All That and a Bag of Chips

Chapter 5

His shift finally over, Collin walked out of work, glancing up at the clock tower as its bell rang three times. Then he took his iPod out of his pocket and navigated to his list of songs. He used the touch wheel to scroll down to the one break-up song he knew he had downloaded: Cry Me a River by Justin Timberlake.

He'd downloaded it as a joke to tease Avery when she complained about getting an A- on a test she'd studied hard for on the same day he had received a B on a term paper he had been really proud of. Like, come on, an A- is still an A, cry me a river.

Thinking back, maybe that hadn't been very nice.

Maybe if he'd tried harder–been a better boyfriend–she wouldn't have left him.

Damn it.

This was not a train of thought that he wanted to ride. He'd have to go on LimeWire tonight and download a playlist that matched his new station in life: single and alone.

Leaning against his bike, Collin continued to scroll, hoping to find something suitable. Towards the bottom of his list of songs was Your Woman by White Town. It might be a bit too on the nose, but, in a way, it was also perfect. He never would be Avery's woman, and that was a problem he couldn't fix. He clicked the play button and set the song to loop.

Collin hopped on his bike and rode back home. Halfway down the street, the song's chorus playing, tears came unbidden to his eyes. The wind wiped them from his cheeks and kissed the wet streaks that remained.

He knew men were allowed to cry. That he was allowed to cry. Knew it objectively. But he still felt like such a wuss. And he was glad that no one could see him crying over a break up like some little girl. And if anyone saw him, he could blame the moisture on the wind whipping at his eyes or on a speck of dust from a passing car.

Today had sucked.

Tomorrow would be better.

Had to be better.

Avery had once bought him a card with the John Lennon quote, "It's all okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." And as he pedaled along the road, keeping to the bike lane, he hoped that the saying was true. Because he was not okay, and he hoped it wasn't the end.

The worst part of everything was that he should've seen the signs. Been more observant. Should've been prepared for this moment.

As he turned onto a smaller side street, he thought about Avery's favorite shirt, the one with a white labrys inside a black triangle. He jokingly called it her "lesbian shirt," but it hadn't been a joke to her. She was also obsessed with Xena: Warrior Princess, Ani DiFranco, and cats. You couldn't get more obviously lesbian than that, could you?

Plus the sarcastic and disparaging comments she sometimes made about guys–how they were peacocks, impulsive, or meatheads–always saying he was the exception to the rule.

Guess he wasn't the exception any longer.

Fuck, he'd been so blind.

By the time he turned onto his street–a side-street that connected with the main road to the university campus–there was a swirling tornado in his chest. He didn't know if he wanted to bawl harder or to scream at the top of his lungs, to crawl into a ball or to punch a wall.

When he was halfway down the block, Collin slowed down, hopped off, and walked his bike the rest of the way to the large one-family house that he shared with four women. Walking along the side of the house to the backyard, he locked his bike securely to a deck post.

In the deck's shadow, Collin shook his arms and jumped up and down several times. He needed to expel the clouds that had taken residence in his mind before he saw any of his roommates. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried to focus on something positive, like Heather.

Then, feeling a bit more collected, he went back around to the front door, which was always unlocked, and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

The top of the stairs led to an open concept living area. The spacious, although not updated, kitchen was directly in front of the stairs. A tan formica-topped counter separated it off from the rest of the room, which was to the right of the stairs and further divided up by furniture. A farm-style wooden table identified the dining room; two long couches demarcated the living room. One couch was along the wall and the other jutted out to mark the border between the dining and TV-watching areas of the large space. Both couches had upholstery that looked incredibly retro–velvet lime green and orange floral–and had unknown origins. This house had been occupied by college kids long before Collin had joined the lease, and would probably be for years after he left.

Although after his interaction with Avery this morning, it looked as though he would be calling this house his home for one more year.

That was okay. He liked his roommates. And he liked his room, which was the master bedroom, the only one with a private bathroom. Having a private bathroom was a very important thing for a guy living with four women.

When Collin reached the top of the stairs, no one was there to greet him, to comment on his red eyes or to ask what was wrong. That was for the best. He walked down the short hallway to his room, closed the door behind him, and then flopped on his bed.

Not bothering to get under the covers, Collin kicked off his shoes, curled into himself and tried to drift off into oblivion.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke up in a dark room to the sound of studio laughter.

Stepping out of his room, he saw Sam was lounging on the orange couch watching a rerun of Seinfeld. Collin jumped over the back of the green couch and plopped down on the plush fabric.

"Which episode is this?" he asked.

"The yada yada yada, one," she answered without looking up.

He knew the one. George's girlfriend used the phrase, "yada yada yada" to skim over not just minor details, but big ones, like sex with an ex-boyfriend and an instance of shoplifting.

Collin and Sam had been friends since their freshman year. When in the dorms, they had lived next door to each other. Sophomore year they had been roommates in off-campus housing. And then they moved into this house together before their junior year.

"Well," Collin said, staring at the TV screen, "Avery stopped by my work this morning with Gina, and, yada yada yada, looks like I'll be staying in this house with you for another year after all."

She turned to him, realization dawning on her face, eyes widening with concern. "Dude," she said, the one word encompassing complete understanding and sympathy. And then she practically tackled him, giving him the biggest bear hug. "It's going to be alright," she whispered into his ear.

Collin couldn't help it. He started to cry again.