Entry 1:8th October
Journal,
He's taken my breath away from the moment I first laid eyes on him. He sends my heart into convulsions and sends quivering butterflies to my stomach.
I hate the fact that I like him so much.
No, I don't. He makes life interesting.
Yes I do hate it, actually. He makes life interesting, sure, but in a painful and agonizing sort of way. Especially after what I've seen tonight.
I just need to get it all out of my system. I figured that writing this journal thing would help. Brian Denton, the creative writing lecturer, suggested on the first day that we all keep journals to track our journey through university. I thought it was stupid when he said it, but it suits me now that I think about it.
Writing is one of my favorite things to do- after performing, of course- and I find it sort of therapeutic in a way. In secondary school, I'd find a way to write my pain through essays and short stories, as melodramatic as that sounds.
I had stopped writing for fun last year when I got caught up in A-Level studies and I realize now as I type this that I've missed it immensely. I've never written a diary before, however. I've decided to call it a journal to make it sound less frivolous. I don't really know how to go about it so I guess I'll skip introducing myself, seeing as this journal is only ever for my own therapeutic purposes and I presume I know myself well enough at this stage. Well, I thought I did anyway, before I met him. I guess that's the reason for writing this.
Anyway, I'll start off with my first day here at college. It was two weeks ago on a fine Sunday morning in late September. Mum had insisted on driving me all the way to the university to drop me off. I didn't complain; I understood her need to give her eldest a proper send-off, though I did roll my eyes slightly as she started crying outside the car when I took my two suitcases out of the boot and said goodbye.
"Take care," was as much as she could choke for a while. She eventually recovered and put on a serious Mum face. "Don't be out every single night, do all your assignments, study for your exams…"
"Mum, I know…"
"I know you know. It's just my job to remind you. And be safe."
"Yeah, because I'm the type of person likely to be going around campus looking for trouble."
"No, I mean… be safe if… you know…you find yourself getting intimate… with a boy."
"Oh my God," I murmured, feeling my face flushing red. "I'm leaving now."
She laughed and pecked me on the cheek. She then hugged me tightly for what I felt was a bit too long a period.
"Mum, would it help if you came up and looked at the apartment before you left? I mean, my roommate's probably going to show her parents around too so I don't mind."
To be honest, I didn't exactly want her to say yes, but I felt it might make saying goodbye a bit easier for her. I owed her so much anyway.
"No, no darling. I don't want your face to turn any redder than it is now. Now, off you go and enjoy your first day at university. I know how much you want this so just have a ball. Work hard and be a good role model for the rest of the family, even though you are already a superb one. You've done us all proud as punch and we all love you to pieces."
I was starting to get teary-eyed myself so I quickly turned around to head to the campus building.
"Thanks Mum," I said, mumbling again. "I'll be back home at Halloween for break."
"I know, love. I'll ring you tomorrow to see how you're getting on. Remember, any difficulties with money or anything else, let me know straight away."
"Ok. Goodbye then."
"Goodbye, dear. Take care."
She gave my shoulders a final squeeze as I walked away from her. I only went a few paces before I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face her. I tried to keep my voice steady.
"I just wanted to say… thanks, Mum. For everything."
I saw her choke slightly, the tears now streaming down her face. She simply held up her hand in response and I knew what she meant: 'Don't mention it, you deserve it; don't be worrying about your silly old Mum'. I gave her a small smile before turning back around and heading on my new adventure.
I was halfway between the car and the university building, scrambling around other students and doing my best to dry my eyes with the back of my suitcase-laden hands when I heard her shout out to me.
"Don't forget to change your underwear every day."
A few of the students around me laughed to themselves, though thankfully they didn't know who the voice had been talking to. I felt myself going beetroot again.
She's some woman, my mother: too respectful to embarrass me by looking around my accommodation but not so shameless as to refrain from yelling something like that across campus.
The sign pointing the direction to the theatre stopped me in my tracks. I had the information pack the accommodation company had sent me in my hand and, according to the map supplied within it, I was in the building where I would eat and sleep for my first year in college.
I remember thinking how strange it was to have a theatre located in the same place where students lived. Normally, accommodation and the learning campus were quite separate in universities. Not that I was complaining, of course. It was incredible to think that I would be living only hundreds of meters away from a stage, the place where I felt most comfortable.
I made a snap decision to take a detour and actually go into the theatre to see what it was like before heading to my room. I guess I'll write about what happened in there and the strange boy I met another time but it's past midnight at the moment and I have barely mentioned what has caused me to be writing my heart out. That's one of the problems I have with writing: going off on interesting but irrelevant tangents. 'Plot bunnies' my English teacher in secondary school used to call them.
Anyway, skimming past my moment of bliss in the theatre for the time being, it was just after four o'clock in the afternoon when I finally made my way up to the room. Room 302, the information pack told me. As I had not yet realized there were elevators in the building, I hauled my way up the two flights of stairs with my unbelievably heavy bags.
302 was one of the first doors through the sixth landing's double doors. I tried to steady my heaving breath and dug for the key in the envelope. I didn't want to make a weird first impression on my roommate- if she was in there- so I waited a few more seconds to compose myself before opening the door.
I had time to survey the room before I was met by the surprise. The room was spacious and modern enough for cheap student accommodation. There were two beds, two wardrobes and two writing desks with chairs and lamps. On the bed closest to the door lay a suitcase and a jacket. My roommate was obviously in the building somewhere and I remember thinking that by the looks of the single suitcase, she wasn't much of a girly girl.
I dropped my bags beside the other bed further from the door and walked over to the large window. It faced out towards the other campus buildings and I stood for a few seconds and people-watched the students below. I could tell by the confused looks and tag-along parents who the new first year students were.
The door to the room opened and I turned around. A tall boy wearing only a pair of long shorts and flip-flops walked in. He hadn't noticed me as he was singing along to a song which he was listening through earphones. Around his neck there slung a towel and his hair was wet. It didn't take long for me to figure out he had just come from a shower, which I had read in the information pack was down the corridor.
I meant to speak up but, as he walked over to his bed and opened his suitcase, I found myself immobilized.
He was beautiful. There were no other words that came to my mind. His bare, toned abdomen and slender build made my mouth drop momentarily and his face seemed flawless, almost immaculate. The boy pulled a t-shirt out from his suitcase and, throwing the towel on the floor, stretched and slid it on. I felt as if I was in heaven, watching as his muscles contracted and defined with the simple motion.
He was still singing along to the music in his ears. His voice seemed to me to be as perfect as he looked. I quickly copped on to myself and coughed loudly. He didn't seem to hear me as the song had obviously come to some high notes. He reached the falsetto with pure elegance. A strange choice of word, elegance, but again, nothing else came to my mind. His voice was so pure, his tone so serious, that I felt myself getting goosebumps all along my arms and down the back of my neck.
Reluctantly, I cleared my throat again. If only I could've stayed silent and listened a little while longer. I moved closer to the boy and waved my hand. He caught the motion and spun around to face me, humiliation written all over his face. He tore the music from his ear.
"Oh sorry pal," he said sheepishly. "Didn't see you there."
"S'okay," I said, as equally as sheepish. I wanted to compliment him on his voice but didn't have the courage to. I could see he was mortified at being caught singing.
"You my roommate?" he asked, avoiding my eye and in his embarrassment pretending to be preoccupied with looking for something in his suitcase. It was quite cute, actually.
"I… don't think so," I said. "I might have the wrong room… 302?"
"This is 302 as far as I'm aware."
"Yeah, but it says in my info pack that I'm sharing with a girl?"
"I never read that pack. But why in the world would you be put with a girl?"
I considered that for a moment, realizing the boy had a point. Why would they have put me with a girl?
"But it says here that I'm sharing room 302 with a girl named.." I flicked through the booklet in my hands hastily. The boy was making me jittery already. "…Jacky."
"Let's see," said the boy, finally taking his focus from his suitcase and taking the booklet off me. He looked to where I pointed and laughed. "That's not Jacky. They obviously made a typo. It's Jack. That's my name: Jack Kelly."
Jack offered me his hand to shake, which I took almost bashfully.
"Oh. Sorry um…Jack." The name was like music on my tongue.
"What are you apologizing for? You didn't make the mistake…"
He trailed off in an unusual tone and it took me a good few seconds to realize he was hinting at me to tell him my name.
"David," I spluttered at last, like the awkward, already-infatuated fool that I was. "I'm David Jacobs."
Entry 2: 9th October
Journal,
Sorry for just leaving it there last night. With me introducing myself, I mean. I couldn't have physically typed any more anyway. I've just read back what I wrote last night and have had to resist the urge to erase it all. That's one of the flaws of a writer, over-criticism, according to announced in this week's lecture that he's making the journal thing mandatory and we're to share extracts with the class on Tuesday as proof that what we're doing it. Getting a bit into the student's right to privacy if you ask me but I'm not too bothered: I'm going to print off the extract of me saying goodbye to Mum because I think that's the least potentially-humiliating thing I wrote last night.
Anyway, back to the story at hand. I actually liked the fact that some of last night's journal read almost like a novel and I'll keep the story going in that style, if that's ok with you, unresponsive computer screen. Thanks.
So, yeah, there I was like a bumbling fool, love struck by a boy I had known less f0r than two minutes. We eventually got to talking and getting to know each other. I found out he was from Manhattan and learned a bit about his family. I told him I was from Maine and I told him stuff about my siblings and Mum. We talked for a long while a bit about the university itself and the accommodation before the obvious conversation cropped up.
"So, what are you studying, pal?" Jack asked as he sat down beside the writing desk and took a swig of the Coke he had taken out of a mini-fridge in the corner of the room. The way he said my name made my heart flutter slightly and I began to feel even more like a pre-teenage girl.
"Erm… performing arts," I said, trying to make it sounds as least gay as possible.
"So, what's that, like musical theatre and dance and acting and stuff?
"Pretty much," I sighed, hearing back how girly it sounded. "Theatre studies and stuff."
"And you've always wanted to do that?"
"Since as long as I can remember."
"Aw, well that's cool then," Jack said genuinely. I appreciated the sentiment.
"What about you?" I asked after a few seconds' silence. "What will you be doing?"
"Sound engineering."
"Oh," was all I could say. I have to admit, I was quite disappointed that he wasn't doing something more unusual like Russian or advanced political science or medieval French literature or something.
He laughed at my response which made me immensely happy, even though I felt guilty for sounding disappointed. "Yeah, it doesn't sound too exciting, does it? Still, it was what I applied for and I was delighted when I got it."
"Sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to sound rude."
"David, stop saying sorry! Do you realize that since we've met you've apologized over fifty billion times?"
"Fifty billion? Is that so?" I said, smirking to feign confidence while inside my mind continued whirling, trying to think of witty things to say. I desperately wanted to impress Jack.
"Yeah, I've been keeping count."
"Oh… well, sorry."
"Fifty billion and one."
"Shut up!" I picked up my empty water bottle and flung it towards Jack from my position on my bed. It barely touched his arm but he play-acted all the same.
"First day away from home and I'm already being abused. You know, technically, that's domestic abuse because we're both living here together."
Jack laughed but my breath hitched at what he said. I saw him looking over me and I tried to cover it up by laughing belatedly. I could tell Jack knew something had upset me but thankfully he didn't press the issue further. He took out his phone while trying to change the conversation as casually as possible.
"Have you had dinner?" He looked up from the phone and I shook my head. "Oh good. Would you like to come out with me and my mate for something to eat?"
"Um, sure. But would I not impose on your…"
"Mate, you need to stop being so apologetic," Jack said, coming up to me and slapping me on the back in a friendly gesture. "College is all about meeting new people, yeah?"
"I suppose."
Jack looked down at me. Right then was the first time I realized just how mesmerizing his deep brown eyes were. Another thing to infatuate over. Fantastic.
"You're quite shy, aren't you?" Jack said, almost more as a statement than a question.
"I suppose so," I said, feeling myself grow red for the umpteenth time that day.
"No need to blush, pal! I didn't mean it as an insult. It's just- you expect these actor-type people to be all ego-centric and over-dramatic but you seem like you've a good, solid head on your shoulders. It's quite endearing, actually."
I felt myself blush even more and tried again to feign confidence. "You've known me for about an hour."
"Well, I may be wrong but those are my first impressions. But you're… hard to figure out. It's kind of fascinating. So, what are your first impressions of me then?"
I watched Jack as he turned around and started unpacking his suitcase. 'You are utterly dazzling and you have an incredible voice' was what I wanted to say. Instead I mumbled something along the lines of, "You're too interesting to be studying something like sound engineering." I thought it was pretty pathetic as Jack smirked to himself.
"Thanks pal… I think."
"Sorry dude, I didn't mean to snigger. That was quite rude."
"It's alright," I said meekly. I wasn't really offended that he laughed when I told him my name and what he was studying. I was just humiliated about the fact that he had barely sat down and I already felt embarrassed.
I hate being so awkward but I become even more awkward when I try to act cool. Yeah, like being a boy and studying performing arts was ever going to be cool. I felt like a nerd trapped inside an American high school drama. So much for the brand new, confident David I was hoping would emerge in time for college.
"I'm Dean DeLuca, by the way. Otherwise known as Racetrack," the boy said. When he had walked into the restaurant where Jack and I had been waiting, I couldn't help but stare at him as he scanned the room. His dress sense, his perfect facial symmetry, his slender build and his sallow skin tone had made me immediately think him a model. Even as he stood there, he seemed to exuberate a confidence that I could only ever dream of acquiring.
My heart had leapt when he had made his way over to our table. Just my luck to be having dinner with two stunning guys. Most people- who are attracted to guys, obviously- would relish such an opportunity. Not me. I hated always having to force myself to act cool around others. The fact that my company seemed to come straight out of a fashion catalogue didn't exactly help my cause.
"Look, I've just made a really bad first impression," Race continued. Jack was shooting him daggers. "I wasn't laughing at the fact that you're studying performing arts, it's just that I have a friend just like you back home who wanted to study theatre and you remind me of him. He's a funny guy."
I could tell that Race was telling a white lie but my sheer shyness stopped me from pursuing it. I just wished I didn't blush so easily.
There was an awkward silence for a while in which Jack avoided eye contact with the two of us and I stared at the tablecloth. It took all the strength within me to start a conversation.
"So, you never told me how you two know each other in the first place." I cursed my voice for sounding so timid.
"Oh, we met a few summers ago and kept in contact through Facebook and stuff," Jack explained. "Then Race tells me he's studying in the same university I was applying to and we met up last week and he showed me around campus. Luckily enough, we've ended up living on the same floor in the same building. Race's in 308."
"But you're not in first year?" I asked, looking at Race momentarily.
"Nah, second year commerce. It's exciting stuff."
I think it was around this time that I knew that I wasn't attracted to Race. Sure, he was drop-dead gorgeous and, apart from him laughing at me before he even introduced himself, he seemed easy-going and nice enough. Yet there was something missing. Perhaps it was because of the fact that my stupid brain had already zoned in on obsessing over Jack.
I remember thinking around then that at least Jack would be the only guy who'd cause any sort of trouble for me during my first semester at college.
Like I usually am in predicting social situations, I was completely wrong on that front.
Entry 3: 12th October
Journal,
Not much happened that first night after what I wrote about last week. I got to know the both Jack and Rcae a bit more and warmed slightly to the latter. Needless to say, I warmed even further towards Jack. The two of them had gone out to some nightclub afterwards but I declined their offer to join them. I walked back to the flat by myself and was asleep by half ten.
Wild, I know.
Anyway, yeah, my first official day at college; Registration and module-choosing day.
It started rather unceremoniously with Jack's phone blaring out some rock song from the other end of the room. I jumped up from my bed to see what had caused the god-awful noise and my eyes were greeted by the sight of Jack wearing just his boxer shorts bounding over to his writing desk on which his phone was vibrating furiously.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, pal," he said, turning the noise off. "I set the alarm to go off this morning last night but I had no idea it would be so loud."
"S'alright," I said, getting up and stretching groggily. My watch read 8.30. "I need to get up and dressed anyway." I was attired more modestly in pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt. I reluctantly avoided looking at my near-naked roommate as I went over to the wardrobe and started to pick out clothes to wear for my first day.
"Are you starting at ten too?" Jack asked as he went over to his wardrobe to follow suit.
"Sure am," I said. I decided on a pair of chinos and a plaid shirt. "What time did you get in at last night, by the way?"
"Er… sometime after two."
"After two?"
"Yeah," Jack said absent-mindedly, flicking his way through a pile of jeans in his wardrobe. "It's a wonder I didn't wake you up. I almost climbed into your bed by mistake. I got quite a fright when I tore back the covers and saw you lying there."
My heart sped. "Were you drunk?"
"Not really, actually. It was a good night, though. You should've come out; we met a lot of people."
I "Umm"ed in response and he shot me a look.
"I'm serious! Right, my first goal this semester is to make you come out of your shell a bit more and let loose once in a while."
"I appreciate the sentiment," I said, searching all the drawers to see where I had put my towel and shower gel, "but I'm fine. Clubbing and all that… it's just not what I do."
"I get that but still dude- your first night away from home and you go home to bed as if you have a curfew? Come on!"
I knew Jack meant what he said in the least malicious way possible but I still couldn't help feeling slightly upset. Frustrated at my own sensitivity, I murmured something about taking a shower and walked meekly out of the room.
Anyhow, what did I want to write about? Ugh, I have so much I haven't written about yet and I'm still backtracking two weeks from the present day. Just bear with it, okay journal?
Right so, my first day. Well, nothing too exciting happened until about eleven after the dean had introduced himself to us and we got the usual claptrap from the powers-that-be in the college. I was sitting on my own in the massive lecture hall, having lost Jack in the hustle and bustle of walking into the place. According to the information pack, which I could've nearly recited at that stage, a quarter of the new first years were in the hall at that moment for the orientation, from those doing science to performing arts to sound engineering.
So, I had lost Jack on the way in and was forced to sit beside a row of girls who were messing about and giggling. When the speakers had finished giving their waffle, I resolved to at least talk to them. I was determined to show Jack, if he could see me from wherever he was in the hall, that I wasn't the quiet mummy's boy he had taken me to be.
I eventually got talking to the girls who told me they were studying performing arts too as we made our way over to the other building to officially choose our modules on the university computer system. We didn't have as much of a choice as, say, the students doing liberal arts did but I opted to avoid all the dance modules I possibly could.
I was surprised that we were given a free-choice of two other modules unrelated to performing arts, ranging from Arabic to zoology. I immediately decided on the creative writing course for the reasons I already stated in my first entry. The second choice was a toss-up between psychology and English literature and I decided on the latter, noting that it could help me when it came to interpreting plays and such.
While Jules, Anna, Becky and I ate lunch in the canteen an hour later, I was surprised to see a text flash up on my phone. To be honest, I usually don't get many messages from other people and my mother had already texted me that morning to wish me good luck on my first day. The text was from an unknown number and read:
Hey pal. Hw r u enjoying ur first day? Talked to any1 yet?
It was Jack's. I had given him my number the day before but hadn't taken down his.
At first, I was pretty infuriated with what he was implying. He may as well have said, Don't worry about being shy and not being able to talk to anybody, I'm thinking of you. Weirdly enough, when the last part of that thought came through my head, I felt my heart flutter with joy. Jack really was a good guy looking out for me. Becky saw my frown turn into a small smile.
"Oooh, does somebody have a girlfriend?" she cooed.
"Is David not gay?" Anna piped up through a mouthful of her salad.
Becky froze and Jules nudged Anna. There was a brief uncomfortable silence when I knew the girls wanted me to respond.
"Sorry," Anna said, squirming in her seat. "It's just- you're studying performing arts and you dress really well…"
"No, it's ok. Erm… yeah, I am," I said, without looking up from the phone. I couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. It wasn't that I was ashamed of who I was, it was just that I had wanted to get to know people before becoming known primarily as 'the gay guy' or whatever.
"Dammit!" Jules muttered.
Anna, Becky and I looked up at her, confused.
"It's just that… you're quite fit," she muttered into her drink, blushing.
"Er, thanks." I turned as red as she did while Anna and Becky laughed.
I decided to take the high road in responding to Jack.
For your information, I actually AM talking to people.
"So, do you have a boyfriend then?" Anna was asking. I shook my head.
"Well, it's somebody you fancy then by the way you smirked at that text," Becky said, raising her eyebrows.
"Nah, it's just my new roommate checking up on me."
"Aw, that's sweet," Jules said. "Is he hot?"
"Um, I guess he's not bad-looking," I said. Really, I wanted to say something like "He's the most perfect thing I've ever laid eyes on and I think I may already be in love with him even though I've known him for less than a day." I could feel myself go red again as my phone buzzed.
Whoa, sor-ree man. Only asking. :D Hey, wat do u hav first thing on a Thurs?
I looked at my newly-printed timetable as Jules told Becky and Anna about some good-looking guy she had talked to at registration.
Something called Introduction to Improvisation in Drama. Why?
Aw brilliant! I chose tat as 1 of my free-choice modules. I'll c u in class lol!
So, Jack and I would be in the same hour-long lecture every Thursday. Was it not enough for him to cause my heart to ache in the flat? Now I'd have to deal with being infatuated with him during something that I thought would make me forget about him.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
Entry 4: 16th October
Journal,
Jack was lying on his bed, browsing the internet on his laptop when I got in just after three o'clock in the afternoon.
"Alright, pall?" he said, grinning as he looked up from the screen. "How was your first day?"
I answered his question with another. "Why did you choose Improvisation as your free-choice?"
He raised his eyebrows at my tone. I sighed, easing it slightly, "I mean, I'm just curious. You're studying sound engineering. They don't really fit together."
"Don't you think so?" Jack asked as I threw off my coat and bag and jumped exasperatedly onto my own bed. "Sound engineering's all about music and sound production. I might be in charge of the sound of a play one day. It will be good to see what it's like from the other end, to actually be one of the actors that I'd be supplying a microphone to. Improvisation, whatever that is, was the only theatre-related module left."
"Yeah, but it just… doesn't seem like you to choose something to do with acting."
"I could say the same to you."
"Cute," I said shortly.
"I know you are but what am I?" he said glancing over to me and sticking his tongue out.
"Didn't you mean to say 'I know I am but what are you'? Otherwise you're calling me cute."
"Oh yeah," Jack said slowly as he chuckled. "I hope you don't think I was hitting on you, pal!"
Not a chance of that happening anyway. Stupid infatuated brain.
"Why do you always do that?" I decided to ask, purposefully avoiding the actual comment.
"Do what?"
"Say 'pal' all the time."
"I don't say 'pal' all the time."
"That's all you ever call me," I said, not even knowing myself why in the world we were talking about something so trivial. "It's so… impersonal."
"We've only known each other for one day! But alright, what would you like me to say instead?"
"I don't know. I don't know why I mentioned it. But, David. Call me David."
"Alright then, David. You can just call me handsome."
He laughed at his own feeble joke as he stretched and got up to get a can of Coke from the mini-fridge. He took out an extra one and tossed it to me.
"There you go, pal. I mean, David."
I caught the can and felt my heart race from him actually saying my name. God, did I feel pathetic.
"But, those Cokes are yours; I didn't pay for this."
"Jeez, David! It's a can of Coke, not the damn Crown Jewels!"
"Oh right. Thanks," I said awkwardly, opening the can and taking a sip. "Sorry."
"Stop apologizing! And, by the way, my first day was fantastic, thanks for asking."
I laughed and we spent a good part of an hour talking about our day, Jack telling me about the people he met at his registration and me telling him about Jules, Anna and Becky. Apart from my desire to impress him, talking to Jack was just so easy. However, I found it difficult not to close my eyes and take in the glorious sound every time he laughed.
We've talked like this at night after every single day of lectures, lying on our respective beds and staring at the ceiling right before we go to sleep. We talk about our lectures and our professors, our assignments and our classmates.
Some days, when Jack or I have had a stressful or long day and we're too tired to talk about college, we discuss more personal things. Of course, this only serves to make me fall even more for him. I'll write about what we talk about someday soon. Once I get to the reasons I started this journal in the first place.
Actually, I may as well write about one of the reasons now. I need to vent and get it off my chest. So then, let's see.
It was the Tuesday of the first week, the day after registration and orientation and the first day of actual lectures. My timetable told me that my morning consisted of stagecraft and Postmodern Theatre. Nothing exciting happened in these lectures- well, I found it all terribly exciting but nothing of note to write in this journal happened. The two lectures after break passed off in the same manner. I shared most of those lectures with Anna, Becky and Jules and my fears of being left to eat alone in the canteen proved unfounded.
The first lecture after lunch was mime and, as I left the class wondering why in the world we needed to study the art of mime for one whole hour a week for the rest of the semester, I learned to my delight that my last class of the day was creative writing. I turned to ask the girls what class they had and my heart sunk slightly when they told me they had all chosen French.
I remember being out of breath and sweating slightly as I entered the creative writing room in my haste. I had aimlessly strolled towards it from the theatre room, thinking I had all the time in the world. It was only when I got to the arts building and checked my watch that I began to panic.
In my haste to get into the room, the strap on my shoulder bag got trapped on the handle of the door on the way into the class. I was involuntarily dragged back and the force of the pull caused the contents of the bag to spill on the floor.
"Sorry," I mumbled to the lecturer at the top the room as I scrambled to pick up the books and papers. He merely glanced ambivalently at me through his circle-rimmed glasses. Luckily, the rest of the people in the room were making small talk with each other so the class obviously hadn't started. Unluckily, all their eyes were now on the late klutz at the top of the room. I looked around wildly, scarlet in the face, for a seat in the tiny room.
There were only about twelve or thirteen people in the class and the chairs were arranged in a semi-circle fashion, all facing the blackboard at the top of the room. I pushed the sweaty hair off my forehead as my eyes scanned the room for an empty space. Eventually, a girl near the end of the row raised her hands and waved over to me, smiling wildly and signaling that the seat beside her was free. I smiled back and clumsily made my way over to her, knowing that everybody was still gawking at me.
"Hi, I'm Darcy Church," she said brightly in a light Welsh lilt as she moved her bag from the seat and I sat down.
"David," I breathed.
I looked over and saw that the guy she had been talking to beside her was sniggering at me. He was the only other boy in the room apart from myself.
The way he was slouched in the chair as if it was his, as if something like this creative writing module was beneath him, made me take an instant dislike to the boy.
The way his long, bony fingers drummed on the chair's retractable desk, the way his mess of dirty blond hair was perfectly styled to sweep across his head, the way he was boorishly chewing gum in his big mouth, all made me come to the conclusion that this guy was a complete tosser.
I don't often jump to conclusions and judge people so instantly but in this case I feel I haven't yet been proven wrong.
"Alright, Davey?" he greeted dryly to me with a slight snigger. His posh drawl did him no favors in convincing me that he wasn't a cocky twat. Don't even mention his butchering of my name. "I'm Spot."
Entry 5: 19th October
Journal,
So, the other night I was talking about my dislike of Spot on meeting him for the first time. Maybe I was a bit harsh on the guy at first but I've definitely grown to strongly dislike him. For good reason too, which I shan't get into just yet.
I may as well deal with Kid first of all. So, you remember I was talking about the moment of bliss I had in the theatre on the first day. Well, I had snuck in the audience's entrance that first day, which I was surprised to find unlocked.
I was in bliss the moment I walked through the doors. The sight of the stage far in front of me past the rows of seats seemed to hit me in the gut. Even in the dark. The place was beautiful; modern, tall, majestic, spacious, powerful. I knew then that I would always be right at home there.
I dropped my bags and walked tentatively up to the stage. I was encapsulated by the sheer power that seemed to radiate off it. On this stage, tears were shed, people were killed and emotions were played out. Stories, hundreds of stories, were told from there.
Before I was conscious of what I was doing, I was climbing up the steps that I had spotted at the side of the stage. From the moment I took my first step onto it, I was in heaven. This is what I had worked so hard for these last few years: to earn the right to be stand right there. To do so alone without actually performing was enough for me at that moment. I spent a few minute walking every inch of the stage, exploring every angle as I thought about how lucky I was to be starting on the course of my dreams. It was blissful.
I was woken from my thoughts with a loud thud and a small squeaking sound from the back of the auditorium. I spun around and froze. What the hell was I supposed to do? I wasn't even allowed to be in the bloody theatre and I didn't want to get in trouble before I even started my course.
There was no other choice but to make my way back to my bags and try to escape unnoticed and hope that whoever was there hadn't seen me through the darkness.
As I snuck back to my bags, I could see the figure who had caused the noise. He was sitting on the ground in the middle of the very back row of seats, hugging his knee to his chest and rubbing it through the fabric. I could sense he was a student so I figured it would be OK to talk to him.
"You okay?" I called over gently.
The boy, who had blonde hair and a baby face, looked up like a rabbit in headlights. He gave out another small squeak to himself before he nodded slightly.
"Grand," he mumbled in an accent I found difficult to place. "I was just looking for something and fell over."
He sprang up and pushed past me- obviously mortified- on his way to the door that led outside. I considered running after him and asking him had he found what he was looking for. I decided against it.
I didn't see the boy again until that Wednesday, the day after my first meeting with Twatface in creative writing. I had my first English literature lecture last thing and when I arrived, there the strange boy was, sitting on his own at the very back of the small room.
I tried to raise my eyebrows in greeting at him but I wasn't able to catch his eye; his head was engrossed in a book on his lap. I chose to sit in the middle of the room beside Ben, who I knew from most of my actual performing arts lectures.
For days afterwards, I cursed myself for not going up to him and talking to him. Yet, every time I glanced at him during that lecture, there was such serenity in the way he was sitting and reading that it would have been a shame to ruin it.
I told Jack about him afterwards during our third post-day-in-college discussion on Wednesday night.
"Yeah, English lit was fine," I said, answering his question. "Ben from my performing arts course and room 304 was there so that was good. There was this guy, though, that just sat at the back of the room reading a book. He never said one word to anybody during the whole hour, apart from saying 'thanks' when someone past him the attendance sheet."
"Oh, I think I know who you're talking about," Jack said. "Blond hair, baby face, kind of small and mousy?"
"Um yeah, I suppose so."
"Yeah, he's in my engineering course. His name's Kid."
"Kid? That's a strange name."
"Yeah," Jack said. "He's foreign apparently but I don't know where he's from because I've never even talked to him. Poor lad. I'll make sure I chat to him tomorrow and introduce myself."
I was about to tell Jack about my encounter with Kid in the theatre on the Monday but I kept my mouth shut. Describing what I was doing in the theatre alone in the first place would be difficult.
Besides, the emotions I felt in that vast room were so personal that recounting any part of the experience to someone else would be like revealing a big secret.
I wanted more time to mull over what went on in that theatre myself as I was beginning to suspect that Kid had been in there for a different reason than to look for something.
I thought about what Jack had said. "What's with you trying to socialize people? First me, then Kid. You know, despite what you think, some people don't mind being alone."
"I know," Jack said softly, looking over at me on my bed and then looking back up at the ceiling. "I enjoy being alone too. But I don't think it would be good for Kid's mental health for him to go through college and not say a word to anybody."
"That's true, I suppose. You're a good guy."
I sighed, not needing another reason to like my roommate.
"Thanks," Jack said modestly. "Right, I'm off to sleep. Thanks for the laughs today. I'm already looking forward to our next turn."
He was referring of course, to our 'attempt' at fine cuisine a few hours earlier.
Cooking dinner with Jack has to be up there with the most fun things about college life. Dinner is cooked by one set of roommates per floor every evening in the building's communal kitchen downstairs and eaten in each floor's common room.
That night's meal, if I remember correctly, was spaghetti bolognese. The ingredients were provided by the complex's staff and the two of us thought it would be a doddle to make. Not so. We were both so inept at cooking that it was hysterically funny.
"Jack! JACK!" I had yelled through my whoops of laughter that hadn't stopped since we began to attempt to cook. "The pasta's burning!"
"What?" he exclaimed, going into another fit of giggles. "How in the world did we manage to burn the goddamn pasta for crying out loud?"
"Well, don't stand there laughing, you fool!" I panted. It was completely hypocritical of me since I was nearly wetting my pants myself at this stage. "Take it off the heat!"
Jack was laughing so much he could barely lift the pot off the hob and carry it over to the sink. Once he had placed it down on the draining board, he heaped over himself in convulsions of laughter.
One of the complex staff peered her head around the kitchen door to see what the commotion was about. I tried my best to compose myself and explain the situation.
"The pasta… was… we… pot… burned it…"
I couldn't help but hoot with laughter after I said that. Jcak tried to contribute to my explanation and this, combined with the incredulous look on the woman's face, made me laugh even harder. This, in turn, caused Jack to become so weak he had to balance himself on the sink and attempt to deep-breathe.
"Oh for goodness sake!" the woman said sternly, moving Jack away from the sink so she could put a fresh pot of spaghetti on. "You probably didn't put enough water in. Right, I'll be back in a few minutes to sort it out. Just don't let it simmer over and don't let the mince burn."
I nudged Jack in the ribs as I bit back a titter and tried my best to nod solemnly. The woman rolled her eyes at us and muttered "Boys!" before storming out of the room. As soon as she had left, the two of us were once again in hysterics.
We had just recovered when Race appeared at the door a few minutes later.
"Some of the guys are wondering- what's the hold-up on the food?"
"Are 'some of the guys' you and your stomach?" Jack said, arching his eyebrow at his friend.
"Maaaaaaybe. So, what's the hold-up?"
"Oh dear, Race, please don't make us explain," Jack groaned, beginning to giggle again. I didn't think I had the strength to laugh any further. "It'll be ready in ten minutes."
Race simply raised his eyebrows at the two of us and walked off. The woman, whose name pin read 'Medda', returned and we silently helped her dish out the sixteen bowls of spaghetti bolognese.
"I hope you boys know that you're scrubbing that pot with the pasta in it clean after you've eaten," Medda said.
"Of course," Jack said politely. "Thank you for all your help. We're so sorry about the hassle we caused you."
Medda mood's faltered with Jack's sincerity. It wasn't difficult for me to see why. He was such an effortlessly charming boy-next-door type of guy.
"Just try not to do it again," she said with a small smile and a slight chuckle. This time the "Boys" she muttered as she walked out was in good humor.
The two of us spent a good forty minutes scrubbing that pot clean after we came down again to put the dinner plates in the dishwasher after nine o'clock. The pasta had clung stubbornly to the bottom of the pot and I eventually resorted to attacking it with a Brillo Pad while Jack watched on from his perch on top of the counter.
"God, I haven't laughed so much in a long time," I sighed. As I said it, I actually couldn't think of a time when I ever did laugh as much before.
"Me neither," Jack said, writing something on a colored bit of paper. "I think for Medda's sanity, we'll need to know exactly what we're doing next time."
I looked over at him. "What are you writing?"
"An apology card to Medda."
I rolled my eyes at him. "You're some suck-up."
"It's meant to be tongue-in-cheek," he said, sticking his tongue out at me. He then gave me a second scrutinizing look. "Come over here for a sec."
I dropped the Brillo Pad in the pot and did what I was told. Jack took my hand and brought me around to him in such a way that I found myself between his legs that dangled from the countertop.
Never before had my heart beat so fast. I almost couldn't deal with the fact that Jack's warm, amazing eyes were merely centimetres from my own there were so many emotions running through me.
"Jack," I said, slightly unnerved as he took in my face, "what are you-?"
"Ah, I thought so," he said with a smile. I could feel his breath on my face and was in heaven. "You've got bolognese sauce under your eyelid."
The reality of the situation crashed down upon me. I quickly pulled away from Jack and scrubbed at my eye.
"No, the other one, Dave," Jack said with a chuckle, taking my hand and drawing me back into him. "Here, let me."
He licked and gently scraped his thumb under my other eye.
"All gone. Jeez, how'd that even get there? We really must be awful chefs."
"Speak for yourself," I said, trying to joke as my heart continued to pound in my chest. I walked back over to the sink to finish the scrubbing. "I wasn't the one who managed to burn pasta."
"OK, let's just go with that story," Jack laughed as he finished the mock card.
He looked so angelic sitting on top of the counter, his eyes knitted in concentration.
He sounded so angelic, saying goodnight to me that night.
"Night, Jack," I murmured back to him, but there were soft, peaceful heaves of breath already coming from the bed next to mine.
As I lay in my bed, I wondered what kind of dreams Jack dreamt of at night. I wondered if he dreamt about girls the way I had already started dreaming about him.
Deep down, I knew myself that Jack was straight but I always pushed the thought from my mind because of the agony it caused me. That night, I resolved to stop thinking of Jack as anything more than a friend. I tried to convince myself that I would be happy to share moments like the one in the kitchen a few hours earlier while knowing that nothing else would or could come out of them.
Almost every night since then, I made that resolution. And every morning I found it impossible to keep, my stomach full of butterflies as Jack gently woke me up for another day at college.