The Excess Road

Chapter Forty-two: Shattered mirror.

  “Joaquin! Hurry the fuck up, go!” came through my door.

  I stumbled around putting on what was closest to me on the ground and donned my Mets baseball cap. For some reason I snatch the guitar string ring off of my copy of Less Than Zero in the cubbyhole. I need to finally read that book.

  Out into the harsh light of the day, sharp pains blistered the back of my eyes. My eyes adjusted and I saw what I was wearing. A dark maroon shirt, light green shorts and one black and one blue sock made the clown outfit complete.

  There was no time to change.

  Through the harassing haze of the Virginia heat, I lit a smoke and followed the group across campus to Jasper Hall. We entered between the hedge row on the first floor and the back entrance in silence. The building was a granite glazed tomb. The vents chilled us from above. Secretaries holding stacks of paper looked like they were going to cry as we passed. Our troop came to a stop next to a line of guys from the other side of Taylor. Above the double doors a sign read Conference hall 2.

  Jack pushed the doors wide and a table that belonged in a corporate board room lounged in the center of the expanse. At the far end, a man read a bundle of papers. He looked up and was the Dean of Students Terry Huss. His chair was too low. His head and shoulders were just above the rim of the table. He stood as both groups piled in.

  The purple carpet rebounded under my steps.

  The gray walls hunched around us.

  The dean blinked and said, “Will you all sit down please,” and all did except George who leaned on the wall.

  The dean surveyed the situation and asked him, “Um, would you like my seat?”

  “I’ll stand,” George said.

  Two men and a woman in matching tan uniforms entered through a single door behind the dean.

  The air stopped.

  No one blinked.

  Silence coalesced and the seal was broken.

  “Gentlemen, I regret to inform you…,” the dean said, exhaled, a tiny bead of perspiration condensed at the tip of his widow’s peak and ran straight to the tip of his nose, “There is some tragic news concerning your friend Timothy Baumgarten. I’m sure you’ve all heard rumors. Last night, the police confirmed...” his eyes reflected the over head light in his bowing tears, “um, ah Timothy was pronounced dead along with Erin Douglas. They believe it was a murder-suicide but they’re still investigating. I’m truly sorry to tell you this horrible news and we have hired grief counselors to help y’all through this ordeal,” he said.

  He fell back into the over-fluffed cushion of his low seat.

  The silence reclaimed its space.

  Eyes blinked and lips were still.

  Color bled away.

  My ring spun.

  A gentle weep fractured the silence. A thump came from the floor behind. George had slumped to the floor curled up with his arms around his knees. He sobbed.

  “What the fuck”

  “Holy Shit”

  “No way.”

  I wondered if Rascal was involved but if he was I didn’t have to worry about him coming after me. Leaning back in my chair, hungry roared and thirst screamed so I spun out of the seat.

  Down the aisle between the chairs and wall, I dashed to where George was in a heap. A woman in a tan knelt next to him. Stepping by, I was ambushed by a brindle headed grief counselor. He wedged himself between me and the doors and stood six inches away.

  “Do you need to use the men’s room?” he asked and put his hand on my right shoulder.

  I knocked his hand off and said, “No.”

  “You shouldn’t leave. We need to have y’all in one area,” he said and put his hand on my shoulder again.

  I knock it off.

  “Am I obligated under any kind of disciplinary action to stay here?”

  “No, this is for your benefit,” he said.

  Black pools rippled behind his eyes.

  “Then I am leaving,” I said and looked down at George as I pushed my way through the grief gurus with a single stare.

  The clock in the cafeteria read nine thirty-five. Weak coffee steamed dripped out of the black tap and I hoarded bacon and sausage on my plate. My tooth hurt like hell but I was hungry for the first time in months. Every time I bit down, my tooth lacerated with pain. I squeezed my hands into fists as I thought about the grief counselors. I never trusted anyone who tried to help someone when they didn’t want it. My coffee tasted salty.

  Blood poured from my tooth.

  I surmise I better tell Dawn and Elyssa. They deserved to know. I went back and put my dishes on the rack and tray on the stack. Off to Donner hall.

  Pain pulsed from my tooth to my feet with every step on the pavement. Donner hall was busy as a hive and I was a bee from another colony. People buzzed around paying me no mind. At the top of the stairs, I looked down for a second and bumped into a guy.

  It was Justin.

  His eyes went round as tarnished quarters.

  “Shit. I’m sorry about your friend man. Tim was good people,” he said with his head down.

  “Why, what happened to Tim?”

  One nostril flared, one side of his mouth arched, he put his hands on his hips.

  “Uh, uh I heard your friend Tim, uh was, uh,” he said.

  “I know what happened. Just fucking with you.”

  “You’re sick man,” he said and ducked behind the landing’s door and took off. I figured if he knew what happened then the girls did too.

  The hall was barren. All but the tiles.

  They must have had the same drill at Jasper. The event had to be known campus wide so I started walking. All I yearned for was sleep. I kept my head down as I walked out into the feverish day. When I did look up, I saw people whisper to their friends. Others turned away. As I walked by the Cerrone building, I saw a group in front of Jasper hugging and wailing. The long route around the other side of the building was clear.

  I reached the sloping sidewalk and saw James sitting on the steps of the side door.

  “Hey man,” I said.

  He swiveled his head up and shrugged. I stepped by and he said, “You should have heard the girls crying. They told them after us. George and Cyrus are at Jasper. What’s up?”

  “I will tell you on the way up,” I said as I opened the door.

  He got up slowly and dusted off his pants. I held the door for him and he led the way.

  “So?”

  “I feel fine. I think I should be in shock but nothing. I figure when you are in shock, you do not feel anything, but I feel normal. I even feel guilty that I do not feel anything. I guess that is probably a bad sign.”

  “It’s good you see it,” James said while rubbing his hands.

  “I just think of movies when people go hysterical. It does not feel like that,” I finished as we get to his room and I turned off to start down the hall to go take a nap.

  “I’m right here,” James said.

  I raised my hand up in a fist.

  Sleep couldn’t be denied.