Grad school letter, vers. 2.0

To the Office of Graduate Admissions:

At the start of my college career, I had three major goals:

Earn a degree.

Obtain a decent job.

Live out the rest of my life quietly.

These are clean, hardy goals. Realistic. Goals any parent would approve.

As I become more involved with the University of Colorado - Boulder, I've realized I want more from my academic career than to just go to classes and work. And I no longer want to be quiet. The objectives listed above are a good start, and are ripe for fine detail…

What I want, most of all is to have room to flourish among a community of like-minded people, to have my work mean something before my body descends into the very ground that I tend to…

From notes:

Pulmonaria saccharata, (Mrs. Moon)

Bethlehem Sage

-ground cover, dense to light shade

-hardy to zone 4

Bethlehem sage's deep green leaves speckled with white make an attractive ground cover in the shade. Small flowers in early spring… easy to grow.

The flowers come in blue, reddish violet, or white. Individually, they are trumpet-like and about ½ inch long. They bloom in early April and May.

Spooky this morning.

Fog had descended over my street. It rained heavily all night and was now mizzling. 4 am and the sky was pitch black save for my porch light and a web of lightning every few seconds. I'd been throwing the last of the hard seltzer cans into the front recycling bin. It was the least I could do to help clean up before I left for this trip. The mixed smells of sweetness that also encapsulated vomit associated with alcohol made me nauseous. I shook out the last can and dropped it in with the others, the clattering matched with another strike of thunder. The storm was leaving us. Craig wanted to follow it.

We would be leaving any minute now.

In the days leading up to this trip, my fingers would tingle. My skin crawled. I'd forget to breathe sometimes. I zoned out. Couldn't fall asleep without smoking or eating something. All I could think about was the prospect of being trapped in a car for 13 hours with someone who was, drip by drip, becoming unstable. All I could think about was seeing my own mother's face after 10 years. Any time I closed my eyes I saw it. But I never said a word to Craig.

I thought about telling him the day before we were meant to leave. It was an afternoon of quiet sex - risky, with everyone right below us. There was a moment where we lied side by side in silence. I could have told him then. Instead, I threw the blanket over my face. The sun pouring into the window was too bright.

It wasn't long until he reached for my thigh again.

That was another thing. Right after he told me his father was dead, Craig seemed to make it his mission to fuck me any chance he got. Dr. Vince would leave the lab and his fingers would drum the back of my neck. He was, in a way, reminding himself that he's alive, that his brain was still connected to his body, and using my body to do it. He left me sore. Which is better than being numb.

We'd be eating lunch outside our usual spot by the greenhouse, looking over our carrots and Coke, and he'd tell me how much he needed me to go with him. He truly needed me.

I like being needed.

"Spooky this morning," he said when we stepped outside.

"Maybe it's a sign we shouldn't go."

"Oh, stop."

Now we were on the way to his apartment complex because he forgot his epi-pen. During the drive, he told me it used to be a hotel called The Pierre, a hotspot for touring musicians during the 60s and 70s. A lot of drugs. A few overdoses. It was a building bred for partying, as one would be able to tell from the faint urine smell in the elevator. It all ended when a bassist put a gun in his mouth and the aging owner's son took it over and turned it into apartments. The apartment where the bassist died is now a demo room for possible future tenants.

A smoking woman in a bathrobe glanced up at us as we pulled around the circular driveway, then went back to watching her chihuahua sniff the grass. A gate arm went up and we turned into a parking lot. The first spot, next to a white van, was empty.

Craig threw off his seatbelt. "I'll be right back."

"Uh, I think the fuck not. I'm not going to sit out here alone next to this creepy-ass van."

"It's for the food bank," he said, pointing to the decal on the door.

ST. MARY FOOD PANTRY, a community food bank

St. Mary Queen of Creation Parish, Boulder, Colorado

"...making Jesus Christ known and visible."

"Okay, it says that but I get the feeling that the second you leave, some crusty dude with a hook hand is going to pop out and grab me. Next thing you know, St. Mary is serving ground beef Kyle, or black bean Kyle soup."

Craig leaned in from the outside, his hands on the roof. He was smirking. "I'd slurp the fuck out of Kyle soup."

"I…"

"You can come, but I'd rather you not see my apartment. It's a mess."

"So? My life is a mess. I don't care."

Truthfully, I wanted to see his bedroom. To get a sense of his most intimate space. I pictured it to be similar to his office. Dark. Bookshelves with more German literature. Contemporary poetry. Faulkner. Books of syllabi past. Navy bed sheets. A gargoyle incense burner. A desk with a PlayStation. Maybe one or two artsy anime posters.

The man at the front desk nodded to Craig, winked at me, then went back to his magazine. We rode the piss elevator all the way up to the 10th floor. A long, jade green hallway stretched out before us. I followed him to the end, seeing the sunburst mirrors along the way but not looking into them. Flickering ceiling lights, a random beige loveseat at the end of the hall, misshapen dark spots on the carpet.

"When was the last time this place was remodeled?" I whispered.

"Dunno. Like '76?"

"1976 or 1876?"

"Hey, not everyone gets to live in a swanky tattoo shop."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"-I know. It's okay."

Apartment 1090.

"This is me," he said. He went to unlock the door. "Really, Kyle, you can wait out here for a second. I'll be in and out. I can't stand the thought of you witnessing all this disarray."

"I can handle general disarray."

"Well, this is chaotic disarray. So stay put. I also don't know how much my dad has fucked it up since I've been gone the past couple of days."

Oh. Craig's adoptive dad. He hadn't been brought up in a while. Whenever he called, Craig ignored it.

"Okay. I'll stay out here."

"Thank you."

Craig opened the heavy emerald door but stopped halfway when he hit something.

"Shit…"

Groaning rose up from the floor. I saw white fingertips curled up from the carpet. Craig quickly stepped in and closed the door behind him.

From the other side I heard:

C'mon, get up. You need to be in your bed.

Shuffling. Something grazing across the door. The person was getting up.

Craig, can you make me some pancakes? With some bacon and eggs?

I'm about to go out of town, Dad. You can make it yourself when you wake up.

Wow. Okay, then. Thanks for nothing. Useless.

Sure thing, Dad. Go to bed.

The movement faded away. I put my ear to the door, scared that they might fight, but it seemed Craig succeeded in putting his sour father to bed. Then I heard footsteps approaching. I stepped back and leaned against the wall, pretending to be on my phone.

Craig emerged, epi-pen in hand, and locked the door behind him.

I watched him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said.

He started down the hallway. I followed.

"Are you okay? That sounded nasty."

"I'm fine. I'm used to it."

Craig tapped the elevator button. When it didn't light up, he hit it. I stared at the side of his face. He started picking his lower lip. Elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. The doors closed and he stood in the corner.

"That's not something you should be used to… that's fucked up."

"I know, Kyle. I know. I guess I'm a little embarrassed. You didn't need that shitty peephole into my life."

I watched the black arrow above slowly tick left. 10, 9, 8, 7…

"Is he always like this?" I asked.

"We have our good days and bad days."

Sunrise glow replaced the fog and filled the marble lobby, reminding me of my first morning of this working summer. My first time meeting this man. Strange, how nostalgic it already feels.

The skin around Craig's eyes was red and wet.

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" I pushed us through the revolving door.

"Of course. Just get some coffee in me. I'll be good." He gave me a small smile. We walked back to the car with his arm around my hip. Before we got in, he kissed my temple. I could almost hear his brain buzzing.

7