Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins (2 page)

Before this past summer, I might have agreed with everything Ryan said just because it was bound to annoy somebody, but too much had changed. No,
I'd
changed. I could no longer live solely to piss off the population of planet Earth, but he could. I'd have to live that part of my life through him now.

It was the first day of classes, and Kim and I were waiting in my room for him to show up. Somehow, and I'm not quite sure how, I talked her into taking a creative writing class with us. I was introducing her to the music of Real Life and Fiona to pass the time until, finally, a muffled pounding at the door signaled Ryan's arrival.

"Look!” I all but shouted when I saw what he was wearing. “It's the younger brother from
A Christmas Story
. Can Ralphy come out to play, too?"

"I really hate that movie.” The stifled response was agitated. “And do you have any idea how cold it is out there?” He was sporting a snowmobile suit, heavy winter coat over that, boots that added a bit of height to his 5'6” stature, a ski mask and a large, thick pair of gloves. The only indication that the figure in front of us was human was the set of blue eyes glaring at us from behind the mask.

"Yeah, and don't go there.” As entertaining as it might be, the last thing I wanted to hear was Kim talking about her balls again. “Let me grab our coats."

It occurred to me that cold was a small thing to deal with in life if that was my only complaint.

"You know, things could always be worse."

"I really hate people like you, too.” Ryan stated without skipping a beat. “And what is this crap you're listening to?"

"It's Fiona.” Kim perked up. “And she's fabu, sweetie. Everything I do, she's sexing me. Meow, meow, meow."

Okay, that thing she just did—the meow thing—is something I forgot to mention. I think she overdosed on cat food commercials as a child—the ones where you can hear the cat's thoughts—and has been mimicking them ever since. Ryan has his own theory, and it has to do with a certain slang term for female anatomy that also happens to be an alternative name for a cat. See what I mean about him inciting people?

"Yeah, whatever.” Ryan dismissed her, which he knew would push one of her buttons. “Andy?"

"I'm in the closet.” I chuckled and returned with Kim's and my coat. “Now I'm not.” Come on, people! I was running out of subtle hints here.

"I don't get the joke.” Kim looked like she wanted to, mostly because Ryan apparently didn't either, and that meant she could one-up him, but she wasn't making the connection.

"It's all that eighties music he listens to.” Ryan turned and headed for the stairs that would take us outside to the weather we were all, quite honestly, dreading. “It'll rot your brain and who the hell is Fiona, anyway?"

"She's a singer who got her start playing in a couple of bands like the Dixie Dregs, then cut a twelve-inch dance single in New York City before deciding that wasn't the direction she wanted to go. In the end, she wanted to rock and was signed by Atlantic Records."

Ryan turned slowly back around and stared at me.

"Have you ever heard of a rhetorical question?” he asked accusingly. “I really didn't want to know. I don't care. It's like that explanation you give about being named after Duran Duran's ex-guitarist. It couldn't have happened. He wasn't old enough and your parents probably never even heard a single song by the group anyway. They probably dragged you to Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow concerts as a child.” Ryan continued on, still mumbling the entire way. “Of all the useless information in the world to know ... Who gives a shit?"

"I do,” I countered, but more for my own benefit than anybody else's. And my folks
had
taken me to see Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow before. Was that supposed to mean something?

"Hon?” Kim took her coat from me and put it on. “If the last time you got a piece of ass was when your hand slipped through the toilet paper, you'd be bitchy, too."

"Andy?” Ryan called back over his shoulder. “Are you coming out or what?"

"I am out.” Somebody
had
to get that one.

"You know, it sounds like English, but nobody understands what you're talking about. Now move it before we're late."

The semester was officially underway.

Our only stop before class was the Commons. Ryan lived off-campus with his parents, so at least he had the good fortune of having a homecooked meal more often than we did. I remember driving my mother into fits of lunatic rage by constantly complaining about her cooking back when I was in high school, but I was a bit of a shit back then. It amazes me how much we think we know and how mature we think we are when we're younger. I mean, now that I'm nineteen, I'm so ahead of the game in those areas.
Now
I know everything. Unfortunately, maturity and knowledge—or is that maturity and wisdom—never took college food into consideration.

A university will frequently name their Commons after someone of importance, much like they do many of the buildings and residence halls. In this case, however, no one wanted to be associated with where the supposed and often questioned preparation and consumption of what the lowest-bidding contractor called “food” went on. And let's face it, the image of sweet, elderly women with smiles on their faces, pictures of grandchildren in their pockets and kind words on their tongues as they handed you whatever it was you ordered ... oh, no. Not here. We had heavy-set women from one of the Baltic countries who would just as soon growl at you as smile.

Ryan, Kim and I sat down and started the normal bit of chitchat that went on in a small group. What did you get for Christmas? What instructors do you have again this semester? How did you spend the last night of 1989 and did you remember the name of the person you woke up next to? Yeah, it was bullshit, but it was bullshit that was expected of you.

"Is that idiot on your floor still trying to get you to work out?” Ryan asked while taking a bite of whatever it was he ordered. It looked like chicken, but who knew? One thing was for certain, even if it looked like chicken, it didn't taste like chicken.

"Unfortunately, yes.” I picked up a limp fry and dipped it into some ketchup. Oddly enough,
that
tasted like chicken. “Ever since he became one of their official trainers at the Field House, he makes a point to single me out in front of everybody. ‘Come on, Andy. No pain, no gain. You're looking a little flabby there!'” I waited for the others to respond, but they only stared back at me. “What?"

"Well...” Kim looked me over. “...your cheeks
are
getting a bit puffy."

"They are not.” I involuntarily reached up to feel them.

"Not those cheeks, baby.” She chuckled.

"Oh, be quiet. I'm not getting fat. I don't think I've put any weight on since eleventh grade ... baby."

"Baby got back?” Ryan chimed in.

"I do not have back.” I was starting to sound defensive. “I'm not heavy and I'm not going to get a complex just because the two of you enjoy playing with somebody's mind.” I hoped that was convincing because I didn't think I'd gained any weight. My pants still fit, my shirts weren't shrinking. For crying out loud! They were just screwing with me.

"She tried to frisk me again.” Ryan complained, picking up a new tangent in the conversation.

"She did not.” I rolled my eyes.

"Who tried to frisk you, hon?” Kim was suddenly interested now that the topic of uninvited physical contact had been brought up.

"Ryan thinks that the woman at the door who checks student IDs is constantly trying to feel him up."

"I'm telling you,” he insisted, “she made a play for my ass!"

"You mean Miss Bluehair-I've-got-cobwebs-between-my-legs at the front there?” Kim certainly did have a way with words. She opened her mouth to say something else...

...and that's when it happened for the second time in my life. Eerie silence. I stared at her, saw her mouth moving but heard absolutely nothing. What was going on here? It almost felt like a myocardinal reflection—or whatever that thing is with the heart. While chemistry hadn't exactly been my best class, I didn't fare much better in health, either.

All the light and noise in the room suddenly just dimmed. There was a disturbance here much like I'd felt around certain cousins at the anniversary party in California. No, it was different this time. This was singular and very focused, yet I didn't quite know how I knew it, only that I did know it. A little radar blip pinged back and forth between my ears, but was I detecting someone or was someone detecting me? And to what end? And was I talking to myself?

I nonchalantly looked around the room and attempted to identify the source. The usual number of premed students were around us as were a few overly-impressed-with-them-selves athletic types looking to score with anything that ovulated, some fraternity brothers admiring their reflections in the silverware, sorority sisters discussing the advantages of spritzing over mousse, a few couples thinking about where they'd rather be, who they'd rather be with and what position they'd be in if they were there ... and one lone guy sitting three tables away.

There was a small group between us, but he had strategically positioned himself in order to get a clear view of our table. I guessed he was around my age, maybe a year older, and he was pretty easy to spot because his hair was so blond it was almost white, much like my own ... before it turned darker after puberty. He also had very smooth, attractive facial features that gave him an air of innocence. I imagined that I must have looked exactly the same way in California, only different.

What was he looking at? More important, who was he looking at? Ryan had his back to him, but Kim and I could see him just fine.

That explained it.

"You aren't going to believe this,” I whispered. “Don't look now, Miss Kim, but there's a guy sitting over there staring at you. I believe you have an admirer.” I nudged her, playfully rubbing in the implications. “He's really being obvious about it, too."

"Where?” Ryan turned around and proceeded to stare at everyone.

"The blond one.” I sighed and tried to be less obvious about it than he was.

"Oh, him?” Kim rolled her eyes. “Actually, I think he's looking at you."

"What the hell is he looking at me for?” Ryan demanded.

"Maybe he saw your bumperstickers.” I couldn't help it, and it was a valid observation.

"No, not you. You can barely see over the table.” Kim pointed to me. “You.” Something occurred to her. “What bumperstickers?"

"Me?” My pulse quickened, and I felt myself blush. Why would he be staring at me? “Why me?” I should be so lucky!

"Maybe he read your last music review,” Ryan responded just loud enough for me to hear, payment in full for my crack about his bumperstickers.

"Hey, I like Corey Hart.” Besides, I gave the album a decent review.

"Yeah, you're the only one left in the world who does. Big news flash! Corey Hart's newest album goes gold after selling three copies to his one and only fan, Andy Stevenson. Media goes wild! Fan stamps his feet in celebration while friends tell him to get a life!” If dealing with his snide remarks was my only complaint in life ... Stop that!

"And moving right along.” I turned back to Kim. “Why do you think he's looking at me?"

"So he can get to me.” She started nibbling on her ham-burger again while Ryan and I looked at each other, wonder-ing what it was we'd missed. “He asked me about you several times last semester. It was a coy way of getting close to me, but I'm on to him. I know this game.” She smiled and looked over his way. “I don't know why he'd need an excuse, because I think he's adorable."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Oh, Andy, don't worry. I'm sure he's not as sweet as you are."

"Great, he's adorable and I'm sweet. There is so much inequality in this friendship.” She threw a fry at me. “Still, that's weird. He must be coming on to you because I don't have a clue who he is.” Not that I wouldn't mind getting to know him. The boy certainly had it going on for him in the looks department and ... am I really this shallow now?

"You mean you don't actually know him?” Kim asked.

"Maybe you were thinner back then and the new weight is putting pressure on your brain.” Ryan smirked.

"No.” I struggled to stay pleasant. “I wasn't any thinner, and I really don't know him.” Maybe she wanted me to tell her that he had visited my dorm room every night last semester for a quickie ... not an entirely unpleasant thought, but unlikely. And why was Ryan still going on about the weight thing? Was I bigger now? Stop!

"It's not like I can blame him for using you to get to me.” She was totally letting this go to her head. “Because this mama knows how to barbeque herself some beef. The way he talked about you, though, I thought maybe you were old friends."

"Maybe he's the one leaving you all those hang-up calls on your answering machine.” Ryan suggested.

"I just figured it was someone calling the wrong number or, you know, it could be my grandmother ... drunk ... again."

"Your new message is very creative, too!” Kim gave me a playful slug on my shoulder. “Mama likes, meow meow meow."

"I think it's juvenile.” Ryan acted disinterested.

"That's because you fell for it twice before you realized it was the machine.” I broke out into a spontaneous smile. “Sometimes I'm so good it hurts."

"Well, I see the misconception fairy visited you again."

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The journey to class was as fast as we could possibly walk it. The wind whipped around us and then, as if Mother Nature wasn't happy torturing us with that, it started snowing. If that's all I have to worry about in life, though ... Oh, shut it!

We finally made it to the building our class was located in and started peeling off the layers of extra clothing so we didn't now overheat.

"There better not be any of those artistic freaks in this class.” Ryan started down the crowded hallway in search of the classroom. and we followed. “They talk weird, they don't make any sense, and the last thing I need to hear is one of them whine ‘I don't get it ... this isn't real ... it's not an aesthetically pleasing and stimulating read.’ If it drives them to a deviant lifestyle or if they go home and jerk off afterwards, great. That's a real reaction and not some stupid, backwards way of saying they liked or hated it."