A young man, dressed in orange and green, with curly, close-cropped red hair, unlocked the stall door and stepped out, closing it behind him.
He crossed over to the sink, gathered soap on his palm, and thoroughly cleaned his hands, before leaning forward to splash water over his cheeks. Feeling refreshed, Kyle wadded up some toilet paper to wipe his hands dry before walking out of the door, tossing the wad into the bin as he left.
He walked swiftly, opening the door of the teaching room and finding his assigned seat, close to the door. A quick glance at the clock told him that there were ten minutes left.
He tried to connect his mind back to the lesson, figuring out what he had missed in the stall. The professor often rambled on and went off tangent, so he hadn't missed anything of importance. A few more minutes of listening and he could finally take a break.
Kyle yawned, still feeling tired, and jotted down some more notes. It was a strange phenomenon that he had observed for years - the best students meticulously copied down everything the teacher said, in cute notebooks, even if it was all available in the shared drive. For a long time, he didn't bother to, and simply listened. However, he couldn't perform nearly as well, and combined with his teacher's advice, he started taking notes just for the sake of it. It caused absolutely no difference, but his results were well above average, so he never really cared.
As his teacher went off another tangent, he dropped the pen and started sipping water from his bottle. The water tasted metallic, and he grimaced as he swallowed it. After a long deep draught, he heard the sound of his teacher returning to the right track and went on to copy down some key points from the slide he was showing from his PowerPoint presentation.
Ten minutes can be a long time, but it can pass quickly. This time, it was over more quickly than Kyle expected, as Mr. Johnson wrapped up the last few points and concluded the lesson. The middle-aged man, with thinning hair, packed up quickly for his next class and left with a last goodbye.
Most of the class were set for a break after the lesson, including Kyle. Some, of course, for other classes. The students started filing out of the door, in a shapeless crowd.
Kyle remained seated and reached into his bag to pull out his most treasured possession. A worn, frayed hardcover book, with yellowed pages filled with small dark print. A siddur.
He ran his finger over the words on the cover and the spine, then flipped it open.
At that point, Kyle became aware of a group of friends gathered around him. One of the students clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"Hey, Kyle. You coming with us to eat?" Josh asked.
"Yeah, I'm going. Don't wait for me, I'll find you all." Kyle answered, leafing through the book.
"The usual place," another friend chimed in. "Be there quickly, or you'll miss us. Hey, maybe Dave could to pray with you."
"Good idea," Dave said. "Hang on, I need to get mine out." He unzipped his bag and started fishing through it.
"Well, see you guys around." Josh shook his shoulders, then left. The others followed him, with a few muttered goodbyes. Dave pulled out his own Jewish prayerbook and pulled up a chair to sit next to Kyle.
David Hagen was one of the first friends that Kyle had made at the University of Colorado. He was born and raised in Boulder, one of the few Jewish citizens. He had never been vocal or friendly, not like Kyle, but he was quiet and stoic. After being put in the same course, on business and management, the pair bonded quickly over their faith. Kyle took care of him, by including him in his forming circle of friends and insisting that others talk to him. They got along pretty well.
"So, what kind of thing are you hoping for?" Dave asked absentmindedly, settling on a page. He leaned back, touching the tips of his fingers together.
Kyle hesitated. "I prefer not to say," he muttered at last. "The same as you, maybe." Dave laughed.
Silence fell over the pair. At this moment, just letting the sounds of the world wash over everything, Kyle felt at peace. Like there was something watching over him, taking care of him. He had felt the presence of God for a long time.
In his mind, Kyle recited a silent prayer. To his parents, a long drive away. Taking care of his brother, now in high school. Ike.
He made another heartfelt prayer, this time to his adopted brother. Their relationship was complex. Kyle sometimes hated him, wanted him gone. It was irrational, stupid, but he did it anyway. Back in elementary school, he would even take his anger out on him. The kid grew up to resent it, and grew apart from both him and God. But overall, deep down, Kyle hoped that he was OK.
Lastly, he prayed for his studies, his work, and importantly, a pair of old friends. Craig, whom he had known since elementary school, hadn't really changed since then. He was silent, calm and loyal, especially to his best friend. Not that Kyle had ever been close to him.
These days, every time they met in the hall, they said a quick hello, an awkward conversation, and more often than not, nothing. Most of the time when Kyle kept his silence, Craig was with another old classmate of his. Tweek. Despite his age, Tweek was still pretty much a child, and a very troubled one.
Kyle decided to round it off and closed the book. A few moments later, Dave yawned, flipped over the cover and stood. "Let's go."
"Yeah."
Josh laughed suddenly, across the table.
Kyle put down the cup, swilled the mouthful of lukewarm water around, and swallowed it. "What's so funny?"
"Ah, nothing. Just remembering." Josh muttered. He suddenly changed the subject. "Let's play," he suggested, pushing his plate forward and resting both hands on the table with a grin.
Kyle put down his hands, curled into fists, with his thumbs resting on his curled index fingers. Dave, sitting beside him, joined in. John declined, despite Josh's friendly push on the shoulder and watched them with interest.
"Zero," Kyle said abruptly. Dave flicked a thumb up. Kyle sighed.
"One," Josh blurted out. Kyle instinctively put up both thumbs, and so did Dave. It wasn't going to be easy.
Dave watched them all, poker faced. He was a legend at this game, and often chided them for playing like amateurs. He let the silence stretch out, as if trying to find the perfect moment.
"Two," he said softly. Kyle's left thumb was up. Josh's right was too. Dave tucked his hand under the table. "Hey, treat me to drinks if I win," Dave suggested.
"Nah, you should treat us if you don't win - zero," said Kyle, catching both completely unaware. Seeing no thumb up, Kyle lowered a hand. One to win.
"Three," Josh said immediately after, lifting both thumbs. No one else did. "Come on," he protested.
"Zero," said Dave, and stood up, picking up his tray and turning to go. Kyle exchanged a look that was both shocked and partially unsurprised with Josh, then followed suit.
"Were you serious about the drinks?" Josh called out.
A few grueling hours later, Kyle shifted the strap of his bag, feeling the piece of plastic digging into his shoulder. Finally, he was on the way home. That was how he thought of the dorm now - not much, but it was where he belonged.
Thinking of the next long, gruelling day, Kyle sighed. It was going to be a difficult journey, but he would be free soon. One day...