Inachevé

Twenty-seven - Me, Myself, and Riley

THE SHRILL SCREECHING OF my prep school’s lunch bell reverberated in my head.  I glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was exactly 12:00.  I closed my binder and shoved it carelessly into my book bag.  I didn’t zip it up all the way.  I parted from my seat and slung the black back pack over a shoulder and headed out of the class room with the other students.

I was twenty-two and a high school dropout.  My parents, disappointed in my playboyish ways, had sent me from the charming Wessex, England to a collage in America. My parents told me I wasn’t Oxford material! My father was the Prime Minister’s secretary, I know—what a position!  Anyway, something went wrong, it wasn’t my father’s fault, and he was let go.  We later moved to America and I was immediately dropped into a college I never heard of.  I had enjoyed my wealthy life in England, but some of the people here didn’t give a flying flip about my status back at home, much to my surprise.  They treated me as if they had no idea who I was and who my father had previously worked for.

I had soon learned the tactics of college life.  If a person liked me, they’d talk to me and sit with me during lunch.  If a person disliked me, they’d let me know and humiliate me in every possible way.  They were very truthful of how they thought of other people – some more truthful than others.

As I was jostled and pushed around, I found myself pressed up against a young girl—Barbra Dawson to be exact.  I had spoken to her before, and I then couldn’t help but admire her dainty presence and poise.  She was freckled and rather plain, but it was the strong face and dancing eyes that intrigued me.  She had dark brown hair that was, at the moment, pulled up into a tight bun.  She had beautiful gray- blue eyes that glittered when the hall lights hit them.  Her face was round and cheery, and it was complimented by firm, plump lips.  Barbra was British, like me, which was just one more reason why she caught my eye.

“I hope I’m not in your way,” I joked with a slight smile.  Her face turned to mine and she replied with a toothy smile. 

“You’re fine.  I was going to say the same thing, but I had a pencil between my teeth,” she said in a friendly tone.  I felt more comfortable than I had since I had arrived at the school. 

However, I didn’t say more than one sentence to Barbra on account that we rarely were in the same classroom together.  When the noisy crowd eventually scattered, she went with them, leaving me to walk alone to the cafeteria.   We weren’t close enough to sit together during lunch—it would have been rather awkward if I plopped down beside her.

While I made my way down the lunch line, I heard some sniggering in the crowd.  I turned around, but my position in the room served me no purpose in finding out its source.  So I had to wait until I paid and got out of the line to observe the scene.  After I did so, I took up my tray and looked at where I had heard the laughter.  There, in the middle of the cafeteria room, where all eyes could watch anything of interest, was a skinny kid, maybe in his late teens, kneeling over his empty tray.  It had obviously been knocked to the floor, and he was dutifully putting its cargo back onto it.  There were a couple of jocks standing over him and jeering directly into his ears with their twangy voices.  They shoved him once or twice and threatened to kick him if he didn’t remove himself from the cafeteria.   The scene reminded me of high school – just showed that some people didn’t grow up.  I would have helped him, but my pride and wish to be popular overruled me, and I didn’t.

This would have been my second week at the school.  So far, my experiences there were utterly dull.  There were no girls that sparked my desires, except for the one I had squeezed up against.  The others were cheerleaders.  Some of them were pretty enough to go out or make out with, but, for the most part, weren’t worth it.  I chose a seat by a window and waited for my roommate, Andrew, to come and join me.