Two College Kids Try to Fool Around

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Pale blue morning light threatened them; the room seemed even colder to her than it had been during the deep hours of the night, that dark expanse that begins when bars close and parties stop, during which one is either asleep or intoxicated, seeking sex or having it, or more probably approximating it in some ghastly, ineffectual way. The endlessness of non-coital congress, which left her restless enough that only profound exhaustion could extinguish her resurgent urges, made her —a  virginal adolescent in her first year of college— a somnabusexual, a half-dreaming, half-groping, strangely aimless liminalist.

Next to her —trying to act as though their nearness was incidental— he was close to shivering, but was aware that whatever was perpetuating their interaction was too fragile to endanger by seeking a jacket or blanket, or even admitting to being cold, thereby giving them an excuse to finally go to their rooms and sleep. He assumed that it was a lapse in her self-awareness that propelled their increasingly nonsensical conversation along: she had forgotten her beauty, or rather the station her beauty conferred, or had perhaps mistaken him for someone else —an easy thing to do given how radically he misrepresented himself in a desperate effort to be what she wanted. This aberration, this unnatural connection between someone elect and someone repellant, could not be jeopardized by any interruption.

So it was that in addition to being cold, he badly had to urinate, and also to fart, but couldn’t bring himself to stand from the laminate-wood and airplane-seat-upholstery sofa now illuminated by dawn’s awful light. The bathroom was too near, he anxiously calculated; he had little hope of peeing without farting, and no hope of farting without being heard, and therefore no hope of relieving the embarrassing pangs of pain which, once every few minutes, gave a sudden urgency to his wandering words.

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1 year ago  /  102 notes  /  Source: mills