I found myself in the library more than my room through out the first half of the semester. I rarely saw Fiddleford, but it was for the best. Things started off well enough, but it always ends with him uncomfortable or trying to get away from me.
Our main form of communication was our peer review board. He'd correct my work every now and again, or leave a funny post it note for me to find. We could be good friends but there's just something about me that sets fire to every bridge I come across. Even my twin hated me.
All that library time paid off. I managed to get a grant for some field work in Oregon. I ran into Fiddleford on my way back to the room to pack. He'd become so confident these last few months, and the change was quick. He'd been spending time with some pony tailed hippie. I'd see them around campus, engaged in deep conversation. He ditched me and made some real friends, and he seemed the better for it. He was still my roommate.
"Fiddleford you'll never believe it!" I said giddily. Our relationship is complicated, but I didn't know who else to tell. If I called home Dad would stop listening at money, and then he'd get mad when he realized it wasn't money he could have. Fiddleford exchanged a look with his conversational partner. Okay, with his friend. I mean I don't know that they're friends, maybe they're just lab partners and Fiddleford has to keep explaining basic topics and that's why they're always hanging out and talking. Because he's stupid. Stupid Hippie.
The stupid hippie left us, and I could tell my friend all about my exciting trip. When I was alone with books to distract me I didn't realize how badly I needed to talk to someone. It was a painful hunger, to crave other people.
"Oh, hi Stanford," he smiled, "what're you all worked up about?" he asked.
"I got the grant to research that town in Oregon. The one on the board remember? In our dorm?"I was talking too much. I was just so excited.
"Wow friend! I sure am happy for you! When are you leaving?" He said. Friend.
"At the start of winter break," I answered.
"Two days?" He asked, "I'd say it'd be nice to have my own room, but I reckon it feels like I already do," he joked. My chest tightened.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I should come home more," I said, my face a little hot.
"I'd like that," he said shyly, "I reckon,".
"I miss you," he said after a few beats of awkward silence. He missed me?
"I didn't know you felt that way," I admitted. I didn't think he would, he seemed so content with the company he kept.
"Oh gosh, sorry! I didn't mean! I just!" He stumbled over his words.
"No! I've missed you too," I said. We shared an awkward laughter.
"Well, I'm going to this party tonight, you should come," he invited me. The word party felt like a cheese grater on my skin. How many times had I ended up covered in punch, or covered in bruises from punches. Parties were Stan's thing, but if Fiddleford was going to be there, I could bear it. If I took my foot out of this door, I could find myself clawing to get in for the rest of my life.
"Alright," I agreed.
I put on a tight cotton shirt, tucked into my Levi's. I put on a gold chain, a New Jersey signature. I tried to hit a confident pose, but I gave myself the creeps. I look like him. I threw a sweater vest o, much better.
"Stanford? Are you ready?" It was Fiddleford, who gave a friendly knock on the door.
"Do I look okay?"I asked.
"You smell," he said, his eyes glazing over.
"I smell?" I panicked, sniffing myself. I'd put on some of Stanley's cologne. He said it was a babe magnet, but it seemed to be making my only friend cry. Curse you Stanley.
