CALVIN

twenty-one: the great depression

"Why were you running to the forest?"

I was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, pressing a towel to my lip, as he tried to open a bottle of antiseptic at the sink. "I wasn't running to the forest," I said, "I was running to Maddy's house."

"That's even more concerning."

"Your dad is in my house right now, apparently, so I couldn't go there."

He gave me a weird look, then bent down in front of me with a face towel soaked in antiseptic. I took it from him before he could do anything and pressed it to my face. "There's cuts on your back we have to get, too," he said.

"Why are there...?"

"Because you fell on ice."

In his bedroom, he dragged his chair to block his door then pulled out sweat pants and a t-shirt, tossed them to me. Then he turned around to face the wall. "You can look," I said as I one-handedly pulled on his shirt. "I'm putting on clothes, not taking them off."

"Aren't you... I thought you were taking off your boxers."

Heat rushed to my face. "Why would I do that?"

"I mean, it's fine, it's just..." he flung open his closet again and chucked a pair of his underwear at me, turned to face the wall again, "they're clean. But there's puke on yours. I know it's Ana's puke, but girl puke is still puke." pause. "Also, blood."

...

"I should go," I said.

We were sitting side-by-side on his bed, our backs against the wall. His bed was in the same position that Patrick's was, and it kind of made me feel like I was having a late-night conversation with my best friend, if it weren't for the fact that Calvin's room was - despite the foundational symmetry - so much different and freer than any other student's room. The only light was from his desk lamp. I was holding an ice-pack wrapped in a dish towel to my face.

"He wears rings."

"What?"

"It's the reason your lip got cut. Neal wears rings. Otherwise," he shook his head, "his swing is lame. You know, you should be angry."

"I am angry."

"No, you're not. You're sad that this happened and you're embarrassed but you won't let yourself get angry. Won't show it, anyways."

"What's the point in showing it. Nothing's gonna happen. These fucking kids get away with whatever they want."

"You don't know that," he said. "You don't. If nobody feels anything in this world, that's when nothing happens. But if you show how you feel, people tend to understand."

"Nobody understands anyone. We all just... pass each other by. I mean, how can you understand me, for example? We grew up on different sides of the Earth. You're the son of a principle and a scholar. I'm the son of a plumber and a hair dresser. You're for sure going to Cambridge, or St Andrews, or some shit like that. I have no idea what I'm expected to do when I get out, because by then we'll already be, like, thirty-thousand dollars in debt. And that's on top of the debt we already have. I probably can't go to university. I don't want to go back to Australia. I don't want to stay in Germany. And I don't think you can understand that, that... feeling of not being secure in everything you do. Kids like you, they grow up with supportive parents and they go to university and they don't have to worry about the cost or the paperwork or even getting good grades because your parents do all that for you, and even if you flunk out and fail at life you're still gonna get inheritance. So you're set. You're secure. And that's great. That's just great, for you."