The Social Contract

Neurotic as a Three-Legged Grandma

Sunday afternoon, I'd only intended to set down my over-full messenger bag in the dorm, but for once someone was home.

“So?” said Zach. “Are you going to explain?”

Instead of explaining, I flopped onto my back on the gritty old sheets, which promptly snapped off the corner of my pitiful mattress. “It's been a weird few days.”

“Weird few … We thought you'd joined a cult! You left a pentagram on the mirror!”

True, stupid, and hard to remember why at the moment. So I just looked down.

“You called Shay a whore!”

Oh … oh yeah...

“Dude, she's pregnant!”

“What? I didn't know, I'm sorry--”

“Tell her, not us! Anyway, she was so worried she didn't even get mad. You can't do that kind of thing, Freimann! You're not a little kid. We were going to call the police. You would've deserved it.”

“I wasn't,” said Dextros. “I told you, man, Tyler just gets dramatic sometimes. All you can do is ignore him.”

I was out the door before he'd collected his bet money.

Off I slid to Shay's room.

"I'm really sorry," I said to the doorway. "I didn't know you were pregnant. Well obviously; I'm really bad at gossip. You're not a whore. I'm sure you know ... Anyway."

Shay floated over to the door and gave me a bear hug. "You! What were you thinking, disappearing like that? And then sending Dexter that text, like a line from a thriller movie or something."

"Worried much?"

Now she was more swatting than hugging. "Where the hell were you?"

"Never mind that," I said. "I was just taking a little trip. You're pregnant. Do you want to talk about that?"

"I've been talking about it all weekend. So no. What I want is to go do something normal, like I'm still a person, not some kind of human stroller, and it's Sunday afternoon, not the end of my life."

I took in her frayed appearance. Something of the sweet, quiet aura that usually surrounded my friend Shay had dissipated. Perhaps her situation had forced her to stand up and fight a little.

"And before you ask," she said, ticking off bullet points on her fingers in an uninterrupted rush, "it's Dexter's, I know because I've only ever slept with Dexter, I'm keeping it, I'm dropping out after this semester and going back home to my mama, Dex will visit when he can, and ... and I was dumb to think I'd ever get out of the town I was born in. Yes, it's shocking, no, you wouldn't think I was that kind of girl, yes, it feels funny, and no, you can't touch it."

My hand had found its way to her upper arm. "I ... I guess that about covers it. Want to go down to Four-tons and paint some pottery?"

Shay breathed in. "Yes. That is a good idea, Tyler. I could use a new flowerpot."

“So where the hell were you?” asked The Girl over a booth in the lounge the next evening. “I called you at least four times this weekend. We almost sent out a search party and a St. Bernard.”

“Off straightening up my brain,” I said, slightly embarrassed but determined not to shut her out this time. “To that end, I need to talk to you.”

She pursed her lips. “Is it about sad time Tyler?”

“You could say so,” I hinted. God, she could be adorable sometimes. How could I say what I needed to say when I just wanted to poke her and make her laugh? Whoever said women were designed to be the helpmeet of men must never have seen a busty female in work overalls.