kind of sucks.” he says as he opens the broom closet and pulls out the whisk broom to sweep the mess from the floor.

“Only kind of? Try massive fail. This is the first time I’ve used it. My mom didn’t think I would actually go off to college again without one, so she bought me this hunk of junk new.”

Eric asks, “Popcorn junkie?”

“Oh yeah, the worst.”

“Me too.” He dumps the dustpan contents in the trash. “Do we decide what movies the same way, you pick I pick?”

“Yeah, and the best part is we can whine about our love lives as much as we want.”

Eric cocks an eyebrow, “You know all about mine, but I am at a disadvantage since I have no idea what your problem is.”

Sighing, Amelia says, “Just the usual, unrequited love. He doesn’t know I exist.” She opens the cupboard and she gathers up a half dozen spice bottles– popcorn toppings.

“This is for the popcorn?” he asks in surprise.

Amelia drizzles melted margarine over the popcorn. “We can do this one of two ways. Pick one flavor. Or if you’re boring we could just sprinkle it with the salt. But the other way we can go is to dump a bit of each topping into these Chinese tea cups and then dip as desired. Kind of like popcorn dim sum.”

Eric laughs. “Popcorn dim sum. I love it.” As they pour toppings into the little cups, Eric says, “Tell you what– next time we do scratch toppings.”

“Oooh. A connoisseur!” Amelia laughs, “Looks like I’ve uncovered another popcorn junkie.”

Eric stacks the desert bowls and carries them in to the common room. He sets them out in a semicircle on the coffee table by the sectional sofa.

As the song fades down he crosses to the equipment stack and opens the DVD player, popping in a disk while Amelia opens the wine. She carries it out and sets the bottle beside the wine glasses and the popcorn, then flops down on half of the sectional. Eric flips through his CDs, selecting one before returning the Tim Lewis CD to its case so he can put on his own choice, guaranteed to rip her heart out. Time to get depressing.

“What’ve you got?” she asks.

“An oldie but goodie.”

Amelia begins to eat popcorn but it’s not long before she’s captivated by the lyrics of the song ‘Loneliness’, and stops eating, her hand poised above the bowl, staring up into nothingness as she listens to the words.

“Oh, this is good.” Amelia closes her eyes to feel the music.

Eric drops onto the adjacent sectional section.

“Told you.” But when he looks over at Amelia he is suddenly uncomfortable. There are actual tears trickling out of Amelia’s closed eyes. He wants to pat her shoulder or something. Watching Amelia’s tears flow as the words about hopelessness and the darkness in your heart pour out of the speakers, Eric wishes he’d chosen something else.

Finally unable to stand any more, Eric asks, “Are you Okay?”

Amelia sits up and shushes him and they sit in silence as the song plays out.

As the last note fades he says, “I’m so sorry I should have picked something else, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, that was perfect.” She brushes her eyes with her sleeve and says, “You did good. That’s the point!”

“What? I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Shut up and hand me a tissue.” Eric passes her the box.

Amelia grabs a wad and blows her nose. He watches as she scrubs at her blotchy face and mops her eyes, then gives him an unexpected smile through her tears. “You surprised, me that’s all, Eric. Guys aren’t supposed to know about the really good depressing shit like this.”

“But I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“God, it was perfect. Whining about people we love, crying our eyes out, maybe interspersed with a bit of hysterical giggling– THAT’s what a depression party is for, it’s cathartic. You’re an English major, you know what cathartic means right?”

“Yes, I know what cathartic means.”

Munching on popcorn Amelia asks, “Who’s the singer?”

“Annie Lennox. She writes awesome lyrics. Hang on.” Eric jumps up and gets his PDA out of the CD box, passes it to her so she can read the words of the song they just heard.

“You’ve got all your favorite the lyrics on this?”

“Not all, but a lot. There are tons of lyrics online.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat there stopping and starting a CD to get down all the words to a song I love. I mean look at this, they’re brilliant.”

“Yeah, powerful imagery. Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing song lyrics, ’cause lyrics are like the poetry of today.”

“I never thought about it before but that makes sense. ‘Poetry’ used to be huge but it sure doesn’t come across as being ‘cool’ nowadays.”

“Guys can’t admit we read or write poetry, but writing songs is acceptable. Only thing is, I’m not very musical.”

“If you’re good at picking songs with great lyrics, you might be good at writing them.”

“Thanks. So what do you think, isn’t it time? I think so.”

“Time for the first movie?”

“No, time to tell me why you are depressed.”

“But you’ve got a movie ready to go.”

“And it’ll stay ready. I’m not letting you off so easily. What’s getting you down?”

“It’s just the usual. Unrequited love shit.”

“Maybe you could get it requited?”

“Don’t be such a man.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trying to solve my problems. That’s a man thing.”

Eric says, “What I can possibly say to that? I hate to have to tell you this, but I am. A man, I mean.” His words just hang in the air for a minute.

Amelia nods. “Uh, I will admit that I have noticed you are in fact a man. Thing is, what I’m really looking for is a friend.” Amelia sees the frustration written on his face and tries again, “Look I’m not trying to drive you nuts, really. It’s just, how do I explain a depression party? It’s about just sharing feelings. We’re not trying to fix them, just to process the feelings and let them out.”

Eric says, “Wallowing, you mean.”

“Yes! Exactly. Except it sounds better when you call it catharsis. The thing is, it It helps make it easier to cope with all the crap. That’s why blubbering is good, though you don’t seem comfortable with that part.”

Eric says, “That would be a man thing.”

“I’m not trying to–”

“Yes you are, but it’s fine. I have an older sister. And she never actually talked to me about anything. The only time I ever saw her cry was when I think she’d just been dumped.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

Eric holds up a finger. “Just let me finish, Okay?” Amelia nods so he continues, “I heard her crying in her room. So, you have to understand, the rule was I wasn’t supposed to go in without permission but she was crying, and so I went in to give her a hug. But she threw her radio at my head, but I ducked and it hit the wall and smashed into a million pieces, which was apparently my fault too. My allowance was docked for months to pay for the new one.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“Yeah, well she told our folks that I broke it, and I didn’t realize until years later that it really wasn’t my fault. I mean, I made her mad, right?”

“How old were you?”

“First or second grade, I think. What’s that, six or seven or something? Guess I still don’t know how to deal with girls.” Seeing Amelia start to open her mouth he self corrects. “Women. You know I don’t do so well in the girlfriend department.”

“Oh, Eric, no one’s keeping score. It’s just, well, you can’t ‘fix’ feelings. You just have to live through them. And besides, your sister sounds like a bitch.”

“You got that right.” Eric grins. “So. What do I do to help?”
“Just listen, it works wonders.” She looks over with brows raised and he nods. “Okay. I’ll tell you. The guy wouldn’t know who I was if he tripped over me. But for some stupid reason, well, I just fell hard for him. I mean, he’s not even really that bright, which is unusual for me. Usually I get all hung up on brilliant geeky guys who don’t know I’m alive.”

“But not this time?”

“No this time I’m just hung up on a drop dead gorgeous guy who doesn’t know I’m alive.”

“I can see where that might be a problem. So,” he glances over at her, “I’m not allowed to ask why you don’t ask him out?”

Amelia giggles. “Am I that bossy?”

Eric nods, “Understatement.”

Amelia laughs. “It isn’t gonna work that way. If we’re gonna be friends I guess I can’t give you a hard time for being a guy. Do-over. You can do or say whatever you want to do or say.”

“Gee thanks.”

“Da nada.”

“So why don’t you just ask the guy out?”

“Because he’s carrying a torch for someone else. And it is huge, his torch, I mean. For me, well, I’ve got a crush. Unrequited, the oldest snub in the book. A couple of depression parties and I’ll be over him. But he’s just so fixated on her he doesn’t even see any girls except her. And here I am still hung up on the guy even knowing that. I mean how pathetic is that?”

“Let me grab the chocolate and we can watch a movie.”

“Chocolate? You know about chocolate?”

“Oh yeah, you need chocolate at a depression party. Gotta keep those endorphins flowing.”

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