Cycles: The Enamel Decay

Chapter 3 Lancaster

I've got to say, I'm going to miss my old room-mate. Even though he was confused most of the time and did not understand the difference between reality and his mental illusions we understood each other quite well. One day I saw him frantically packing his things into a tiny suit case and upon questioning it, he just shook his head continuously while muttering, "You will understand. I know you will. I know you will..."

I too often craved the very idea of packing up and running away from my entire degree (and reality on a whole). That was just my personal issue. I was not sure what his motive was.

"Dude, why you got to be a mystery all the time?" I had asked casually but of course; his response was stagnant water.

"I know you will," he seemed to snap before running out of the room without his luggage.  That was that. Later, someone came in to collect his other things and I never saw or heard of him again. The night before, I swore he was trying to kill me while we were pretending to fight over a football game. I ignored him to continue studying for my history exam so he simply proceeded to strangle me. Yes, sometimes we strangled each other while the other was too consumed in work. No big deal. However, this time the only reason he stopped was because I stopped struggling as if he was satisfied by my death. I, however, chose to believe that it was all a joke. I digress.

There was a knock on the door, I got up instantly to shake my new room-mate's hand. Hopefully he'll respect the fact that I enjoyed silence over constant talking and loud music. If he does then we'll get along like a newly wed couple (just in terms of getting alone; nothing more). I was a man of strange synonyms and metaphors as my high school Literature teacher had once put it.

"Hey man, the name's Devin, don't wear it out," he said in a semi-high piched voice then laughed like a bro. He looked more perky than my puppy after I accidentally fed him vodka instead of water- I myself was drunk. "Haha. Just kidding man. I don't usually talk like that." He firmly shook my hand. Why was he so cold and pale? It was 22 degrees and sunny outside like it always was.

"I'm Lancaster but just call me Lan, or Casper," I introduced myself almost cringing at the sound of my own name. I knew that I wasn't my mother's favourite child but I didn't expect her to dislike me before I was even born. She probably hated me since conception but that's not important right now.

"Where'd you get that name?" He was not surprisingly dead serious with the question.

I answered him the same way I answered everyone. "My mother dropped me on a keyboard as a baby to select me name," I responded grimly. He considered this for a while and when he realized I was joking he laughed awkwardly.

"Man you got some sarcasm on you. You're gonna have to tell me when you're joking from now on. K?" He passed his hand through his dark blonde hair (or light brown, whatever) for the tenth time while looking around. He was not very tall. In fact, he seemed to be about five feet and four inches. Although he was buff, his voice, which was higher than the regular pitch, made him more or a limestone bolder as opposed to a volcanic rock.

Don't worry. Sometimes I don't even understand my own metaphors.

He dropped his book bag on the sofa and sat on the ground beside it. I guess he had more concern for the comfort of his possessions than for himself. "What do you do?" He gestured to the pile of books on my desk. I stood with my hand in my pocket and automatically turned to where he was gesturing without moving my feet. It was more like a casual acrobatic twist but was not as impressive as it seemed. It was only a twenty degree pivot.

"History major. Literature minor. You?"

"I do art. That's all I do. No time for two stuff," he responded robotically as if he rehearsed this line twenty million times. It was not unusual. I was programmed the same way too. I nodded to show interest for the sake of conversation.