twenty-something

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Make The Man | A Story By Patrick Raymond
Part Two, Section Three: "Caught"

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The knock on the door was loud, insistent, and it surprised Allison and I so much we both jumped. We looked at each other with fear, knowing that this was not good. The knock was sinister, ominous, and both of us assumed it signaled the arrival of an RA or a cop to bust us, yet again, for underage drinking in the dorms. Though it was my last night there and I had nothing to loose, my guilty instinct -- a holdover from my first days experimenting with alcohol in middle school -- still took over in times like this.

We quietly, carefully, hid our Corona bottles (we'd moved past cider by then), careful not to clink them. There was another knock, louder, angrier. I glared at the door.

"It's your room," she whispered, motioning towards the door. "Answer it."

It was Duncan. And the instant I saw him, I wished that he were a cop, reading me my rights. He had a paper bag in one arm and a scowl across his face.

He knew. I could tell he knew.

I welcomed him in and, after he and Ally shared polite greetings, we all stayed in a long moment of extreme awkwardness. Here was my frat-boy-friend, my journalist girlfriend, and there was me, the coward who was leaving in the morning. I didn't know exactly what to say to anybody, but it seemed I should say something. I stewed in the silence -- well, silence except for the MP3 rotation on the computer -- contemplating that very difficult moment.

Before I could even try to speak, Rich arrived with Carly, both all smiles and afterglow.

Carly said, "Duncy, baby, you made it to the celebration!"

"Celebration?" he asked, knowingly. "Celebration of what?"

"Sammy's last night in town!"

"No, I just was dropping off some stuff," he said coldly, pointing to the paper bag he'd placed on my cluttered desk. "I have to get to study hall."

He took off for the door and I moved to go after him. "Duncan, wait –" But he was gone.

So he left in a huff, and I was left standing, with my two best girlfriends and roommate, to observe the pieces.

"Did we just break up? Was that it?"

Nobody made an attempt to answer.

"I hope not. You're in love with him," Carly observed. She was the optimistic, pseudo-hippie chick. Sometimes I wanted to strangle her for her earnestness.

"I am not."

Allison emerged from her silence on my bed. "Sure, you say that now, but you were totally obsessed with him not two months ago."

"Obsession is completely different that love. I like Duncan. I'm infatuated with him. Maybe I was even obsessed at one point. But I'm not in love with him."

"That's gloomy," Allison deadpanned. "But maybe you're right."

"You're getting better at admitting you're wrong, Ally. Must be all the practice I've given you this year."

I smiled. She hit me square in the face with a pillow.

"Ok, so you have this perfect boyfriend?" Rich pondered. "And you like him. But you're just going to leave things like that?"

Up until that moment, it all made perfect sense to me. Sure, I felt guilty, I was torn up inside, but I never once thought that maybe I was being stupid, that I was making the wrong choice. I never once questioned my decision, or my actions. Yet the calm words of Rich, the roommate who never seemed to notice or care about any of the details of my life, made me realize just how foolish I was being.

"Go after him," he instructed. "Before you regret it."

And so I did. I went after Duncan. In my head, it should've been the epic, climatic moment of the story, where our hero finally finds the folly of his ways and, with the sweeping score swelling in the background, runs after his true love, stopping them moments before they'd get on a train or plane and leave his life forever. I had to find him, before it was too late! -- even though I had no idea what I'd say or do when I did.

That reality set in quickly. I had barely stepped out of my building before I literally bumped into him. I found him outside of Hopkins, under the overhang by the main door. It had started pouring out and he was pacing, puffing on a cigarette.

Suddenly, the sweeping music died, as did the urgency of the moment. I forgot all the things I might've said.

"You're smoking?"

"I'm entitled."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Guess we both have secrets." He was trying to be all badass, but it wasn't working. "You're allergic, aren't you?" he asked as he threw the butt to the ground and stomped it out. "I'm sorry. You know I never smoke. There was just a guy out here... and the moment... and I thought one wouldn't hurt."

He was kind of cute when he babbled, though he rarely did. It was characteristic of me. I guess we were at the point in our relationship where we'd adopted each other's characteristics. We were also at the point where I couldn't hide things from him anymore. He deserved to know the truth.

And so I sat on the cold, wet stone bench and he followed suit. We didn't face each other. He just waited for me.

"I'm sorry, Duncan."

That was all I could offer in that moment, and he knew me well enough to know that.

"You're really leaving in the morning. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Do you want to go for a walk, or a ride? To the beach maybe?"

"No."

"OK."

"When were you planning on telling me?"

"Two weeks ago. I just couldn't..."

"It's really not a big deal. You're leaving three days early. I'm sorry to be such a freak."

It was one of those moments where I felt I needed a cigarette, even though I'd never smoked. "Adam," I said. "It's not just that -- I'm not coming back next year."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking some time off."

"You're serious."

"Yeah."

"What? Why?"

"I need to. I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going... what I want."

"Oh."

"Come back with me. Hang out with us."

"I can't. I just..."

Those frigging eyes. Now I knew what all the fuss was about, all those songs.

"So this is –"

"Good-bye, Sam."

---

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