Cold Mist

III. Idus Martiae

It was almost March and there was no warning. I guess the things that do matter in life were those that take people by surprise. I was a senior Mass Media Communications student at that time all the while trying to maintain a job as a campus DJ where I had to read gushy letters in stationaries of various smells and give advice to the losers who called or read phony text messages on-air. It was a crappy and thankless job but it paid for my scholarship so I kept my thoughts to myself.

When I was leaving the radio station one afternoon, several patrol cars lined up on the steps before me and somebody yelled, "hands over your head, etc" (no he didn't actually say 'etc' but you get the picture. Right?)

Before I knew it, I was at another 'station' – the police station.

"Do you know why you are here?" asked this cop in plainclothes, blowing cigarette smoke all over my face, acting tough and all. He must have been turned down on a lot of action movie auditions, I think. Now, he's taking it all out on me. He was wearing a hideously T – shirt that smelled like it hadn't been laundered for days. I felt like throwing up.

"Not really," I replied trying to ignore the stink and rubbing my wrists which had grown cramped from the cuffs. "Why am I here?"

He leaned over and beamed the light on my face, "don't get witty with me boy." He sneered.

"I really don't know," I explained. "Tell me, do you actually have a warrant for this?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is being signed now. Probably." he said carelessly, flicking the cigarette ash to the floor. "You see, we wanted to make sure you don't morph into a fish and slip away."

"May I at least call my lawyer?" As if I had one. But I liked the sound of it anyway.

His eyes narrowed. "Whatever for?"

"The law gives me that right..." it sounded stupid even to me.

"!Tonto!" he exploded, striking my head with his palm. "Your rights only begin to exist once I say it exists! You have the right to shut up! Do that!" Ah, an original version of the Miranda Doctrine. How I love it.

I was a good citizen, my friends knew as much. But of what use was their word against a policeman's frivolous effort to make a catch? They battered me so much that I had to stay in bed for two days.

"Hey!" Robert greeted me in the canteen, on the third day, "You missed P.E. last Saturday." As though he hadn't missed it the entire month prior due to his rock band 'practice.' "Yeah, I know." "Have you heard about what happened to Jenny?" Talking to him needed nothing more than nodding and shaking one's head since Robert pretty much grew up in this principle. I nodded and went on eating but he was persistent, hoping I suppose, to be the first one to tell me. I couldn't help but think that everybody thought it was good business to keep me updated on the latest Jenny escapade. "Really? From whom?" "The Police," I said. He deserved it anyway. Robert choked on his food so grotesquely that for a sick moment I thought that he would need the Heimlich maneuver and die anyway. He snatched his glass of juice and drained the contents to the last drop and looked at me panting. "Have you told anyone about this?" he gasped. I didn't answer because I knew he would make it his business to spread such tidings to the ends of the earth anyway. "that's some serious shit! It means they suspect you!" he pronounced. He always did have such an inclination for the dramatic. "I know what it means," I scowled. As if I needed someone to remind me. I could have bashed his head into his sandwich just for bringing that up. "But do you honestly think I'd stoop that low? They didn't get anything from me and they never will! Nunca!" "Owwws!! Really? You really are a disturbed person." "I know, right?"

It had already been several months since she brought tulips into one of our few discussions and by time of her death she had already stomped all over my dignity and dumped me for good. Jenny did it a month right after that afternoon. I could have made an effort to chase after her, but I felt like trash that time. And trash never chased after anyone. It was just like her, actually. To that girl, life was like getting ready for a big party. She would gather her choice dresses around her and wear each of them in turn to see if they would look good in the mirror, sort of a test run. If it didn't look favorable in the least, she would simply take it off and cast it aside and switch to another apparel. It was about Saturday or Sunday I can't recall which, when I saw Jenny and our tulip – loving Professor heading out of an exclusive food joint. It didn't surprise me when talk about them began to spread. It was inevitable. I was even there to witness Jenny and Mike's heated argument about this instance. I mentioned this unmistakably violent confrontation to the police and was more than happy to point out that her boyfriend nearly decapitated me – something that the police, unfortunately, already knew. Mike had been the guest of their station until the judge decided that he was merely defending his rights to her. Rights? I thought the accumulation of human chattels went with the Spaniards. Her death made me miserable for almost a day. It just seemed the right thing to do. I wasn't made of stone after all like some people. Jenny was nice (her parents weren't too imaginative with their daughter's name either, I must say) but only when I first knew her. Our relationship began in the way of a cliché – 'simple' friendship. And although we didn't care much for this preliminary, it was never an issue as long as it involved being nude together. She was a bit of a nag I found out later on, which caused a setback in my academic performance, terrible as it already was. I had to smoke and drink to be a part of her crowd which for some inane reason seemed like a prerequisite to her – I mean that her friends would like me – and that was the worst part of it. I ended up taking pills to force enough sleep for my 4:00 a.m. shift at the kitchens. I really liked her close to seriousness but, unfortunately, she already had a boyfriend – something she conveniently forgot to mention: a guy with a mane who smoked two packs out in the open and three more when he was all by himself (while soaked in alcohol, I think) a day. I know this because I used to take the trash out of the men's dorm so I've seen the quantity of packs and booze bottles in the bins from his room (how he was able to get away with it, I've no idea).

He had this big hunk of a scooter which he would parade around every chance he got, which was everyday. Looking at it made me think he bought it to compensate for something else he had that had been found wanting in size. It seemed to do the trick though because now women were so attached and just couldn't get themselves unhooked off of him.

Had it always been about the size and quantity of the things a person had that matters?

The only dumb thing was, I hadn't the slightest clue they were involved until the night he accosted me on my way to the university dorms after spending an afternoon with her in the mall. He sent me a few sms too. Below are samples:

"Gago! Stop contacting my babe. She's spoken for. She's mine!

You think you can have her? Stop bothering us, Gago!!"

Spoken for? What a word. Hadn't that phrase died of old age yet? Then there was this word gago. I mean, it seemed like the only word he could ever say, the only word he ever knew. It killed me.

I sent a message to Jenny saying:

What's going on with your boyfriend? He sounds pretty stupid doing what he did.

I must have disturbed them in the process of a gardening session because I received a text message from them both almost simultaneously. I wanted very much to call them to see if I would hear anything primeval. But I had no such luxury.

Jenny:

Stop bothering me. Stop bothering us.

Mike: Gago! Didn't I just tell you to stop bothering us?

Jenny, however, was not done with her piece yet.

We are through! Don't you get it? You have nothing on me, Jerez. You don't own me. You were my boyfriend - that's all you ever were. You can get lost now.