#2

Rain pounded the roof as he lay wide awake in his bed.  He never slept much these days.  He was tired but he could not, for the life of him, close his eyes and fall asleep.  The usual cause of these nightly cycles was a stressful day followed by a pensive night, or perhaps two too many cups of coffee that afternoon.  But on this night it was something different.  He was fascinated.  Fascinated by something he could not fully explain.  Was it the rain streaming down his windows?  Or perhaps the way the wind knocked the occasional branch against his dormitory?  Was it these trivial things that he was fascinated by?  Yes and no.  It was some sort of peculiar combination of these terribly non-trivial things that caused Doak Reilly to sit upright in his bed, audibly sigh and lay back down without the slightest intention on sleeping.

            When he awoke the rain had subsided and his fascination has left him.  He blindly stumbled down the hall to the community shower like he did every other grey morning.  He didn’t much like showering with other people.  He could always feel their piercing eyes always judging, always attacking.  In fact, he didn’t much like how his body was put together.  Arms too lanky, head too big, ears too asymmetrical.  He took off his boxer shorts and quickly moved to a showerhead in the corner; moving hastily while attempting to be nonchalant.  After he washed himself he timidly approached an empty mirror.  He examined his appearance.  Jet-black hair that was in need of a trim.  Bright green eyes about which he told people he hated (yet secretly adored).  A long torso whose pale hue could light up the darkest of corridors.  After this not so cursory examination he glanced at the large clock on the wall; he was late.  He quickly threw on his camel hair coat, warm winter gloves (the left of which had a growing hole) and his favorite Russian hat, complete with flaps to cover his freezing, asymmetrical ears.  He left Hayne Dormitory and quickly shuffled through the snow to the most daunting building on campus.  He entered through her grand maple doors and arrived, as he usually did, late for class.  “EUROPEAN LITERATURE 151” he outlined on his textbook.  It was tough today.  He always tried to pay attention but he would always lose the professor at some point during the lecture.  Dr. Sigmont gave him a disapproving look as class was let out.  He knew what ‘ol Siggy was referring to.  But what could he do about it?  He always tried hard.  After shuffling back through the snow with what should of been a sigh of relief, (for Siggy’s class was his last before the break) he walked to meet Abraham Longwell for sandwiches and coffee.  By the time he had arrived at Bell’s Diner, Abe was already waiting for him.  Abraham was a handsome boy who looked much older than him though they were both just shy of their 20^th birthdays.  This was probably due to the fact that Abe had a rather strong chin, which usually sported some unshaven scruffle that always disgusted him. 

            “Hell, you look frozen solid,” Abe said as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck.

            “And I can tell that you haven’t shaved that dirt off your face,” he would’ve replied had he had the backbone.  “Goddam glove has a hole in it, been giving me fits all morning.”  The pair picked out a booth and sat down, still shaking the cold off their shoulders. 

            “When are you catching the train home?”  Abe asked as he surveyed the menu.  A few seconds passed. 

            “I think I’ll have chicken salad,” Doak said almost matter-of-factly. 

            “Diddn’ya hear what I just said?  When are you catching the train home?” Abe questioned for the second time, his blood beginning to warm up. 

            “Oh.  Sorry, I’ve had a dreadful morning.  Sunday afternoon.  I have to stay here over the weekend to talk to my professors about my ‘lack-luster’ effort in class, whatever the hell that means.”  Abe could tell that he wasn’t in the mood for talking.  They sat in silence and both sipped their coffees.  After a half hour or so they got up from their booths and left the diner for the biting wind; a pristine, untouched chicken salad sandwich sat neatly on one side of the table.

            After stepping into the cold he immediately regretted leaving the warmth of the diner.  He didn’t want to just sit not talking, so he went into the cold and wasted time.  The hole in his glove was constantly getting larger from his incessant fiddling as he trudged through the snow.  It was barely past eleven fifteen and he had a couple of hours to kill before he needed to meet with his first professor, Dr. Buice, about the problem that he swore he didn’t know a thing about.  He sat on a bench for a while looking up at the last of the leaves still clinging to a large oak tree in Brentwood Commons.  After fully exhausting this time eater, as it were, he reached in his left hand coat pocket and pulled out a pack of nearly crumpled cigarettes.  He wasn’t supposed to smoke (or so his doctor had said) and in fact, he didn’t even like it.  Nevertheless, he struck a match and regrettably dragged on the last remaining Lucky Strike in the pack.  He was restless.  It was now barely past noon and he had nothing to look forward to but being scolded by Buice for that thing which he, still, swore he knew nothing about.  He not so carefully tossed his cigarette on the ground and began the long, horrid walk to the History building.  Doak had barely taken a few steps, when he looked back at the bench where he was sitting.  His Lucky Strike was still slightly smoking on the ground, and though he knew it would only be a matter of minutes until it was fully out, he walked back to the bench and used the heel of his dark brown boot to put it out of its misery.  He wasn’t sure why he walked all the way back to do something which he knew would happen anyways.  The last Lucky Strike was sure to burn out and nothing would come of it, yet something inside him, inexplicable and seething, made him turn on a dime and crush the last of his pack on the ground.  He didn’t even question these actions anymore.  There would be times when he would stop, both physically and mentally, and wonder aloud why he would go out of his way to do the redundant.  Today was not one of those days though.  He didn’t question his inexplicable action, just finished smothering the Lucky Strike and headed up the hill out of Brentwood Commons.

            Doak hated this office.  The smell of smoke clouded his thoughts and he couldn’t help but stare at the obviously forced family portraits that were neatly stacked next to the bronze nameplate that read “DONALD BUICE, Ph.D.”

            “You do know why you’re here, don’t you Mr. Reilly?”  Buice said in a more condescending tone than Doak was used to.

            He just sat there in silence.  He wasn’t sure if he nodded at the ominous figure or not.

            “Hmm, I see,” said Buice, with a grin starting to curl around his pale lips.  “You, by some miracle of nature, go into Winter Break with a B in my course.  Though right now, I am not very inclined to give you such a mark.  Your constant tardiness and lack-lus...”  Doak closed his ears when he could hear what he knew was coming next out of Buice’s mouth.  He could tell that phrase that he hated was leaving Buice’s mouth like a string of smoke smoothly comes from the lips of an aristocrat.  “...in my class.  If you do not show some improvement after the break, you will not be pleased when you receive your final marks.”

            Doak nodded his head and fumbled over an apology that they both know he did not mean as he quickly left the stuffy office that he had been too many times.  He walked back down the large marble stairs and headed as quickly as he could for the biting cold.  A clock on the way outside the building left him with disappointment. 12:57.  He was stuck in another awkward period between meetings with his professors.  Too much time to just sit around, yet not enough time to do something worthwhile.  He put his camel hair jacket back on and donned his Russian hat as he welcomed the freezing wind.

            He, somehow, managed to kill off a full 38 minutes by merely walking around the campus going from bench to bench, sitting for five minutes here, ten minutes there.  He found his way back to Brentwood Commons where he had sat and smoked just a few hours earlier.  He saw his fateful Lucky Strike on the ground with a light layer of snow covering the butt. 

            The next office he found himself in was not quite as stuffy as Buice’s, but no less uncomfortable.  He wasn’t sure what it was about the dark wooden walls of Professor Robert Long’s office that made him uncomfortable, but they did so nonetheless.  This conversation went much like the one in Old Man Buice’s office.  A false apology here, a scolding glance there, and a barrage of condescendence.  He left Long’s office and was glad as he finally had something to look forward to.  He went back into the cold and walked quickly towards his dormitory.  He didn’t have another of these terrible meetings until tomorrow afternoon, though he was not as worried about the interrogation tomorrow; being as it was with the one professor he didn’t have a hatred for.  In fact, he almost liked Dr. Collins.

            He braved the cold yet again with barely more than a glove.  (The hole that was not much larger than a penny at the beginning of a day had now turned into a half dollar sized window that left his hand dry and cracking.)  Doak wasn’t sure what he would do for the remainder of the day, though he was glad it was almost over.  He was seemingly counting down the hours until he caught the one-thirty train to Hartford.  He wasn’t sure if his parents would be there waiting for him or if he’d have to go through the awkward motions of a stuffy cab ride.

            The remainder of the night was a boring one.  He was on his way to get dinner with Abe and Johnny Stevens, and a sudden revelation hit him like a strong winter gust.  Even though Doak liked Abe, he was often annoyed by him.  A comment here, a snide expression there.  And while he wasn’t in love with Abraham Longwell, he could not stand even the sight of Johnny Stvens.  Every fiber of his being bothered Doak to the point of nausea.  Stevens was a short boy a year younger than Abraham and Doak,  And unlike the unusual dark wooden walls in Long’s office, Doak knew exactly what bothered him about Stevens.  Everything.  His hair was too neat, his chin too square, his study habits too studious.  Did Doak envy him?  God no.  Or at least he was not ready to admit such a travesty.  The principle reason he hated Stevens with such a burning passion was because to him, Stevens represented everything Doak was a failure at.  Stevens had a steady girl that would come visit him every weekend she could.  His hair was always neat like he lived in a damn barber shop.  He spent all of his time reading for classes and still found some way to be one of the most popular boys you would find on campus.

            “Great to see you Stevens,” he lied when he saw him come in to the cold cafeteria with Abe to his left.

            “Yes sir, nice to see you too.  Sorry if I’ve been rather anti-social the last few weeks, I’ve barely closed my books!  Between studying and Barbara coming up last weekend I’ve barely had time to sleep!” 

            Doak and Abe joined in with a resounding laugh, as was usual when Stevens was present.  Doak had to struggle to not wince when Stevens mentioned Barbara, the girl he was going steady with. 

            “It wasn’t easy making an A on my research paper for Wingfoot’s class mind you.  I had to work on that bastard for weeks.  And Barbara wasn’t helping in the slightest!”  Doak choked back the vomit in his throat.

            The remainder of dinner was a boring affair riddled with more talk of Stevens’ high marks in all his classes and of the times he and Barbara spent in his parents’ car over the summer.  Doak was disgusted.  He and Abe parted ways with Stevens after they finished their meals (Doak actually ate something, due mostly to the fact that he realized he hadn’t eaten all day) and they both headed back to Hayne to turn in for the night.

            “Doesn’t he bother you?” Doak asked Abe as they hiked through Brentwood Commons and up to their dormitory.

            “Who?  Stevens?  God no!  He’s fantastic.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the bastard.  He does talk an awful lot about himself though.  Is that what you mean?”

            “Yeah, I suppose.  There’s just something about him.  Like he knows he’s better than the rest of us...you know?” Doak said cautiously hoping Abe wouldn’t rip into him.

            “Eh, well he does have something to brag about.  If I’d necked with a girl that pretty for that long in my Pop’s car...”

            Abe just didn’t get it.  Why was everyone so concerned with what people were and weren’t doing?  Johnny Stevens was an outright ass and everyone knew it.  But they wouldn’t dare call him out because they loved him so much.  Every damn one of them loved Johnny Stevens to the point where he could get away with murder.

            “With goddam murder,” he said as he walked into Hayne and left Abe with a puzzled look upon his unshaven face.

He entered his room still feeling the cold on his face.  He quickly removed his camel hair jacket and boots and sat alone in his bed.  His roommate, Peter Hanover, was already asleep and Doak was careful not to wake him.  Peter was an interesting boy.  He was definitely one of Doak’s favorite people, but he wasn’t sure why.  He wasn’t sure if it was because Doak felt sorry for Peter, or for some other reason.  He was always a loyal friend to Doak and never missed an opportunity to stick up for him in a pinch.  His short stature was a common point of ridicule by the other, less loyal boys at school, and though Doak never went out of his way to stand up for him, he knew that he should.  Doak pondered these thoughts as he slowly fell asleep atop his rather uncomfortable bed awaiting the long train-ride home.

            The next morning came quickly and his room was colder than usual.  It took him an extra few minutes to leave the warm haven of his bed as he lay quietly watching his loyal roommate reading an Ancient Greek History textbook at his desk.

            “You’re awake.  Little earlier than usual eh?”  Peter said with a smirk.

            “It’s not even nine?  Why am I awake.  Sure as hell isn’t to study,” he remarked with laughter as he motioned to the large textbook Peter was holding.  He was in a surprisingly good mood for it being so early in the morning.

            “Let me know when you’re sufficiently awake so we can grab some coffee, its cold as hell out there,” he barely even looked up from his textbook.

            “You’ve already been out?  Damn Pete, what could you have possibly been doing this early on the Saturday before break?”

            “Just an early morning walk.  Helps me clear my mind after I read for a while.”  His voice was confident as he turned the page on the Dark Ages.

            “I’m ready when you are.  I need some hot caffeine in my bloodstream.  One more meeting before I catch the train tomorrow,” Doak said as he yawned and rubbed the sleep form his eyes.

            The pair walked into the menacing chill and moved with haste towards Bell’s.  They got the same booth that Doak had shared with Abe the day before, but this experience was much more enjoyable.

            “Well at least its just Collins today,” Peter said with a mouth half-full of a tuna fish sandwich on toast.  “The old bat will probably let you off easy.  I swear he likes you.”

            “Eh, maybe.” Doak responded after taking a sufficiently too big mouthful of his chicken salad.  “I’ve always liked Collins.  Freshman year he helped me on a term paper for English.  Frustrating as hell though.  He kept kicking me out of his office telling me to write a draft, then I’d bring it back and he’d say one or two things, mark my paper to hell and give it back to me.  Telling me to fix and bring it back.  Damn I hated him for those two weeks.  ‘Til I got my grade.  Bastard did it though, I got an A.”  Doak put down his sandwich as the memory flooded back to him.  He didn’t speak as highly of Dr. Collins as he should and they both knew it.

            “I don’t have to be up there for another hour or so if you want—“ He was cut off by a kick under the table.  Peter looked straight past Doak towards the door, his mouth slightly open.  The blood rushed back to his face and he shook of the stare as if it didn’t happen.

            “There she is,” he said shaking his head. “Janet Andersen.  God I love her.”  His eyes not so secretly followed her as she came into the diner and shook off the cold from her shoulders and carefully removed a violet scarf from around her neck.

            “Why’re you sitting here telling me all about her.  Go for it.” Doak offered as they were both cleaning their plates.

            “Ha!  What’d he put in your coffee?!  We both know she’s out of my league.”  He looked down and reluctantly pushed his toast across his plate.  They both knew he was right.  McConnell girls were out of both their leagues.  It was strange, Doak thought, how by being at a different school mere miles away from theirs was a determining factor in their status.

            “You can always tell them apart from the rest,” Peter finished as he pushed his plate away from his breast in disgust.

            Then Peter did something that neither he nor Doak saw coming.  He couldn’t quite explain the following action, and even an attempt to do so would have been futile.

            “You goddam McConnell broads.”  He said not-so under-his-breath.  It was as though he could see the words coming out of his mouth but could do nothing to stop the chain reaction.  Immediately, two rather innocent looking girls from McConnell College looked directly at the pair of them.  They were frozen in their fear.  Doak knew it was in this moment that Peter would chime in if their roles had been reversed.  Peter’s loyalty was one of his more admirable traits, but this was somehow different.  Doak was aware of this, but remained silent.  The girls approached them and still, the pair remained motionless.  Instead of a condescending tirade that they assumed would follow, the girls just glared at them and immediately left the warmth of Bell’s Diner

            Usually such a calm, collected fellow, Peter had lost it; Doak, however, was not going to be the first to point out this writing on the wall.

            “I’m not sure”--he was interrupted by Doak’s loud throat clearing as he could tell his friend was struggling.

            Doak didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal, nor did Peter.  The recent events still hanging over the pair of them like an ominous cloud predicting the oncoming storm.

            They paid for their meals and quickly got up as they could feel eyes in the diner all over them.  They re-applied their coats and hats, and with disgust Doak attempted to put on his glove, though only four fingers were covered by its warmth now.  He bid an awkward adieu to his friend, as they both weren’t sure what to say.  They sort of nodded towards each other, as if to just put the event in the past.  Doak and went into the cold and down the hill to Dr. Collins’ office.  As he trudged on towards his destination he couldn’t help but think at his obvious disloyalty.  Peter was in a tight spot and he had done nothing.  He just sat there stupefied, his mouth slightly open as Peter was shamed in their favorite dining spot.  This treachery ate at him the entire walk up to Collins’ office.  He knew Peter would never let such a situation pass without at least offering some sort of insincere apologetic statement that made everything all right.  He knew Peter would have.

            The hike down the hill was an unpleasurable one as he felt somehow empty inside.  This feeling didn’t subside until he finally entered the large dark building through the columnous opening.  He carefully walked up the slick stairs and turned an immediate left towards the office.  He walked up to the door and ran his fingers over the tarnished copper nameplate that stood shabbily tacked on the wall outside of Leonard Collins’ stuffy office.

            “Come in.” The older man said even before Doak rapped his knuckles on the door.

            “How did you know—“ he was suddenly interrupted by the old man.

            “I didn’t at all.  I just sit here all day cooped up in my stuffy office yelling ‘Come In’ every five minutes with the sincerest hope that one of my students is waiting outside in the hallway.”

He could tell that Doak wasn’t in the mood for his sarcasm.

            “I heard you and your clunky boots come barreling up the stairs like a rhinoceros.” He retorted after the silent response from his pupil.  Doak was still not amused.

            “What is the matter with you?  For someone who is on the verge of being reprimanded by nearly all of his professors you’re in a surprisingly foul mood.”

            “Just stop it alright?  I didn’t come here to be berated by your sarcasm and goddamned malcontent.”  He was never this mean to Collins.  The only faculty member on the whole campus that he actually respected, and yet he was taking out his anger on the old man; he wasn’t sure why.  Collins knew Doak was having a rough time of it and decided not to make it worse by continuing along his train of questioning.

            “Well then,” the professor started up again, “what do you want to talk about?  I mean, you did schedule this meeting didn’t you?  I can page Jenny downstairs and get her to check—“   He had finally hit a nerve as his last statement triggered a response from the youth.

            “It’s nothing.  It’s everything.  I abandoned my best friend not an hour ago.  My goddam professors won’t get off my backs.  I have a B in Buice’s course and he’s still riding me like a damned horse.”  His frustration was evident to them both.  Even Collins’ many diplomas tacked to the walls could pick up on the gravity of his unfortunate circumstances.

            “I’m just unhappy I suppose.  I left my best friend high and dry after he made a fool of himself at the diner earlier.  I mean, he did make an absolute fool of himself.  A damn fool.  But I just sat there like I was deaf and dumb.”

            Collins just sat there in silence as he could tell that Doak was not finished.

            “I don’t know.  Just frustrated as hell.”  Collins knew this was his time to chip in.

            “Is there a reason why Buice is on your case even though you’ve got a B in there?  Nothing to do with ‘lack-luster’ effort I’m sure...”  A sly grin curled over his lips as he saw Doak’s eyes light up with surprise.

            “What the hell—“  he was cut off again by the old man.

            “Professors here are terrible at keeping secrets.  Lets just say that news of your recent actions have made it all the way through the facutorial grapevine and into my humble office.”  Doak was still shocked by what Collins had just said.

            “We both know you’re capable Doak.  Hell, how you’re pulling off a B in a class taught by the department head while barely paying attention in class is beyond me.  And an A-minus, if I’m not mistaken, in Stewart’s World Civilizations course?  You’re not exactly the top contributor in either of those classes.”  His voice faded as Doak opened up his mouth slightly as if he had something to say.  “You’ve got a tremendous grade average its just—“  This time, the younger of the two of them was doing the interrupting.

            “I know, I know. I’m just not trying enough.”  He contorted his face to imitate Buice’s horrid body language.

            “Face it, we both know Buice is an ass.  Thinks he knows everything about everything.  The trouble is, he’s an ass whose also a department head, and with that comes a lot of weight that he can throw around.  Pretty big deal, you know.”  Collins could feel the next question coming from Doak and he offered a pre-emptive response.

            “No, no.  We both know I’m not cut out for that job.  All those politics.”  These was no question about whether or not the old man was qualified for such a position.  With a double-degree in History and Literature from Princeton and a Ph.D. from Columbia, he was easily qualified.  Couple that with his 30 plus years of teaching and that job could he his if he wanted it.  The truth of the matter was that Leonard Collins loved the peaceful life he carved out for himself.  He had no desire to be in the limelight or in magazine articles like Donald Buice was.  He didn’t want that anymore.  When his wife was alive, Collins was an ambitious, overt man flowing with happiness.  This changed drastically however, with the passing of his wife almost ten years ago.  He was an optimist turned cynic; an extrovert turned into somewhat of a hermit who was perfectly content in his loneliness.  All of these thoughts raced through his head and he visibly shook off these memories and got back to the topic at hand.

            “The fact of the matter is that you’ve been able to skate by on sheet ability while you’ve been here.  This term is different and you need to realize that before its too late.  Your professors are going to be putting you under a microscope more so than usual after the break.  You need to turn that attitude of yours around, my boy.”

            Doak knew this was what he needed to do and he followed Collins’ speech with the slightest hint of a smile and a smirk.

            “Yeah, yeah I know.  It’s just hard.  And that’s not the only thing that has been weighing on my mind.”  His eyes wandered off to the dark wooden globe that sat atop one of the many dusty bookshelves in the old man’s office.  “I’m a disloyal sonofabitch.  You know that?  And Johnny Stevens always gets on my nerves.  His constant gloating and damn blabbering on about his curvy girlfriend.  I couldn’t care less about Johnny Stevens’ girlfriend and her goddam curves.  You’d hate them both too, trust me.”  He finished and his eyes turned back to the old man who was staring at him with an unreadable expression stamped on his face.

            “You’re not...jealous of this Stevens fellow are you?”  The old man hit the nail on the head and the both of them knew it.

            “Hell no.  Everything he does drives me right up the wall.  I haven’t had a single conversation with that bastard that hasn’t ended up with me counting down the seconds until it was over.  I’d hate to see the pair of them together you know.  The way he talks about all the times in the back of her old man’s damned Chev-ro-let.”  His eyes rolled with the mention of the car which Stevens’ loved to talk about.  “I don’t care what he does with who, but he always tells every damned person within earshot.”  The old man adjusted himself in his seat and jumped at the slight break in the youth’s tirade.

            “No wonder you don’t like this kid.  Anyone that caught up with himself isn’t exactly ‘best man’ material.  You didn’t answer my question though, my boy.  The question of jealousy.  I haven’t exactly heard you talk about...”  His voice trailed off as his eyes wandered to the same globe Doak was peering at just minutes before.

            “Easy there old man, just because I don’t have some curvy girl waiting at the train station for me every weekend doesn’t mean I’m jealous of the bastard.”  His voice was fierce.

            “And the fact that he’s on good terms with that egoist Buice and has outstanding marks in all his classes has nothing to do with your distaste for the poor bastard does it?”

            “Poor bastard?!  Oh you’ve fallen off your rocker, old man.  How can you think that because he kisses ass to that sonofabitch Buice and somehow, not by the grace of God, has high marks somehow makes me jealous?”  His voice was becoming more fierce and on the verge of violent.  Collins was silent and took this outburst in stride as it visibly rolled off his shoulders.  They both knew the truth.  Doak’s outburst towards the old man who he came to for advice inside and out of the classroom proved to be the parting blow.  For the first time, the now frantic young man had realized once and for all the reason for his dislike of Jonathan Lyle Stevens.  Sure his mannerisms were bothersome and that damned girl of his too many times found her way into their conversations, but that would not cause the type of hatred that Doak Reilly felt for Stevens.  He hated that boy because he had everything that Doak wanted to have himself.  A girl who would let him steam up the windows in the back seat a damned Chevrolet, high marks he didn’t have to try for, and a shred of the self confidence that Stevens’ had in excess.       

            “Is that too much to ask?”  He questioned under his breath and brought his fist down on the desk with fury causing a thin trail of blood to stream from his knuckles.  A perplexed look grew over the old man’s face as embarrassment slowly crept over Doak’s entire body.  He panicked.  He was ashamed of his outburst.

            “Damn is that the time?”  He lied as he shot a quick glance towards the rosewood clock that was fixed to the wall in the dark office.  “I’ve got to start packing, long train ride back...”  He hastily got up and threw on his coat and hat as he tried to fight off the embarrassment of his most recent outburst.  He could feel what seemed like all of the blood in his body rush upwards and settle between his ears.  He didn’t look at the old man as he quickly thanked him for his time and words of encouragement.

            “You sure you’re alright my boy?  You seem a bit frazzled.”  Collins could tell he was embarrassed and was content to let him leave and spare him from more of the same.

            “Yeah, I just need to get a move on is all, lots to do...”  He searched the room for something to grab and occupy his hands as he could feel them awkwardly hanging in mid air.  His breathing increased and he was suddenly beginning to perspire from his upper lip and forehead.

            “Doak?”

            The room began to spin as a thick layer of darkness covered the youth’s eyes as he went plummeting to the hardwood floors of Leonard Collins’ not-so stuffy office.

            He awoke groggily and unsure of what had just happened.  He was in a new, bright room with three people standing over him.  He sat up, perhaps too quickly, and immediately slipped back down as his head rested on the makeshift pillow that someone had made out of his Russian hat and camel hair coat.  His eyes were still adjusting to the new room but he immediately recognized the voice that first chimed in.

            “You gave us quite a scare, my boy.”  Collins looked on as the young man was still shaking off the remnants of his faint.  He did not immediately recognize the other two figures that were standing over him.  He was slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings and realized that he was in the nurse’s ward just down the hall from Collins’ office.  He finally recognized the second person as old Mrs. Heller, the benevolent nurse who had worked on the grounds for decades.  The third figure, however, was not received with as warm a welcome as the two before him.  His stodgy frame and greasy hair made Doak quiver he saw Donald Buice cautiously leaning over the fallen youth.

            “Nice of you to join us Mr. Reilly.”  Buice added with a chuckle.  It was obvious that what was intended to come off as a joke had fallen flat as the other three in the room did not even grin.

            “W-What happened?” The youth asked as he sat up on the long couch he was sprawled out on.  The wash rag that had been applied to his forehead slid down his face and into his lap.

            “You went into a mad rage and attacked Mrs. Heller.  Knocking you out was all we could do to stop you,” Collins said rather matter-of-factly.  Confusion and fear flooded Doak’s face.  He had still not completely come to.  “Ha don’t worry my boy, you just fainted in my office.  Mrs. Heller here wants to keep an eye on you for a couple of hours; just to make sure you’re alright.”  Heller nodded and the three of them helped him to his feet and sat him down on the examination bed in the middle of Heller’s office.

            “I assume you know this has no bearing on your research paper due after the break.  A simple incident like this isn’t going to affect your long run study hab...”  Buice’s voice trailed off as he glanced around the room to see the appalled looks on the faces of the other adults in the room.

            “Right, right,” Doak responded still not completely sure of what exactly was going on.  Had he been more cognoscente he could have contemplated shooting a biting remark back at Buice as opposed to the rather soft response he tendered.

            “Rest here til you start feeling better,” Collins said.  “What do you say, Donald, how ‘bout we take a walk and let the boy recooperate?”  With little more than a grunt, Donald Buice followed Collins out the door and into the snow. 

            After they left, Doak closed his eyes with the intention of resting for no more than a few minutes.  When he awoke, however, he looked at the pocket watch his sister had given him and was shocked to see that he had been asleep for nearly six hours.  When he further surveyed his surroundings he noticed a figure sitting in a chair next to the couch he was laying on.

            “Good morning.”  Peter Hanover didn’t even lift his eyes from his history book as he welcomed Doak from his slumber.  “I heard you went into a blind rage and attacked Mrs. Heller, and knocking you out was all they could do to keep you from killing her.”

            “Been talking to Collins, have you?”

            “He stopped by the room to see if you had come back.  I had no idea where you were all this time.  He sent me down here to check up on you.”  Finally, Hanover closed his book and walked over to the couch.

            “I see you’re finally awake, Mr. Reilly.  You took quite a snooze—It’s nearly half past seven, you know.”  Mrs Heller had just retuned from tending to other students that had succumb to various ice related injuries that day.  After she took his temperature and declared him to have a clean bill of health, he and Peter departed back into the cold.

            “I appreciate you sticking by me, Pete,” Doak said almost sheepishly.

            “It’s the least I could do.  Collins was really worried about you.”

            The two trudged through the snow and Doak still felt the guilt cutting him like a knife from his earlier episode of disloyalty.

They trudged down the steps away from the nurse’s ward and headed back towards Brentwood Commons.

            “Bell’s?” Peter asked after they had been walking for a few minutes.

            “Huh?”

            “You know...that place we always go eat?”

            “Oh...yeah.  I didn’t even realize I hadn’t eaten dinner.  You mind if we go somewhere else though?  I’ve had my fill of Bell’s for now.”  Doak was still reminded by their last visit there.

            “I suppose so.  What are you in the mood for?”

Doak was getting annoyed.  He hated when he got upset at people, especially Peter.  But he couldn’t help it.  Sometimes he just got so frustrated with people.  Frankly, he just thought some of them were just too nice.  He knew how absurd that sounded.  But he felt it nonetheless.

            “I don’t care.  Anything but Bell’s.”

Doak was trying his best to keep his anger under control.

            “Well we can get soup, sandwiches, pizza....”

Doak quickly interrupted him.

            “Pizza.  I’m always in the mood for pizza.”

            “Excellent.  Tony’s it is.”

The two crossed the street by Bell’s and walked five blocks to the pizzeria.

            “I’m just glad to be out of the cold, eh Doak?”

There it was again.  Doak was furious with Peter.  The only explanation was that he wasn’t in the mood.  Wasn’t in the mood for small talk.  Or any kind of talk for that matter.  He ignored this last comment and quickly picked out a booth in the back of Tony’s.

            “Do you want to get a whole pie or....”  Again, Peter was interrupted by his grumpy friend. 

            “Gah, I don’t care.  I don’t care where we eat.  I don’t care what we get or what the damn temperature outside is.”

            Peter didn’t say anything.  The awkward silence continued until the waitress approached their table.

            “We’re uh...going to need a second,” Doak managed to grumble.  He laid his head flat on the table in front of him and Peter didn’t know exactly what he should do.

            “Damn it.  Just damn it.  I’m sorry Pete,”  Doak didn’t lift his forehead from the wooden table in front of him.

            “You waited all that time for me after I passed out and I’m being an ass.  A complete donkey.  Damn.”

Doak lifted his head and wiped his now matted black hair to the side of his face.

            “It’s alright,” Peter responded not looking at him.

            “That’s the thing, Pete.  It’s not alright.  You’re always nice to me.  I leave you out to dry the other day at Bell’s.  I yell at you for nothing.  I do all that and you still stick up for me.  Always.  It’s not right.”

            Pete still didn’t look at him.

            “You don’t have to say anything.  We both know you’d take a damned bullet for me.”

            Peter finally broke his silence. 

            “Maybe, but I’m sure as hell not paying for this pie.”  With that, Pete finally looked up and a sly grin crept across his face.

            “Fine with me.”  Doak had never been happier to pay for a meal in his life.  He didn’t want to admit that Peter was his only true friend, but somehow he knew that they were both aware of this fact.  The rest of their meal went off without a hitch as the latest discussion seemed to get Doak out of his funk. 

            The two lingered at Tony’s long after they had finished their meal, and by the time they got up from their booth, it was going on midnight.  The snow had poured down for the last few hours and six inches lay on the ground outside of the restaurant. They opened the door and the cold wind hit them directly in the face.  They lowered their heads and marched on through the snow.

            “We need four or five idiots out here to walk in front of us...to deflect the wind,” Doak said rather loudly through the loud breeze.

            “Why idiots?”

            “Well, you know.  If they weren’t, they wouldn’t do it.” 

Pete stopped, looked at Doak, and they both began to quietly laugh.  Pete was glad to have his friend back.  He was glad that Doak was, for however short a time, not quite so irritated.  They walked through Brentwood Commons and had it not been for Pete looking to his left, they might have walked right by, not noticing anything.  There was a pale figure sitting at one of the benches.  In fact, it was the same bench that Doak had sat and smoked at earlier.  They recognized the figure as a boy from school, younger than them, but could not recall his name.  Aside from a pair of white boxer-shorts, he was naked. 

            “Hey—uh, can we help you out?”  Pete took a step towards the figure.  He appeared to be looking straight ahead, straight past the two.  His eyes in an almost trance like state.

            “Pal?  You’re going to freeze out here.  Christ, you’ve got nothing on your feet.”

            The figure glanced down at his feet, which he gently moved back and forth through the snow.

            “How long have you been out here?”

            “A couple hours.  I don’t know.”

Pete knew they couldn’t leave him out here.  The figure’s eyes, bloodshot, now met Pete’s.

            “They—they caught me cheating.  I didn’t know what to do.  I just ran out of time.  I didn’t know what to do.  I had to turn in something.  I didn’t know what to do.  The paper was due the next day and I didn’t have anything I had to turn in something, I had to.  I couldn’t turn in nothing.  I had to give them something.”  The faintest line of drool began to drip from the figure’s lips as he was visibly shaken.

            “I’m sure something can be worked out.  Let’s get you inside, first.  Get some coffee in you.  Then we’ll all go talk to your professor in the morning.  All of us.  Give me a hand, Doak?”

            “Stop.  Don’t touch me.  Stay back.”  The figure’s babbling was stopped by his sudden mood change.  His anger was troubling to the pair.

            “Easy now, mate.  We just don’t want you to be an ice cube come morning.”  Pete was trying to calm him down.

            “Go home.  Don’t bother me.  Just stay back.”  The drool was now more than dribbling from his lips and it had made its was down his chin and onto his thighs.  His mouth was quivering. He placed both his hands onto his temples and tried to rub the demons out.

            He began to weep.  The two onlookers weren’t quite sure what to do.  They stood there in silence, watching the figure quietly sob for nearly a full minute before Peter finally interjected again.

            “C’mon, pal. Here, take my coat and we’ll walk you back to your dorm. Are you in Hayne?”

            “I said don’t talk to me. Just go.”

The figure’s trembling had only increased and they couldn’t tell where his tears stopped and his drooling began.

            He reached in to the snow below him and pulled out a black metal object.  It was a revolver.  He slipped a little as he came to his feet and stood in front of the bench.  Doak froze.  He could feel Peter moving beside him, almost in slow motion.  Peter reached the bench and attempted to disarm the frozen creature. A split-second later there was a crack.  A crack and a thud.  And then silence. The snow in front of the bench was red as freshly picked strawberries, and a now limp figure lay awkwardly a mere feet in front of Doak.  A thin wisp of smoke rose from Peter Hanover’s body.

            Doak couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel anything.  Everything around him was muffled.  His vision was blurry, his hearing fuzzy.  He kneeled down by the body and had to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.  He didn’t realize it but he had put his hand in a small pool of blood that had collected and melted through the snow.  He took a knee, and buried his hand deep in the snow and began to wash it clean.  He came to his feet and stood there, shaking, leaning over the body.

            Just as Doak looked up at the murderer he saw the glint of the black metal move sharply upwards and was staring into the boy’s eyes when he heard another crack and another, softer, thud. 

            Doak came to his feet and stared towards the heavens as if awaiting an explanation for what had just transpired.  He took off his gloves, hat, and coat and placed them on top of Peter’s body.

            “You’ll be okay, Pete.  We just gotta keep you warm.”  Doak lied aloud.  He used the hat to cover up the gaping hole in Peter’s forehead and laid down next to his friend, clutching his lifeless body. 

            “You’ll be okay, Pete.  You’ll be alright.  Just gotta make sure you don’t freeze on me is all.  ‘You hear?”  Doak was barely getting out a word without the tears flooding his fact.  He stammered to Peter’s lifeless body for a solid hour before the police showed, answering a report of two gun shots fired in Brentwood Commons. 

            By the time the police finally showed up, Doak was covered in ice and snow and blood.  Some of it Peter’s, some of it his.  The police found him frantically digging at the frozen soil with his bare hands.  They were ravaged, torn, dirty, and bleeding.

            “Jesus, you’ve torn the skin off your fingers. What are you doing?”

            “B-b-burying him.  We h-have to bury him.  Goddamn it, help me bury him!  We can’t just leave him out here!”

            “Son,” an officer replied, “son, you’ve gotta stop now.  You’ve gotta stop.”

Doak finally stopped digging and for the first time surveyed his hands. He hadn’t realized how much they burned until now.  He buried them in the snow the help with the pain and sat there, ruffled and unkempt until they took away his friend’s cold, lifeless body. 

            He stayed there long after the police and ambulance left. After the snow had nearly erased all evidence of the events of that evening.  An entirely new white blanket had been laid down from above and for a moment the Commons looked peaceful.  Almost.