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Authors: Christine Jarmola
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hurt.
-15-
Things That Cry In The Night
A party in the hallway at four in the morning, even on a Friday night—actually Saturday morning—is inconsiderate. Especially since I obviously hadn’t been invited and it had disturbed the most beautiful dream. Mr. Knightly, Mr. Darcy and Al Dansby kept morphing from one to the other, all desperately in love with me. Ah. Then somewhere in the background of absolute bliss came the shouts of a wild, debaucherous festival. We were suddenly at a nineteenth century ball. Mr. Darcy was asking me to dance. I should have been thrilled, yet I knew there was someone I wanted more. I looked over just in time to see Al Dansby making a move on Mr. Knightly. That was what had shattered my bliss.
I awoke upset. Couldn’t he even be straight in my dreams, if not in reality? The fog slowly cleared in my brain enough to focus in on the actual noise in the corridor. It wasn’t the sound of a happy party after all. I heard sobs, then Rachel’s voice. I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. It sounded like a loving mother trying to comfort a distraught child. I heard Stina trying to lighten the mood with, “You’re better off without him.”
“But, I thought he was the one. He promised,” sobbed one of the K’s.
I didn’t have to listen any longer. We’d all been there and done that in differing degrees. He promised. “Trust me,” he said. “You’re the only one for me.” “It’s okay if we really love each other.” Then out of the blue, the old heave-ho.
There was more murmuring. It seemed more K’s had arrived. I heard Stina slip quietly into our room, trying not to wake me.
“I’m already awake. Which K was it?”
“Keesha.”
“The soccer player?”
“Seems he was putting in some extra practice elsewhere.”
“How bad is she?”
“Pretty bad. She’s been sleeping with the guy for a month and now she finds out she’s not the only one. He’s been dropping Keesha off at night and then going out with that Taylor, theater witch, the rest of the night.”
“Hope she was using some kind of protection?”
“Said she was. Nothing is fool-proof though.”
Symbolic choice of words I thought.
I contemplated Keesha’s situation and felt her heartache. “Sadly, there’s no protection for a heart. It breaks every time.”
-16-
Finally/Unfinally
Life went on. The ever-present Oklahoma wind grew colder. More assignments came due as the semester began to wind down. It wasn’t my first time to finish a semester, yet every new beginning I vowed not to wait until the last moment to write all my papers. Every term I waited until the end. So I trudged across the campus, that cold November evening, with my head down walking at an almost forty-five degree angle to the ground, fighting my way against the wind, on a quest to make some library time before Thanksgiving break. Most everything I needed for my research paper was available online. However, Dr. Jekyll was a Luddite and required us to use at least three books, real books, in our work.
Didn’t she know that no one used real books anymore? Yes, she knew. That would be what separated the educated from the masses, she had said when making the assignment. True Academic Research. At that point she got a maniacal gleam in her eye and I was afraid to press the subject further.
So I trudged uphill (okay it wasn’t really a hill, just a little incline), in the rain (so it wasn’t raining, but it could have at any moment) against the wind (it really was unbelievably windy) to the library. Suddenly I did it again—I ran smack into the most fabulous non-straight guy on the planet.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I seem to always be plowing you down.”
He looked at me with the most confused expression. “Have we met before?”
I had to think quickly. What had and had not been done and undone where he was concerned? It was so hard to keep all my
-15-
Things That Cry In The Night
A party in the hallway at four in the morning, even on a Friday night—actually Saturday morning—is inconsiderate. Especially since I obviously hadn’t been invited and it had disturbed the most beautiful dream. Mr. Knightly, Mr. Darcy and Al Dansby kept morphing from one to the other, all desperately in love with me. Ah. Then somewhere in the background of absolute bliss came the shouts of a wild, debaucherous festival. We were suddenly at a nineteenth century ball. Mr. Darcy was asking me to dance. I should have been thrilled, yet I knew there was someone I wanted more. I looked over just in time to see Al Dansby making a move on Mr. Knightly. That was what had shattered my bliss.
I awoke upset. Couldn’t he even be straight in my dreams, if not in reality? The fog slowly cleared in my brain enough to focus in on the actual noise in the corridor. It wasn’t the sound of a happy party after all. I heard sobs, then Rachel’s voice. I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. It sounded like a loving mother trying to comfort a distraught child. I heard Stina trying to lighten the mood with, “You’re better off without him.”
“But, I thought he was the one. He promised,” sobbed one of the K’s.
I didn’t have to listen any longer. We’d all been there and done that in differing degrees. He promised. “Trust me,” he said. “You’re the only one for me.” “It’s okay if we really love each other.” Then out of the blue, the old heave-ho.
There was more murmuring. It seemed more K’s had arrived. I heard Stina slip quietly into our room, trying not to wake me.
“I’m already awake. Which K was it?”
“Keesha.”
“The soccer player?”
“Seems he was putting in some extra practice elsewhere.”
“How bad is she?”
“Pretty bad. She’s been sleeping with the guy for a month and now she finds out she’s not the only one. He’s been dropping Keesha off at night and then going out with that Taylor, theater witch, the rest of the night.”
“Hope she was using some kind of protection?”
“Said she was. Nothing is fool-proof though.”
Symbolic choice of words I thought.
I contemplated Keesha’s situation and felt her heartache. “Sadly, there’s no protection for a heart. It breaks every time.”
-16-
Finally/Unfinally
Life went on. The ever-present Oklahoma wind grew colder. More assignments came due as the semester began to wind down. It wasn’t my first time to finish a semester, yet every new beginning I vowed not to wait until the last moment to write all my papers. Every term I waited until the end. So I trudged across the campus, that cold November evening, with my head down walking at an almost forty-five degree angle to the ground, fighting my way against the wind, on a quest to make some library time before Thanksgiving break. Most everything I needed for my research paper was available online. However, Dr. Jekyll was a Luddite and required us to use at least three books, real books, in our work.
Didn’t she know that no one used real books anymore? Yes, she knew. That would be what separated the educated from the masses, she had said when making the assignment. True Academic Research. At that point she got a maniacal gleam in her eye and I was afraid to press the subject further.
So I trudged uphill (okay it wasn’t really a hill, just a little incline), in the rain (so it wasn’t raining, but it could have at any moment) against the wind (it really was unbelievably windy) to the library. Suddenly I did it again—I ran smack into the most fabulous non-straight guy on the planet.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I seem to always be plowing you down.”
He looked at me with the most confused expression. “Have we met before?”
I had to think quickly. What had and had not been done and undone where he was concerned? It was so hard to keep all my
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