Chapter Thirty-three: Shaved
Three weeks passed into the second semester. My community service, or free lawn care for the college, was done. Discovered that the maintenance crew liked to smoke pot behind the sheds on the back hill where they stowed their riding mowers. Some rifts on the hall were bridged but George and I didn’t talking much. People didn’t like my facial hair so I kept it well beyond the gruff and grizzled look I was going for, but just as I convinced everyone I wouldn’t shave, I cut the bramble of whiskers down to stubs and scrapped the face clean.
I left my hair ear length.
A fat faced boy from a Rockwell print blinked back at me in the bathroom mirror.
Girls walking down my hall turned their head as I passed by shirtless, toiletries in hand. For the next hour I heard “You look better” everywhere. The more they said it; the more I wanted to slash my cheeks with scissors and waves of tired washed over me.
After getting my mail at the Foote Campus Center, recently rededicated after a hefty donation, I couldn’t take anymore comments and locked my door.
“I am not going to class in this condition,” I said.
Sleep was my only desire and it penetrated my shriveling muscles. The lights went off.
Sleep couldn’t be denied.
Rippling pains of hunger woke me and the fading day was evident. I got up and passed by the cubbyhole. There sitting patiently was my copy of Less Than Zero.
“I really should read that.”
The soles of my slippers scuffed the hall tiles as I made my way to Tim’s room. Three quick knuckle wraps entered his room. The sound of a couch being dragged vibrated the floor. Silly stoned people should be more careful, I knew what they were doing but they didn’t expect to see me around. The door opened and Tim looked at me and said, “You fucker, thought you were at class. Thought it was security.”
I passed through and saw Erin chomping on a lollipop and George sat there grinning stoned as granite. The whites of their eyes were blood red. Erin’s arms looked like chop sticks. She waved me over to hug her and my face dropped. I was revolted by her skeletal ways but walked over to the couch. Careful not to squeeze too hard and break a rib through her blue t-shirt that read No Fear, I hugged her.
George raised his left hand half way up and it flopped down. He went all Hyena and laughed. Erin tried to talk but her lips fluttered and made an engine noise and a bubble of saliva spurted out. She, still seated, bent over and touched her toes.
As she came up, she said, “You look much better without that thang on your face. Looks’ like you blew a porcupine.”
They laughed as a chorus and I let my irritation evaporate from my skin.
I was vapor.
“Glad to get rid of it,” I said and lit up a bent cigarette.
The hot fumes were a red hot poker searing my lungs. My cough cracked with snapping mucus.
Tim sat down, burned up a bowl and spewed through the blow tube.
“What happened to your voice kid?” he asked.
“I burned my throat with some coffee,” I answered.
“You gotta test the shit out before you start chugging it down man,” George said as he toked the bowl.
As George sucked, Tim reached under the couch and pulled out a daisy yellow can of floral air freshener. The can hissed out a mist of gardenias and grapefruit.
“Nasty, what is that?” I asked.
“I ran out of the under arm deodorant but this works,” he said.
At this point I was getting woozy. A contact high was a real threat and could cause a flashback. They finished as I leaned on the wall. The can of air freshener sprayed. I opened the door, waved and left.
I had no one to hang out with.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
No sex drive just sleep drive. My door closed and the red dots covered the ceiling and descended on strings like spiders. I couldn’t fight them anymore.