Delirium

Chapter One

      Wisconsin. College dorm room. December 20th. 6:00 am. My alarm clock begins to blast some radio station that only plays fresh new hits that the kids love. I hate fresh new hits. Getting out of bed to walk across the room to the shelf where I strategically placed my alarm just to turn off that terrible music is the perfect incentive to get me moving in the morning. That and coffee, which is what I smell wafting from the apartment kitchen. My roommate, Billy Dente, is the coolest roommate ever. He's always up by 5:30 making coffee, and he's quiet. Very quiet, like a shadow. Like a coffee-making shadow. I like that.

            Other than that, I really don't know much about Billy. He mostly stays out of my way when I'm in the apartment. I'm studying to be an engineering major at the nearby college, and I'm usually up late at night reading and designing different contraptions. Billy doesn't seem to mind when I leave the light on all night, or when I accidentally lock myself out of the apartment and he has to come from whatever he's doing to let me in, or when my car runs out of gas on the highway and he has to come pick me up. What an upstanding guy.

Anyway.

            Once I turn off the alarm, I shuffle groggily out the bedroom door to the kitchen adjacent to our room. No Billy is to be found, but there is a half full pot of hot coffee with my name written on it. Literally. There's a sticky note on the coffee pot, and it says "KYLE" in tiny, swirling script. I don't know why Billy puts my name on food. It's not like the other guys in the three bedroom apartment are going to refrain from eating something labeled as mine. We eat whatever is present: that's just how this apartment works. And it's not like anyone can read Billy's handwriting anyway. He's studying to be a doctor. Illegible handwriting is an occupational hazard, I suppose. I've simply learned to recognize what sort of looks like a "K" on the sticky note, then assume that it's mine.

            As I take the coffee pot out of the little coffee machine and unstick the note from the glass, I notice writing on the back. Translating his font into English letters proves difficult, but I'm finally able to get the just of it.

            "Kyle,

                        Visiting family for the holidays. Back on Jan. 4th. Happy holidays.

                                                                                                            Billy."

            This letter makes me the only guy left of the five of us roomies staying over the holidays. Excellent. I have no family, and I enjoy being alone. Unless, that is, my girlfriend is around. I love her to death, but she has her own family that she spends a lot of time with over holidays. Her parents are the nicest people in the world, but her sister...she's at least fifteen years older than me and she still hits on me. She's a total cougar.

            I walk back into mine and Billy's room to grab my engineering textbook and my cell phone. As I lift the book off my small, mahogany desk, I'm surprised by how heavy it is. Did I mention I don't study this thing much? Engineering comes easily to me, so I hardly ever crack open these old pages of pawned textbook. I walk back to the kitchen with book in hand and phone in pocket and take a sip of coffee. Man, Billy makes good coffee.

            The kitchen is small with granite counter tops, old cabinets of a light, cheap looking wood that doesn't exactly match the counter, and red porcelain sink that doesn't match anything at all. It's an odd little room, that's for sure. The refrigerator is covered in one of my roommate's certificates of all sorts of accomplishment's. He always has to show off all his success on the fridge, even for things such as a participant ribbon from the college's impromptu horseshoe throwing competition. If he ever catches us taking any of it down, he usually points angrily at the certificate and shouts, "Is this yours? Does this say your name? Is your name Benjamin Hicks? Didn't think so! You have no right to act like you're better than me!" Then he throws a sort of tantrum and flips the bar stools in the kitchen. Other than that, he's a pretty cool guy, and he and I get along pretty well. We just don't generally touch his stuff.

            Pulling out a bar stool with my foot and taking another sip of coffee, I sit at the counter and open my book. Just as I turn to my bookmark, my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket, and upon seeing the picture of my girlfriend, the lovely Vivian Manchester, I promptly answer it.

            "Heya, doll face," I say in my best mafia man accent. "What's happenin'?"

            She gives a small laugh. "Not much, just wondering what you were doing."

            "Studying. Or at least, I was until you called me. You're interrupting some good intellectual fun over here."

            Vivian gives another laugh, louder this time. "Oh come on, Kyle. We both know that you've never studied a day in your life."

            "All right, all right. You caught me. I just like to pretend that I'm normal and have to study."

            "Now, don't you be getting a big ego. Your head is big enough as it is."

            Now it's my turn to laugh. "Well then, if you just called to insult me-"

            "I didn't- oh Kyle, don't take it that way...I was joking," she murmurs, sounding very serious all of a sudden.

            "Viv, I know. I was too."

            "Oh," she gives a nervous laugh. "Ah, um, I remember why I called now, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee this morning."

            As she was saying this, I took another sip from my mug, and as I took a breath to laugh at the irony, I choked on the liquid. Now I'm choking on irony.

            "Are you all right?" she asks, hearing my coughing and spluttering.

            "Choking...on irony," I say in between coughs.

            "Okay...so, want to meet up in half an hour? Usual place?"

            "Yeah, yeah. Definitely. See you there," I say hoarsely, trying not to continue coughing in her ear.

            "Cool, bye-bye."

             "See ya." I hang up quickly and resume coughing out my lungs as I pour the rest of my coffee down the sink. Billy makes bad coffee. Bad, evil coffee.