What if da Vinci had been on Zyprexa and done ECT and Mona Lisa Was Just Aother Crayon Drawing? (An unfinished sequel to a rewritten novel that most likely the writer would have finished and had an easier time writing if not on forced medication for being dissociated and believing in Magick, Miracle, Relgious Devotion, Mysticism, and Hermithood)

Brotherhood of Charles II:

Remnants of the Brotherhood

Or: Seeker

Chapter 1

Allen’s Roommate

As Allen and I walked out of the parking lot, I felt a sense of peace that could have only been a counterbalance to the suffering I did not then know I would bring down on myself.

“You know,” I was telling Allen, the sun suddenly passing behind a cloud as the ground grew shadowy and the heat grew more bearable, “I hear Francis Marion is easier than USC.”

Allen chuckled. “Let’s hope, Josh.”

I laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Go do a divination; I have full faith you won’t figure it out.”

I grinned. “Hey, I’m a newbie,” I said. “Besides, I don’t think you were right about this place for me.”

“I am,” said Allen. “People you run into- they’re not always what they seem.”

I sighed. “But Allen, you’re the one who said divinations aren’t always accurate.” A breeze blew past, and I half-whispered, “Ah, that feels good.”

There was a pause as we passed a large one story building.

“And what’s that?” I asked, pointing.

“That’s the dining hall, as I understand it,” said Allen. He shifted the laundry basket on his hip. “We need to take a break.”

“Allen,” I said, “while we’re being critical of each other, you really need to quit smoking.”

Allen didn’t meet my eye at first, sighed uneasily, then raised his gaze to mine. “It’s not that simple, Josh,” he said.

“So do a spell!” I said.

“I already did, once,” he said.

My gaze shifted to one of the many flowery bushes lining the sidewalk we were standing on. I still hadn’t adjusted to the idea that Allen wasn’t perfect.

“Why didn’t it work?” I asked.

“Well, it nearly did,” he said. “But I lost willpower after a month and started smoking again.”

“So try again!” I said.

He made a sound in his throat. “My sister’s got a bad case of asthma,” said Allen. “She was hospitalized briefly a week ago. I’m doing a spell for her right now.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, “but if you ask me, it’s Alyssa we should be worried about, not me or my sister.”

“Why?”

He started walking again, and I followed.

“You kidding? That girl couldn’t keep out of trouble if she were on her own desert island. Leaving her up there by herself ain’t what I call a good idea.”

“You think we should have stayed?”

“Josh, you flunked out.”

“I know,” I said. The thought still made me uncomfortable. All that scholarship money, out the drain because I had burned out on caffeine and red eyes. I had gotten disability this time around, and was going to take 12 hours and have a room to myself. Maybe drop to nine if it was too much. I could do that, now. They said I was smart; just couldn’t handle a hard work load with my disability.

“But you could have stayed,” I said. We were coming up on an awning with a stairwell leading up and a door beneath.

“Josh, I told you, we couldn’t have seen each other if I’d stayed.”

“I guess you still think I’m hot,” I said.

Allen laughed. A gay friend of his at USC had once asked if we were going out; I was straight, could not be more straight, and if the question had been about anyone but Allen I would have been scared. But Allen I knew like the back of my hand, and trusted like my own feet. If he was attracted to me, he would have told me by now.

But, at any rate, we had gotten a good laugh out of the incident and it had become an inside joke.

We stopped, and Allen started fumbling in his pockets for the miniature manila envelope he’d been given half an hour ago at the Housing Office.

“Josh?!”

I jumped, and dropped Allen’s duffle bag, spinning around to see a large blond girl with a sweet face that was now blank with shock. As we stared at each other, it became ecstatic, and I felt a rush of joy. Here she was. The girl I had not seen in years. A friend from the mental institution, who had first introduced me to the Craft, who had tried to go out with me (unsuccessfully), who had encouraged and guided me- and I clasped her to me in a bear hug that was returned in equal enthusiasm.

“Say, aren’t you the girl who was at the….” Allen’s voice trailed off.

“Yes sir,” said Ashley. “Allen, isn’t it? Josh, it’s so good to see you- how have you been?”

“Much better, thanks,” I said. We parted. “I flunked out of USC.”

“Oh, Josh,” she said, “and you can tell life goes on, can’t you?”

I smiled. “Wise as always,” I said. I laughed. “Allen and you have a lot in common, that included.”

“Thank you,” said Allen.

She was smiling at me. “Can I help you unpack? I was here yesterday. All my stuff’s moved in.”

“You a freshman?” I asked her.

“Josh, I’m only a year younger than you,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “But I barely made it to junior.” I paused, but she didn’t answer. “Have you been here all along?”

“Yep,” she said. “My mum moved here with Lou last year, too; she’s in an apartment across town. Helped me move in. Probably come to see me quite a lot this year. She misses Dad.”

“Your dad died?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “They were close. And it was only a few months from her thirtieth anniversary.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s all right,” she said. She smiled up at me. “Life goes on- and when it doesn’t, it’s a good thing; my dad’s with the Goddess now. I don’t doubt he’ll return to us someday. I might not know it, but I think, on some level, I will.”

Her eyes glinted. It was so good to see her.

“Why don’t you help us unpack Allen’s stuff?” I said. “That way we can keep catching up.”

She nodded and opened the door for us; Allen was standing there with his keys still, and laughed.

“I didn’t know what key to use,” he said.

“They didn’t tell you?” she asked.

“No.”

“I guess they thought you must not be new, being older.”

Allen laughed. “I’m a sophomore, Ashley.”

She held open the door. “But you look like you’re a senior.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, going through.

She nodded to me, and I passed through. She shut the door behind us as we bustled down the narrow hallway toward our rooms, which were across from each other. Allen paused at his door and started unlocking it.

I was trying to think of something to say, nearly getting desperate, when Allen helped me out.

“You live in Green Forest, too?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said.

For a second I was scared of an awkward pause, very much dreading the possibility that she would find an excuse to leave, but Allen went on.

“I like these dorms,” he said. “I hear Palmetto’s got small rooms.” The door opened, and he ate his words before I could see inside. “I take that back,” he added. “This is a can.”

He bustled in, and I followed him. The suitcase snagged on the door, but I pulled through and stumbled inside. There were two beds, two dressers, two desks, all oak. The carpet was brown and flat; there was a window at the back, behind the rearmost bed.

“I’m getting that bed,” said Allen, taking a few steps forward and heaving his basket onto the rearmost bed. “I’ll be able to see the sunrise.”

“That’ll be nice,” said Ashley. “Sunrise is pretty.” She paused, as though indecisive about whether or not she really wanted to say it, then added, “But I should warn you, there’s not much of a sunrise. Too many trees.”

“Darn,” said Allen. He flopped on the unmade bed, knocking the suitcase to the floor, the sheets and blankets and clothes inside spilling out. He actually said “Darn” rather than swearing, and lay there a second anyway.

“Comfy?” asked Ashley.

Allen’s lips curled into a smile. “Mildly.”

“Excuse me, Josh.” Ashley pushed past me and started putting Allen’s clothes into the drawers.

“Hey, I can get that,” said Allen, starting to get up.

Ashley put a hand to his shoulder as she opened a drawer with the other. “No, no, you stay there. You must have had a long way to drive. I’ll get this done.”

Allen looked at her, his face tight as it always was, then slowly relaxed backward- sort of relaxed, anyway. Allen’s body was always stiff, and his face was always taut. Beyond meditation, I don’t think he knew how to relax. Not that he wasn’t relaxed socially.

I got down and started helping her.

“Make the bed,” she said, tossing some sheets into my hand. “Allen, can you move to the other bed?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Allen, and we laughed as he got up.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Allen started.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Your roommate, b—” called a deep, Southern accent.

I moved forward and opened the door.

A tall, lanky boy dressed in an opened button down shirt and white tee shirt walked past me and stood for a second in the middle of the room as we all stared at him.

“This is the suckiest room I ever seen,” he said.

“It is rather small,” said Allen.

“‘Rather small?’ Shoot! This room’s smaller than a crapper.”

I was already beginning to dislike this guy, and, as Allen’s gaze met mine, I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“Looks like Bush’s tax cut didn’t get spent well here,” said the boy.

“Bush’s tax cut?” said Ashley. “That took funding away from schools, not give it to them!”

“What do I care?” he said, shrugging. “It’s those d— liberals screwing things up.”

“I am liberal,” I said, feeling annoyed.

“Sucks to be you then,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ashley.

“What’s your name?” Allen asked quickly.

“Eddie,” he said, putting out a hand. “Put it there, mate.”

Allen shook his hand. “I’m Allen,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Standing, Eddie said, “Anyone up for a game of spear the queer later today?”

“Spear the queer?” asked Ashley, accenting each syllable.

“Yeah, you know, kill the man- me and some friends is getting together to spear some queers, if you catch my drift.”

“You really could clean out your mouth,” said Ashley.

“Hell, I’ll talk how I wanna talk. And if I meet some queers, I’ll spear ‘em!” He laughed. He didn’t seem to realize how not funny we thought this was.

Ashley must have read my mind.

“You think that’s funny?” said Ashley.

“Well, I thought…”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” said Ashley.

I saw Allen give her a look, but it was too late, and she didn’t seem to notice.

“My a—,” said Eddie.

“Will you stop swearing?” I asked, too irritated to stop myself.

“What are you? A saint?”

“My friends and I aren’t used to swearing,” said Allen. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t swear around me.”

“You flippin’ queer!” said Eddie casually. “What are you talking about, don’t swear?” He stopped because Allen was standing, his eyes blazing.

“Allen,” I said gently.

Allen sat back down. I could tell this was not easy for him to take.

“Don’t you talk to him like that,” said Ashley. “First of all, he’s not queer, second of all,” she stood, “there’s nothing wrong with being queer, third of all, you’ve got a filthy mouth and horrible manners,” she was raising her voice and tears were straining in her eyes, “and finally, if you want to ride off liberals and gays as being morons, you narrow-minded bitch, you don’t need to be Allen’s roommate,” she was crying now, and unable to stop herself, but also unable to think of what else to say, “and, and, and you don’t need to open your ‘flipping’ mouth!”

She was wiping tears out of her eyes. She shoved past him and started for the door. She would have gone through me, too, if I hadn’t caught a hold of her and walked with her.

I turned back to look at Allen, who started speaking immediately.

“Maybe it would be better if we avoided politics as a topic,” he told Eddie, then waved at me. “Go on, Josh, I’ll finish unpacking on my own.”

I could tell he knew perfectly well that wasn’t what I was worried about, but I was too worried about Ashley and had too much faith in Allen to do differently than I did. I took Ashley by the shoulders and led her across the hall to my room. I opened it up as she sniffed in loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I opened the door for her, and she entered.

She collapsed onto my bed, and said, “That bastard.”

I didn’t think Eddie had really crossed the line yet, even if I could tell he had been headed in that direction, and she must have been able to read it on my face because she said, “I know, I handled that horribly.” Then she repeated, “That bastard.”

“I’m sorry, Ashley,” I said, putting my arm around her as I sat on the bed beside her. But it wasn’t just that I was sorry- I was feeling something stir inside me, something I couldn’t define. What was it?

“Don’t be sorry to me, Josh, I just don’t know how Allen’s going to live with that geek for a full two semesters.”

“Maybe he’ll move out,” I said. I started rubbing her shoulders. It felt good to have her there in my arm. Why?

“He won’t move out, you’re dreaming, Josh.”

“He might.”

No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t why I was enjoying having my arm around Ashley. I shoved the thought out of my mind before it could take complete form.

Ashley made a disgusted sound in her throat. “Josh, do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Allen can handle himself,” I told her. “He’s got good social skills.”

“Josh, he just about hit him!”

“I know,” I said, and the truth was, I didn’t have a ready answer to that inside me, but I said, “but usually… usually it’s different.”

“How so?”

“Don’t you remember….” My voice trailed off. “Actually, come to think of it, you weren’t there.”

“When?”

“When we were in the mental institution,” I said, “Allen offended me- badly. He was saying my voices were voices. I took offense. He put it delicately, but I did. So I hit him. He wrestled, he grappled, but I don’t think he even once hit me back. And once the counselors had us split up, he stopped. I wanted to keep going. But he quit.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” I said. “Allen can handle himself.” I smiled at her as our eyes met. Tell me, I thought, that my heart did not just start racing. “Besides,” I said, “life isn’t over after a single disaster, remember?”

She giggled, and hugged me. For the briefest moment, I thought she was going to kiss me, but she didn’t. Then, as she pulled back, she kissed me on the forehead. My heart fluttered.

I held her hand a minute, asking, “Feel better?”

“Yeah, Josh. Thanks. You always were such a good guy.”

“Thank you,” I said. But I couldn’t help thinking that she was the one who was admirable, of the two of us. I thought about it, and decided to tell her that.

“But that’s opinion, not a fact,” she answered.

I laughed, and we stood up together. It was an inside joke from our days in the mental institution. Suddenly my heart was lighter.

Tell me I’m not falling for her. I’m not. I’m not.

“I’ve got to go make a phone call,” she said. “My number is 1942. Can you call me later tonight?”

My heart skipped. “Yeah,” I said. “Love to.”

She smiled up at me, then pivoted her large frame in an arc and opened the door. “Bye,” she said.

I crashed down on the bed as I heard the door click shut behind me, and heard Ashley’s footsteps disappear down the hallway.

I knew, then, that I was falling in love with Ashley.

Chapter 2

Romancing Ashley

A long time ago, in what was surely another life, a friend had bullied me into not hurting Ashley anymore than I had to. His name was Guy, and he was currently in prison, serving, as I had found out later on, two life sentences. The judge had been hard on him.

Of course, Guy was not here to tell me I should not hurt Ashley’s feelings. And part of me wished he were.

I spent about an hour sitting on my bed, thoughts racing, lip trembling. I was wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I hadn’t gotten to.

But I had no right to even think about it. She was probably not in love with me, and I hadn’t handled things so well the first time. She probably had no interest in me.

But wait, what about the kiss?

Had that been an innocent kiss, or was that a flirtatious kiss?

I scowled at the floor. I was worse than a girl.

I looked at my watch and realized it was almost the end of lunch. I got up off my bed and took a brisk walk down the hall, out the door, and to the front entrance of the dining hall. Birds were singing. Squirrels were running across the sidewalk every time I looked around. Bushes grew everywhere, apart from on the sidewalks.

I opened the door to the dining hall and took out my wallet. I handed my student ID to the woman behind the register, let her scan it, took it back, and let myself fade to autopilot as I got food for my meal.

“I hurt her once before,” I explained to Allen when I sat down next to him.

“So you think you’ll hurt her again?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Josh, do you love her?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think so.”

“Might want to know before you make up your mind.”

I thought on that for a healthy portion of the rest of the day. He had a point. I didn’t want to hurt her, and I didn’t know for sure that I was in love. But then, I pretty much was.

In my room, I stopped stuffing my drawers at the thought of this, realizing that I’d crammed my clothes inside the drawers with a touch of aggression. I leaned back, thinking a moment.

I had almost finished putting everything away, and Allen was packing his own stuff, but I was expecting him back soon to go to dinner. I looked at my watch. He’d be here any minute.

I stood, getting ready. I looked across my room. Everything was put neatly somewhere, apart from one laundry basket full of stuff that I hadn’t found room for yet.

Did I love Ashley? Was I certain? Yes, I was.

I exited my room, my heart lightening. Allen was in the hallway, shutting his door.

“I think I do love her, Allen,” I said.

“Think?” he said, looking at me with his eyebrows raised.

“I know I love her,” I said softly.

He smiled, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Go for it, bud.”

At once, it was both all right and nerve-wracking. I’d made up my mind.

I called Ashley that night, but I couldn’t get a hold of her. The next morning I called her again, and succeeded; we talked a little while, then agreed to meet at the foot of the stairs and go for a walk.

“Where are we headed?” she asked me when I met her at the foot of the stairs.

I thought a minute. “How about the lake?” I asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

We started walking, ambling as we went, talking about nothing in particular. I strove to keep the conversation going; at times it was hard. By the time we reached the lake, we’d gotten onto our days together in the mental institution.

“Oh I could tell you were having a rough time,” she said. “I thought for sure you were going to do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know- maybe try to break out, maybe get in a fight, maybe even attempt suicide.”

“I wouldn’t have put it past myself.”

A group of ducks started quacking. I ran forward like a child and watched them pass under the bridge. Ashley joined me, and we leaned over the rail, looking into the shimmering black water as the ducks swam, quacking, past.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she said in a low tone.

“It is,” I said. I wanted to say, “Just like you;” it would be the perfect line, if only I could get myself to say it.

“Care for a swim?” I asked.

She laughed and made as though to knock me over the rail. “You first!” she said.

I looked at her. “Will you join me if I do?”

“You’re crazy,” she said.

“Will you?”

“Are you serious?”

“Hell no,” I said, and we both laughed.

“But how’d things go after I got out?” she asked.

Back to that.

“Charles committed suicide,” I said.

She cupped a hand to her mouth. “Are you for real?”

I studied her. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I had no idea.”

I grinned.

“It’s not a good thing, Josh,” she said.

I laughed. “No, you’re right. But I still get a kick when I think about what happened next.”

“What’s that?”

“We formed the Brotherhood of Charles,” I said.

“What did you do?”

“Forged some letters, mostly,” I said. I was about to go on, but she spoke before I could.

“So you mean those letters from the counselors… you forged them?”

“Yeah, me, Allen, George, Alyssa, Duane….”

“Duane? Who are they?”

“They came after you left. We took the best letter. It was mine, as it turned out.” I was proud of that, very proud, possibly more proud of that than I was of anything I could think of at the moment- but I wasn’t going to brag unnecessarily.

“Jeez, Josh,” said Ashley, “those letters made the paper.”

“I know,” I said with a smile, looking at the sun’s reflection in the water.

“Josh… that’s incredible.”

My heart swelled with pride.

“Do you think we could do something like that now?”

“No, no real need to,” I said.

“We could help people in the institution,” she said. “I hear from friends that not a whole lot’s changed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Josh, we could do something about it.”

“Not really,” I said.

“Come on, Josh.”

I turned to face her. “What would we do then?”

She didn’t meet my eye. “I don’t know.”

I turned back to the water, staring off into the distance. “That’s the problem.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

We paused, and then she tried to make conversation again.

“It’s too bad we can’t.”

“It is,” I agreed.

“Do you have any regrets about your stay or the Brotherhood?”

“Which?”

“Well, both.”

I smiled. There was another great line in my head, and, as for this time, I was actually going to say it.

“Well, as for the Brotherhood, I wish we’d acted before Charles had killed himself, stopped him beforehand, told the counselors. But then again, I’m not sure that would have made a difference. Maybe he’d’ve wound up in long term care for a while, gotten depressed again and killed himself anyway. I don’t know. You can’t know for sure.”

“What about your stay?”

I smiled, then turned to face her, taking her hand. I lowered my head, looking at her out of the tops of my eyes, wrinkling my brow. “I wish I’d gone out with you, and that’s all,” I said.

“Josh…” she said uncomfortably, not meeting my gaze.

“We could fix that, though,” I said quickly, not allowing myself to stop. “Ashley, will you go out with me?”

“That’s sweet of you, Josh, really….” Her voice trailed off, and then she looked up at me. I tried to hold her gaze, but she turned around, removing her hand from mine as she said, “but Josh, I don’t think you can ask me that in all fairness. You turned me down. I can’t go out with you, I’m not playing that game, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I value your friendship, and furthermore, I don’t think you should put me in this kind of position.”

“What position?” I asked.

“The pressure of saying no to someone I care about even though he’s a friend!”

She turned back toward me. Her face was hectic, worried.

“I’ve got to go, Josh,” she said. “I’ll see you in class on Wednesday.”

She started off at a run for her dorm.

As I stared after her, my first thoughts were dark:

She was right; I had made a mistake. I felt mad at myself right then. I felt like I deserved to be punished. But there was nothing I could do that I had sworn time and again not to do; I would never again cut or flog myself, regardless of what I might do. I had promised Ashley that, and I was going to keep my word. I had promised George that. I had promised Duane that. Allen. And Charles, whatever was left of him, whenever I prayed. Not that Charles was a god; but his memory, and the memory of those I knew in the mental institution, remained more important to me than any god I yet had come into contact with. Not that I was very good at contacting the divine; I only had voices, and I refused to listen to them.

“Try,” one said.

My heart skipped. First time in a while they’d been so clear.

“I can’t,” I said.

Mistake to answer.

“I can help you. I love you.”

“You’re not the Goddess,” I whispered aloud.

Then I opened my eyes, not realizing I had closed them, and looked around. Thankfully, no one was nearby.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I whispered, then shut my mind to any kind of answer. Someday I’d sort through that. Not now. Not anytime soon.

I walked around the lake slowly. I did feel guilty.

What if she stopped talking to me?

I’d only just met her again, and the thought made me nervous. Ashley had always been a little sensitive. I was destructive at my worst; I never saw Ashley at her worst, but her constant was that little bit of extra sensitivity. Not an entirely bad thing. I didn’t know which one of us was less lucky. My constant was paranoia, troubling thoughts, which usually only came around when I was by myself; voices and premonitions were part of it. The premonitions I’d never sorted through; they’d started out accurate, years ago; now they hinged around things that made no sense. Like the idea that if I walked a certain way, I’d be troubled more. Which is what was running through my mind right then as I started to walk back to my dorm.

I decided to go that way anyway. I needed to resist this. Of course, this one was somewhere in between; it wasn’t as wild as, “Walk this way and I’ll be happy in life,” which was one I had had a week ago. Problem was, the crazier they got, the firmer they got; I didn’t know why. Someday I’d work at figuring out why. Someday I’d learn the truth. For now, I was just busy learning how to do a spell right. Allen still hadn’t gotten me to the point of success yet; he’d shared with me a lot of his stories, even breaking a common steadfast rule, which he swore is in one of the most major grimoires of all time, and telling me about his spells as he was doing them. So I had plenty of reason for faith, if you can call faith something that is not blind, which at the time I was sure you can’t; but to date, I had had no success. Allen said I didn’t have faith in myself. I wasn’t sure.

I wondered if I’d ever get to go out with Ashley. It seemed so stupid; I’d only known her again for two days, and I was already serious about her. Something this sudden couldn’t last- I told myself that, anyway. But I didn’t believe it. After all, what of Alyssa? Hadn’t that been sudden?

I sighed, stuffing my hands in my pockets and looking up briefly.

That’s when I saw another familiar face- her hair was dyed red now, and her body was thicker, but that was certainly… Jessica.

She looked at me, our eyes met, my heart raced, and I looked away quickly and turned onto another path. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her walking away almost as awkwardly as I had.

Oh, crud. Jessica was at Francis Marion.

The last time I had seen Jessica, besides watching her walk across the stage at graduation in high school, had been at prom while I was in the mental institution. Alyssa and I had broken out to go to prom- maybe “broken out” isn’t the right term for it; more like tricked our way out.

I had gone to prom with Alyssa, and Jessica had made a big scene with me and her because Jessica had been my x-girlfriend. Once she had sympathized with me, even tried to help me. Shortly before I had gone to the mental institution, she had broken up with me. In fact, I had gone because of a sequence of events that started largely with that, and had ended with my parents calling my shrink because I had cut my arm badly near the wrist, though I hadn’t wound up going to the hospital for it.

But after that, Jessica had given up on me- and she’d made a complete turnaround. At prom, she taunted me. She was even cruel, vindictive, merciless. And I had fought back. I’d been with Alyssa then- and Alyssa knew how to make a fool out of anyone. But I was not with Alyssa now. Of course, there wouldn’t be police hauling me away from college like there had been from prom; but all the same, if my past got out, if all the gritty details of where I’d been, of what I’d believed- and she knew more than anyone else here apart from Ashley, Allen and myself- then I feared what might happen.

Oh, crud.

I fumbled with my keys and opened the door to my dorm building.

Chapter 3

Orson Kidd and the Neat Little Box of Reality

By dinner that night I had decided to play it safe in all ways. Amazing what one wild card can do to you.

The wild card was Orson Kidd, whom I met at dinner.

Allen wasn’t there; I didn’t know where he was. I saw Orson get up from a table of friends and come to greet me; he took his tray, so I knew before he sat down that he wouldn’t be inviting me to eat with his group of friends.

He had long blond hair that went down past his shoulders and a dark tan. He wore glasses and was muscular.

“I’m Orson,” he said, holding out a hand. I thought it was kind of awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice, or else he didn’t care.

I took his hand and shook it. “Josh,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he said. He put his hands on his fingers. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

This was really awkward- he was a total stranger!

“It’s nothing,” I said.

“No, no, I know a troubled mind when I see one. What’s wrong?”

My jaw would have dropped were it not for self-restraint.

“I’m worried about a girl,” I said.

“Come on, out with it, man,” he said.

This time my mouth did open a little, but I shut it the instant I could.

“Well, mate, what’s the deal?”

“I met her a long time ago,” I said reluctantly. “She was a friend at the time, and she wanted to be more. I didn’t want to at the time…”

“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding; “and so now, you do want to go out with her, and she doesn’t want to go out with you.”

“How’d you know?”

“What the Lord wants me to see, I will see,” he said.

A Christian into the occult? Couldn’t be!

“But there’s more you’re not telling me,” he said.

“I don’t even know you!” I said, feeling a little perturbed. “Personally this is a little creepy.”

“Of course you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he said; “I’m only here to help.”

“Yeah, well what about your life? Why don’t you tell me what’s in your deepest darkest closet?” I was glaring at him. I did not appreciate his nosiness.

“I’m borderline,” he said, “or I was, but I outgrew it.”

The creeps started growing. We had too much in common.

“Borderline, eh?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Do you even know what that is?”

“Naturally.”

“But that resists treatment….”

“As I told you, my friend, I outgrew it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t outgrow things like that…”

My voice trailed off as he cocked his head. “How do you know that?”

“Let’s stay in your deepest darkest closet,” I said.

He laughed, and I wound up laughing with him. Suddenly my heart was lighter, and I felt as though I could trust him.

“Well, as for me, I used to cut myself….”

“Me too!” I said.

“Really?” he said, cocking his head. “Are you borderline too?”

This time I didn’t hesitate. “Schizophrenic, actually, but that’s between you and me.”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you still have symptoms?”

“Well, I still hear voices….”

“Voices? Who do you talk to?”

“Well, used to be God,” I said.

“Ah, a conversation with God,” he said. “Always nice.”

“But it was a voice,” I said, partially irritated because the path he was trying to get me to go down I had been avoiding for going on three years now.

“I talk to God,” he said.

“And you’re borderline,” I said.

“Yes, but borderlines don’t hear voices.”

My spine chilled. “Do other Christians hear the voice of God?”

He looked at me in shock, head tilting again. “Of course! You didn’t know that?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, do you know much about Christianity?”

“Yeah, I was raised Christian.”

“Ah, but your parents didn’t believe in much. You had a lot of conflict with them these last few years over things you take for granted to be true, didn’t you?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I know what the Lord wants me to know,” he said again.

My spine was chilling something like ice now. “Are you saying God told you that?”

“Yes, and he says you’ve had evidence that your voices are real, too.”

I got up. I couldn’t take it.

Unfortunately, he got up with me.

“I’m leaving,” I said, and started to walk to put up my tray, but he didn’t seem to be willing to take a hint; he followed me.

I put up my tray with a bang, my glass toppling over my plate, and kept silent, hoping he would, too, but he spoke up.

“I’m sorry if I’ve said too much,” he said. “I’m too open with people sometimes.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, walking at a determinedly fast pace toward the exit to the dining hall. He walked beside me, his gait looking natural for someone moving as fast as we were, his long blond hair swishing behind his back.

“And I’m telling you, Josh, you’re not going to find answers by playing it safe. You never will.”

I stopped, hand on the exit.

“I am leaving this building,” I said, “and I don’t want you to follow.”

“I apologize if I’ve been pressing,” he said, holding out a hand. “Friends?”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking his hand. Then I walked out.

I thought that was the end of Orson, but he called me up that night right before I took my medication.

“Is this Josh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, not recognizing his voice at first. “Who’s this?”

“This is Orson, Orson Kidd,” he said, and I could hear his carefully open smile through the phone. “I wanted to apologize for being so forward and pressing and all tonight. I really was just trying to help.”

“Thanks,” I said, not knowing what to say. “Apology accepted.”

“If you ever do want to push your limits, learn the truth…” his voice trailed off, but I didn’t answer, so he continued: “call me. My number is 1944.”

“Are all the numbers here like years?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “New?”

I was half wondering, despite being Wiccan and being someone who should know this sort of thing, why he hadn’t figured that out yet when he seemed so good at knowing everything else about me. I was scared. Not because I thought I was touching on delusions, but because I thought I might be touching on truth. That scared me more at this point. I had a neat little box; I wasn’t looking for it to cave in and unleash whatever it was that didn’t fit inside those neat lines. After all this time, I thought, I’ve put myself in a neat little box. That’s not good.

“All right,” I said. “Spill.”

He grunted. “You want to meet somewhere?”

“Sure,” I said. “Where?”

“By the fountain.”

The water glistened in the fountain. We were between, on my left as I walked up, two white buildings where classes were held, and, on my right, the Art Center. A light was on, and I could see paintings hanging inside, together with statues- all bizarre. And Orson was at the fountain, sitting like he’d been sitting there an hour in absolute patience, even though I’d just left from my dorm, which was closest to the fountain of all the dorms.

“What’s up?” he asked me.

“Not much,” I said.

I stopped short. I thought there would be an awkward pause, but Orson didn’t let one happen.

“What’s your relationship with your parents like?”

“Good,” I said.

“And you’re worried about losing that, aren’t you?”

I sat down beside him. “Yeah.”

“That’s why you’re worried about testing your past- you’re worried about what other people will think?”

I felt like I was in a dream.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You’re Christian.”

“Do you know how magic survived?” he asked me.

I did know, and it made sense- but now things were different than they had been in the Middle Ages.

“Christians practiced it,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “It was an abbot who taught the man who much of your modern religion comes from.”

“You mean Agrippa?”

“Henry Cornelius Agrippa, yes,” he said.

“What abbot?”

“Abbot Trithemius.”

The name didn’t mean anything to me, and I told him so.

“It wouldn’t to most people. Now, are you Wiccan, Pagan, Shamanic, Cabbal….”

“Wiccan,” I said.

“Ah,” he said. “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Didn’t God tell you?”

“No, no. More like a premonition.”

That hit me like a bolt of thunder searing through my brain. “Premonition?”

“Yeah, gut feeling.”

“I have them, too,” I said.

He laughed. “We have a lot in common, Josh.”

I nodded without looking at him, face pointed toward the ground. “So it seems.”

“Do you want to know what’s real, Josh?”

I was keenly aware of his eyes staring at me, his face pointed toward me, his whole body positioned to face me. It was warm, but that was not why I was sweating now.

“Of course,” I said.

“Do you mean it?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Hey,” he said. “Hey.”

I looked at him.

“It’s good you’re being honest about it.”

I sighed, and stood, starting to pace. “What do you think I should do?”

“You should listen to your voices,” he said.

I nodded. “Okay, I will. I think. At any rate, I’ll try something.”

“Good,” he said. “Do what seems stupid- just not anything too stupid.” He paused. “Do you still have symptoms, Josh?”

“Yeah, voice….”

He laughed as my voice trailed off. “I mean, other than that? Anything we can’t explain via religion?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Premon….”

Once more, my voice trailed off, and once more, he laughed.

“Josh, you’re a seeker, not a mental patient.”

“My mom tells me I still have symptoms.”

“Your mom’s a non-believer, though, isn’t she?”

If I had ever had hallucinations like this, I would have thought he was one. My whole neat little box had begun to cave in.

“Yes,” I said. “But she has her master’s in counseling.”

“And Ted Kaczynski had his doctorate, if memory serves me right- a professor, at any rate.”

I met his eye. Suddenly we both laughed, but my heart wasn’t in it. My insides were hollow.

“But most educated people…”

“Why are this time’s people the right ones?” he asked. “Just because science now believes we descended from monkeys….”

“I believe that,” I said, “and besides that, that’s not quite right- evolutionists don’t say we evolved from monkeys; just that we have the same ancestors.”

“But weren’t the first several theories of the atom wrong?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And so were the first several theories of how the Earth came to be- such as God creating it, or Danu creating it, or Ymir creating it- it makes no difference; just, currently God is the major player, so everyone wants to say he’s the one who created it.”

“But how do you think the gods can exist, if they did not do anything their myths say they did?”

I didn’t have an answer to this. I remembered what Allen had said. “They’re archetypes,” I said.

“In other words they don’t exist.”

“No,” I said quickly.

“I believe the gods are real, too,” he said. “Religions contradict each other. It is my goal in life to find out where the truth lies- and I know that you want that, somewhere in your heart, just as badly as I do.”

It occurred to me he was right, and I said so.

“I know,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps together we could find it.”

“Where do we start?” I asked.

“Well, for me, coming off my medicine showed me that I had overcome my illness. For you, I don’t know if you should or not….” His voice trailed off.

I wondered if he knew the exciting storm he was unleashing inside of me. The possibility… the sheer possibility of kissing my medicine goodbye! I had always dreamt of it; now I wanted it more than ever. But could I? Did I dare?

“But I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said at last. “I’m torn between it; you may have recovered, like me, or you may not have. A lot of schizophrenics think they’re better and go off and turn out to be wrong. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

I nodded. “I’ll do it,” I said. “Just for a little while. If things start going bad, I’ll go back on.”

He smiled. “Sounds good.”

I knew he wasn’t a shrink. I knew, for all that he knew of religion, that he knew far less of psychology than he thought he did. Yet I was taken in, because I could not stop myself, because here was a threshold guardian, if ever there was one, waiting to lead me to what I had always wanted to believe, to proof that it existed- all the intangible delights of a world I had kissed goodbye and called delusion. I wondered. And I couldn’t stop myself from the path I was flinging myself on.

That night, before I went to bed, I took my meds from the container and with an anxious sort of joy, I flushed them down the toilet. I could see the little pills swirl around, heard the flushing of the toilet as they disappeared. A leap of mixed horror and joy stole through me, and I shut out the light and went to sleep. It was a long night, and I shifted restlessly. I had always fallen asleep at night by means of the zyprexa; it knocked me out about two or three hours after I took it. Tonight, without it, it was a long night.

Chapter 4

Last Day Before Class

I hadn’t forgotten about Ashley, and that night I lay up thinking about her in the darkness. It was a long night, and I shifted restlessly. I had always fallen asleep at night by means of the zyprexa; it knocked me out about two or three hours after I took it. Tonight, without it, it was a long night.

Some of it I spent wondering what would happen to me, scared I might lose my mind, to a large extent wondering why in hell I had decided to do it. But by midway through my nighttime unwilling vigil, I was thinking about Ashley.

I really was in love with her; I wanted badly to go out with her. But I’d have to set things right, and that meant being friends. I’d call her up tomorrow morning, I decided.

After thinking about her for an hour or two, I fell asleep.

The next morning, I gave her a call.

It rang twice, and then she picked up.

“Hello?” said a tired voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “are you asleep? I could call back late…”

“Josh!” she said. “Oh, blessed be, it’s you. I’m so glad you called! I lost your number and I was scared that would be the last time we saw each other. I was so worried.”

“So you’re not mad at me?” I asked.

“Oh, no, Josh,” she said. “I’m not mad. You know I can’t handle guy stress. I’m not saying I want to go out with you, I don’t, but I did overreact, and I’m sorry.”

“No, Ashley,” I said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you out again.”

“Oh, Josh, it’s fine,” she said. “Hey, are you going to breakfast?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Why don’t you meet me in the entrance room?”

“Okay,” I said, my heart skipping.

“Great,” she said, sounding more awake at last. “See you there.”

“Sure thing,” I said, “but it will be a minute- I’ve got to do something first.”

“Take your medicine, I know, me, too, you haven’t forgotten where we met, have you, Josh?”

She laughed, and I forced myself to join in, but I felt guilty for lying, even if it was only implicit.

“Well, I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “See you in five.”

“Bye,” I said.

And she hung up.

I was overcome with both guilt and happiness- guilt that I was cheeking my medicine and lying to Ashley about it; happiness that we were on good terms again and that our last encounter had not been the end of the story. I got up, and went to my desk.

I opened the drawer and took out the morning medicine container. I opened the lid for Tuesday, and slowly emptied the contents into my hand.

I wondered if maybe I had made a mistake. It wasn’t too late to turn back now. I could still take them again, still start again, and it wouldn’t matter. I had missed a dosage here and there throughout the years in the past, and it had never made much of a difference.

I looked at my hand, at the pills in my hand, shifting them around. What was I going to do?

I walked to the sink, took a cup, and filled it with water. I looked at the pills. I hesitated.

Then I put the pills into the cup and drained it down the sink.

The meds were still there, sitting on the edge of the drain. The metal gap wasn’t big enough to let them through.

I picked at them, pulling them out. I was nervous. I was making a mistake. I should take them now, before things got bad. Orson was a fool. He didn’t know what he was talking about. That or he was a liar.

I walked to the bathroom, opened the door. My suitemates, whoever they were, seemed to be asleep. I walked to the toilet, held the meds over the bowl, trembling. Should I? Or should I take them?

I closed my eyes, and with a pang of freedom, dropped them into the toilet bowl. Before I could change my mind and do something stupid like fish them out, I leaned over the toilet, opening my eyes, and flushed it.

The pills disappeared in a torrent of water, and I glimpsed something blue disappear down the hole at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

I went back into my room and locked the door to the bathroom. I was nervous. It felt like I was breaking some steadfast rule, and I guess I was. If my parents found out I was doing this, I’d be dead.

I walked to the desk and put the medicine container away. I closed my eyes and prayed.

“Goddess,” I said, “if you can hear me, please guide me so that I do not screw up. Please help me figure out what to do.”

“Take your meds, Josh,” She told me there, in my mind.

“You’re not real, you’re a voice,” I said.

“But your friend thinks you should listen to me.”

“You’re a voice,” I repeated aloud.

“Take your meds! You’re making a mistake!”

I mentally broke off the connection, realizing I was sweating.

“Crap!” I said suddenly. I had realized that I was late for meeting Ashley.

In the dining hall entrance room, Ashley looked surprised and concerned.

“Are you all right, Josh?” she asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just nervous about college.”

She smiled. “Don’t be. I’m sure USC is way harder than FMU. Besides, I’ll help you.” She pinched me on the shoulder.

I felt guilty lying to her- very guilty- but I knew that if I didn’t want to change my mind, I’d best keep my decision to as few people as possible, that is, Orson and myself.

“You looking forward to classes tomorrow?” Ashley asked me as I got my tray and got in line behind her.

“Classes start tomorrow?” I asked. I was taken aback.

“Yeah, Josh,” she said, looking concerned. I wished she wouldn’t look like she was worried. “Did you get your schedule yet?”

“Yeah,” I said. “This summer.”

“Books?”

“Books?” I repeated. I slapped myself on the forehead. “No, I didn’t. I’ll go get them today.”

“Good move,” she said. “The bookstore across the street is cheaper, if you’re looking for a tip.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Josh, are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“Cause you look a little tense.”

I laughed. “Well, yeah, I mean I flunked out of USC, and now I’m about to start my last ditch effort.”

She giggled. “Yeah, Josh, I know what you mean. Just try not to stress, okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled and pinched me on the shoulder again. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll do well here. I’ll look out for you, old friend.”

When she said that, everything was all right again, and I relaxed. If I did lose my mind, would it have helped to be a nervous wreck over it? The thought actually comforted me.

After breakfast I got my books from the bookstore. I forgot to go across the street, so I wound up bottoming out my pocket and nearly my bank account.

Ashley and I spent a healthy portion of the rest of the day together, and at first it was strained, but by 7:00 we were doing well.

“It’s been nice hanging out with you, Josh,” she said. “I’m so glad we met each other here. I’m glad to know things turned out for you.”

My heart skipped as I looked at her from across the chair in the University Center, a vast building with two floors, the first of which, most of which was one large room, we were sitting in right now.

It vaguely flitted through my mind that she was telling me she couldn’t stay, but it didn’t quite register.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad, too.”

She smiled, her face happy and friendly. “Well, we’d best get started preparing for tomorrow.”

My heart sunk a little. “Yeah.” I stood, and she did, too.

“Well, Josh, you want to walk me back?”

“Sure,” I said.

We started walking across the room toward the door at the far end; we were in the back. People were playing ping pong, as we had been about fifteen minutes ago before she’d said she was tired of losing. She had been even worse than I.

“Did you tell people at USC about your illness?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Oh.” She paused. “I always wondered how people would react. I never tell anyone.”

“What are you, anyway?” I asked.

“Bipolar,” she said.

“Wow,” I said.

She laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who’s schizophrenic. What do you mean by ‘wow’?”

“It’s just, it’s hard to imagine you’re bipolar,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s hard to imagine you’re schizophrenic.”

I smiled. I had come a long way. “Thank you.”

“Did you ever consider being open here?”

“Hell no,” I said.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“You’re thinking about it?” I asked, what she was getting at registering in my mind at last.

“Yeah,” she said.

Bewildered, I opened the door for her, as we had just now finished crossing the University Center main room. She smiled at me and went through, saying, “Thanks, Josh.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked.

“Well, I mean, people are more mature in college than they were in high school,” she said. “I mean, come on, Josh, we’re adults here.”

I laughed. “My mom doesn’t think so.”

“Because your mom’s getting old, Josh,” she said.

I didn’t like that. “Don’t say that,” I said.

“Sorry, Josh,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just, your parents’ age group isn’t the only one capable of saying what age becomes adulthood. And of course they’re going to think differently, you’re their son, Josh. You’re their child.”

“You’re right,” I said. I realized she was. But at the same time, Mom and Dad sure didn’t think much of the term “legal adult.”

“But I mean, regardless,” she said, “don’t you think people are different now? More able to handle things and accept others.”

“Yeah,” I said. I wondered if I should come out with it. “Do you think we should?”

“I wasn’t suggesting you did,” she said. “I was saying I might.”

“I don’t know, Ashley,” I said. “Once you tell everyone, you kind of can’t take it back.”

“Kind of?” She laughed. “That would be the end of it.” She looked up at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. It’s just, I know, Josh. And it worries me.”

The lawn was shadowy; the sun had set, and it was now twilight. Crickets and cicadas were chirping and singing. The air was about the perfect temperature; it was one of those in-between times of the year. It would be a full moon, soon; she waxed above us in the sky, some guardian of mystery, luminescent and beautiful.

“You like looking at the moon, too?” she asked.

We turned onto the path leading to our dorm.

I looked back at her, not having even realized I’d been starring at it. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess it’s cause I’m Wiccan.”

“Are you going to celebrate?”

My heart jumped. I knew where she was going. “Yeah.”

“Got any plans already?”

“Esbat ceremony with Allen,” I said. “He and I are going out to the lawn in Patriot’s Place. We don’t think anyone’s going to be there, so it’s the perfect place.”

“Ooh, sounds good,” she said.

I had been hoping she’d invite herself, and it occurred to me now that I was the one who was supposed to do the inviting. She was too polite to say she wanted to come; I could tell she was envious, but she wouldn’t let on, I knew.

“Would you like to come?” I asked her.

She beamed up at me. “When do you celebrate?”

“We haven’t gotten a specific night yet,” I said- “as close to the full moon as weather will allow, basically.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Well, if you’ll just give me a call before you start, I’ll come. Best if you could give me a bit of a warning, but I’ll come regardless.”

“Awesome,” I said. “I’m excited.”

“Me too,” she said. “Not having a car, I haven’t been able to celebrate with anyone else in a while.” She paused. “There’s really not a lot of Pagans or Wiccans here.”

“Are there any?”

“Not that I know of. But hey, the Wiccan population of FMU just tripled.”

I laughed.

We kept up a lively conversation up to the dorm, which wasn’t much further. I could have sworn, the way she talked, the way she looked up at me, that she did have feelings for me, forget what she might say. But I couldn’t prove it, and I wasn’t about to push my luck again. Besides, I wasn’t really sure. I was probably wrong.

In my dorm room, I called home.

“Hello?” Dad’s voice.

“Hey,” I said.

“Josh,” he said. “So how’s college?”

“I like it,” I said.

“You found a wife yet?”

I laughed. Dad had told me I needed to find a girlfriend, and I wasn’t sure yet just how much he was joking and how much he was serious.

“Yeah, but she divorced me this morning.”

He laughed. “You get your books?”

I told him about my trip to get the books- I’d had quite a bit of trouble getting them, the least of which problems was the bottoming out of my bank account.

“I’ll have your mother bring some money out to you next weekend,” he said.

I told him about Ashley.

“You make sure you keep up with your schoolwork,” said Dad. “Finding a wife comes second to a 4.0.”

I laughed, because we both knew perfectly well there was no way in Hell I was getting a 4.0. Not unless fish can turn into dolphins. Then again, maybe they can. You can’t prove they can’t, after all: there might just be a fish somewhere that turned into a dolphin while you weren’t looking.

“Sure thing, Dad.”

We talked another half hour, and it was good to be on good terms with him again. Ever since I’d gotten out of the mental hospital, just like that, we’d gotten along fine. Before that we’d been at each others’ throats all the time; now I was beginning to see him as my father again, not so much as an enemy- which, I had realized by now, that was exactly how I used to view him, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself at the time.

As I hung up, I closed my eyes and thanked the Goddess for allowing me to have had things set right between my dad and me.

I’d been so wrapped up in our conversation, that I had forgotten to ask to talk to Mom. I called Dad back up, asked to speak with Mom. Not home.

I hung up the phone, disappointed, and went to look at my books. I flipped through the pages. Not much interesting.

My math book was huge, and everything in it was basic. I had taken and passed a math class at USC, but evidently the credit hadn’t transferred. Not that it bothered me much- it looked like an easy A.

I smiled to myself.

At the same time, I hated math.

My history book looked ungodly boring, filled with dates, maps, obscure names. But when I read the first chapter, it was actually kind of interesting. It was a 201 class, so it was on Vietnam. I realized I was enjoying reading my textbook about four pages into it, and put it down with a smile. Yes, I was turning over a new leaf. Yes, things would be different here. At least, so I hoped.

Before letting myself continue reading my history textbook, I picked up my psychology textbook and my mass com textbook. I was taking the last with Allen, and I was looking forward to it. Those were my Tuesday-Thursday classes; today was Tuesday. I had my Monday-Wednesday-Friday classes starting tomorrow. I realized I was nervous.

Then, suddenly I laughed. “It doesn’t matter!” I told myself aloud. “As long as I don’t give a damn, nobody else needs to.”

I started talking to myself quickly, halfway ranting. I was muttering mostly, occasionally raising my voice, conscious that someone might overhear and somehow drawn to talk to myself more even by knowing that.

“My major is about writing,” I said. “I don’t need to have a perfect school record. I just need to write a lot and learn a lot of technique. Main thing is to do well in my mass com classes.” Mass com was the umbrella major that included my specific major, print journalism. “And nobody needs to know about me. I’ll keep it secret. These meds will be my little secret. Do I need them? I’ll find out soon!”

I laughed, slapping the desk. “Yes I will!” I said, louder. “Hell yeah.”

I picked up my medicine container, walked to the toilet, and threw them in, flushing them down.

“Round and round it goes,” I said, and laughed again.

Despite my humor, I was feeling kind of edgy.

I went back to my room. I crawled into bed and had an easy time falling asleep.

“Come what ye will,” I whispered. “I’ll weather the storm and find my truth.”

And I meant it.

My last thought, as I fell asleep, was a prayer that I was not wrong to trust Orson. It occurred to me that I had always been told that just because something came to you psychically, or just because a spirit from the Otherworld contacted you- just because it was from another plane, that is- did not mean it was good.

And then that faded into a dream in which Orson was a god, and I was an Egyptian priest. We were setting out to slay a giant. For some reason, the land of the giants was FMU, and I felt scared as I looked up at the buildings, which loomed huge over me.

Chapter 5

Allen’s Accusation

Wednesday morning, the first day of classes, I woke up soaked through with sweat. I could not remember what I had dreamt of a few minutes ago, just the terror I had felt. There had been someone shouting at me… and then, oddly enough, I could remember the dreams at the beginning of the night. I laughed to myself.

As I got out of bed, I realized I was physically out of it- but at the same time, I was thinking well today. Far better than usual.

I felt light of heart as I changed. I had slept in my clothes, a nice change from having to worry about parental criticism, and they were damp. I changed into a blue tee shirt and jeans, which I wasn’t sure matched. I wondered if maybe that would lead people to think I was odd. I thought it would. It came like a premonition: that if I wore these, I’d be thought odd, that people wouldn’t like me, that I’d be picked on. I shoved the thought out of my head and put them on anyway.

Odd, how my premonitions had mixed with my paranoia. These days, most of my premonitions dwelled on things that made no sense; long term things I could not possibly understand simply because they did not follow naturally from what the inciting action was. It usually came as a choice, as now: if I did this, this would be the result; if I did that, that would be the result. Frequently, these came from little things- like what shirt I put on. I never could remember what my premonitions from weeks ago had been; so I never really had any way of knowing for sure whether they were real or not. I’d intended to keep a record since shortly after they started getting so unusual; but to date I had not.

Allen and I met in the cafeteria for breakfast.

“You excited?” he asked me.

I laughed, bending over the table and my tray. “Hell yeah. I mean, how could I not be?”

He was eyeing me carefully. “You’re acting kind of funny, Josh,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Well I don’t have cancer, and my heart’s still beating,” I told him. “So yeah, I guess I must be.”

His brow furrowed as he eyed his food.

“Come on, man,” I said. “This is college. Best years of our lives, right?” I raised my glass and toasted Allen. “To a better college career than I had at USC.”

Allen grinned in spite of himself, banging his glass to mine in one fluid motion starting from the tan plastic tray on the table.

“If you don’t… well, let’s hope you do.”

I laughed. My laugh sounded strange, but I didn’t care. I knew Allen was suspicious, and that at any moment now his humor would be gone, that he would figure it out by the end of the day- and that was a premonition- but I didn’t care. In what should have been fear, there was only mirth.

I drank to my health.

When I got back to my dorm, I looked at my schedule again, just to be sure it really was at 10:30 and that I wasn’t going to miss it. Sure enough, it was 10:30, and no, I wasn’t going to miss it. I laughed to myself, said the f- word followed by, “Yeah.” I was in high spirits; it was only 9:45 now; I had woken up early.

Tomorrow I’d have a class at 8:30, but that would only be twice a week. For now, I could sleep in and take my time.

I crawled back into bed, but got up shortly afterward.

“I couldn’t sleep if someone shot me in the head,” I said to myself, and laughed at the thought. I paced my room, hyper.

Around 10:00 I left, not knowing how long it would take to get to class. It was during this walk that a thought came to me, a very important thought that disturbed me deeply. The thought had no cause; it just popped up in my mind.

The thought was of my first night in the mental institution. A voice had told me that a nurse would peep in; and she had. I wondered how that was possible.

I thought of what Orson had told me: listen to my voices. I was scared to, even now in my mirth. It was forbidden territory: whether sacred or profane, I could not say, but I had forbidden myself from it for years, and its potency still scared me.

I was looking at my schedule as I walked when I realized I didn’t know where the McNair Science Building was. I had asked Allen what MSB stood for, so I knew; yet I did not know where to find it.

I stopped a pretty girl who was passing me by.

“Where’s the McNair Science Building?” I asked.

She pointed behind me, the way I had come. “That’s it,” she said. “On your left as you go up those steps.”

I thanked her and started walking, unsure of why she had told me “on your right” when there was only one building. Then I saw the labels; on my left was McNair, on my right was the Hugh Leatherman building. They conjoined in a big glass entranceway.

Walking up those steps, I felt like I was going to college for the first time, like I was a freshman who had never attended a college class. Maybe I had a right to. I had a right to be scared; I’d flunked one, and if I flunked this one, I was screwed for life. I just wanted to get through college successfully, and find out my answers along the way. Besides getting Ashley to go out with me. But other than that, there wasn’t much I wanted.

As I found my room, asking questions to people I passed, my good spirits took me over again. I sat down in the middle of the room, beside a shy girl who smiled at me and looked away quickly and in front of a guy with a kind of joking expression much like the one I knew I was wearing right then.
“What’s your name, man?” the guy behind me asked.

“Josh,” I said, turning around. He had red hair, freckles, and a gleeful grin that spoke of teasing. “You?”

“Jeff,” he said, and, putting the guy beside him in a headlock, “this is Jack.”

“Jeff and Jack,” I said. “Y’all must like ‘j’s.”

“Hell yeah man,” said Jeff with a grin.

The teacher spoke up suddenly, and I looked up. “My name is Dr. Schlatzky,” said the professor. “I think it’s important for us to know one another, so why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves.”

A professor from high school, by the sound of things, I thought.

The class went around introducing themselves. One guy was a hunter from Georgia. There was a foreign exchange student from France, a thin guy with a proper way of speaking and an accent that was hard to understand.

When it was my turn, I said, “My name’s Josh, I’m Wiccan, and I don’t have a clue where in Hell I’m going in life.” I had meant it as serious, but it came out on my tongue with a tone of humor, and the class laughed.

“What’s Wiccan?” asked the guy from France. I hadn’t been able to understand his name.

“It’s like Harry Potter,” I said. Laughter.

“You don’t mean that,” said Dr. Schlatzky slowly.

“Yeah I do,” I said. “See the red bolt of light slowly winding toward you? When it hits you you’re going to die.”

“Threat in the classroom,” said Jeff.

“Oh shut up,” I said.

“Who dies first at the hand of this psychopath?” said Jeff.

That touched a nerve. “I’m not crazy,” I said.

“No, you just shoot imaginary bolts of light like Harry Potter.”

The conversation was rapidly going foul, and I was setting myself up for a rough reputation, but somehow I could not stop it.

“I might shoot one at you,” I said.

“I’m so scared,” he said.

Jack chimed in. “What’s Wicca really?” he asked.

“It’s a religion that worships the Goddess and practices magick,” I said.

“So you really do do magic?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Can you do a spell for me?”

“I can’t do spells successfully yet,” I said.

“I wonder why,” said Jeff.

I laughed with the rest of the class, but I was beginning to feel uneasy. And then I didn’t care.

“Next?” said Dr. Schlatzky.

“My name’s Jeff,” said Jeff. “I like burning witches.”

The class laughed.

“And hanging out with people who don’t worship the Devil.”

“I don’t worship the devil,” I snapped.

“Sure,” he said, drawing it out.

I sulked in anger.

As the rest of the class went round, I was scared for how I would be treated in this classroom. I had screwed up. Things might not go very well now. Relationships are a delicate thing; reputations in a classroom are often made in a single day. They can be changed, but that frequently takes doing. I was scared changing the reputation I’d started myself with would take doing.

At the end of the class period, I went to my next class, History 101.

“Hey Josh,” said a familiar voice as I sat down.

I turned, happy.

“Ashley,” I breathed. She smiled at me.

I tried to keep a lower profile in that class, and things went better. The professor went over a lot of boring stuff, skipping introductions; I could tell it was important, and I tried to pay attention, but while you might think knowing what’s going to make up your grade would catch your attention, it really doesn’t. The professor was Dr. Midol, a soft spoken woman with beautiful red hair. She was young, and most of the class period I was zoning out admiring how beautiful she was, or looking at Ashley to make sure she didn’t realize what I was really paying attention to.

“How old are you?” a guy sitting up the row from me asked.

“25,” she said.

“You’re young,” I said, trying to ignore the dark look I got from Ashley. She seemed to understand that there was more on my mind than what I said next: “You finished your doctorate that fast?”

“Yes I did,” she said. Her eyes were beautiful. I shook my head.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said, and then made up an obvious alternative explanation to being absorbed in her eyes: “It’s just, how?”

She smiled at me, and my heart leaped. “I skipped a few grades,” she said.

“You must be smart,” I heard someone say.

“Well, hopefully that means I’m qualified to teach you,” she said quietly.

I hoped so, too. I was wondering if I was qualified to be her student- not because she was drop dead gorgeous, but because here was a brilliant woman who would probably not appreciate hearing my less striking college career that involved flunking out of school and going to the only decent school that would take me a year later. It didn’t sound as good as, “I skipped a few grades.” How many was a few? It had to be more than one, most likely more than two. I wished I had done that. I was jealous, and jealously wishing that she was in the dating pool.

I saw Ashley looking at me with a kind of dark, understanding expression, and I started listening to the lecture on attendance policies. Who cared? I never missed a day of class. It was the only good thing about me as a student, besides having an intelligent mind that just got wasted to an insanely high degree: I never missed a day of class. In my entire college career so far, I had missed three class periods- that was all. I was always paranoid about missing material.

“What did you think of Professor Midol?” Ashley asked as we walked back.

“She seems nice. Very bright. Pretty, too,” I added because I couldn’t resist it.

“So I noticed,” said Ashley. “Listen, I’m sorry about making a big deal at the pond.”

I was stressed suddenly, and my mind went, in a sensational way, higher. Everything was distant. Meaningless. “You should get over it.” I laughed. I didn’t care what happened at the moment.

“Josh,” she said, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I!”

“Josh, I find that offensive.”

I didn’t know what made me say it, or how the hell that could possibly escape my lips, but all I said was, “I don’t give a damn.”

Someone grabbed me from behind, and I laughed, turning to stop those strong hands from maneuvering me elsewhere, as Ashley started walking away without saying another word.

It was Allen.

He had me about ten feet from the fountain in a matter of seconds, and was holding me by both shoulders as he looked deep into my eyes with a penetrating stare that felt like it was exposing my deepest, innermost self.

“What’s going on, Josh?” he said.

“Hell, man,” I said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“I just told you I don’t know what you-”

“What’s going on?” he repeated, more slowly, emphasizing each word with a severe tone.

I didn’t answer. He stared at me. Finally, I laughed. “Whatever,” I said, and tried to go, but he had me wheeled around to face him.

“Let me go,” I said.

“No,” he said.

I looked around me. There were people around us, walking here to there, chatting at the fountain- but no one seemed to be watching.

“What do you want?” I said.

“I’m your friend,” he said. He paused. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Suddenly my happy-go-lucky, humorous lack of involvement vanished. I was scared because I knew he knew exactly what was going on.

“Look,” I said, stopping and expecting him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stared right into my eyes, and I looked everywhere else. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said finally. “I’m just out of it.” My heart was racing. I didn’t want him to know. Better my parents than him!

“Josh,” he said. “Look into my eyes.”

“I’m not like that,” I said.

He nearly smacked me, but he put his hand back on my shoulder.

“I am, and if you had ever had a problem with it before, it never showed till now. Josh. Look into my eyes.”

I looked into that deep, penetrating, knowing stare and actually cowered back some, but he kept me there.

“Are you cheeking your medicine?” he asked.

“What? No,” I said.

“Why are you acting so funny?”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re not cheeking your medicine,” he said.

I looked him in the eye. “I’m not…” I looked away. I couldn’t lie to my friend like that, even in the state of being slightly off that I was.

“You get back on your medicine,” he said, “or I will personally call the Counseling and Testing Center and have them deal with you, okay?”

That sent a jolt right through my chest. I backed away, but Allen didn’t take his hands down from my shoulders.

“As your friend, for you, that’s a promise,” he said. And he took his hands down.

Chapter 6

Heart-to-Heart on Suicide

In my dorm room, I felt like my past had come out of its coffin to slap me around. I could have been put in a mental institution for going off my meds. It had happened to other people; my parents had told me a long time ago that if I ever went off, they’d send me right back, and I was skating dangerously close to that promise. Yet Allen had said he wouldn’t turn me in. At least, he’d implied he wouldn’t. And he was my friend- he wouldn’t do it without at least giving me fair warning. Fair warning he’d given, though.

I never should have gone off. Yet now I was tempted to stay off; this was my chance to know. I had never been off before; if I went back on now I might never have the nerve to go off again. I was already half way down the road; why not go a little further and know for sure what would happen if I went off?

This tormented me for the rest of the day, but by night I knew I had to go back on. I guess it had been clear to me from the moment Allen pulled me aside. I could ruin everything for myself. I may already have.

As I took my medicine late that night that night I hoped that this little nightmare I had been breeding would just die away. It could leave, banished by the pills; but I wasn’t so sure of that. I visualized the pills I was taking swishing around in the toilet as they drained to the sewage treatment center; it scared me to think of what I had done.

Suppose I had lost my mind? What then?

The scary thing was that I wasn’t absolutely sure I hadn’t.

I wanted to get a good start on things, so I went ahead and stayed up late that night studying. A good start could offset the trouble I had already caused myself. A good start would change my college career.

Nevertheless, around two I decided I needed a break and played a video game for an hour and a half. Then, exhausted, I turned off the light and crawled into bed. I did not even change. I was asleep in a matter of minutes.

I woke up sweating as one does when one has not had enough sleep. It was nearly seven a.m. I had a class at 8:30. I got up and went to breakfast.

Ashley was waiting at a table by herself, and she waved me over after I got out of the lunch line.

“Did you go off your medicine, Josh?” she asked me.

I went stiff, sitting down slowly. “Yeah,” I said.

“Are you back on now?”

“Yeah.”

“So I guess that’s why you haven’t been yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She smiled at me warmly. “It’s all right, Josh. Don’t look so scared. We all make mistakes.”

I wanted to hug her.

“Well,” she said, “I have to say, this food isn’t any better than the food we had in the mental institution.”

I laughed. “The grits are better,” I said.

“Oh I know,” she said, poking at a waffle. “Their grits are good. But I’m not in the mood for grits today. I’ve had them for breakfast nearly every morning for going on three years now.”

She made me feel more at ease with that. I yawned.

“Tired?”

“Up till four,” I said.

“Did you know,” she said, “there are some people here go later than that. Stay up till five and get up at eight.”

“Jeez,” I said. “Crazy.”

“Yeah, I’m an early riser myself, so I go to bed early.”

I had known late nighters at USC, too, but it kept the conversation going, and I needed someone to talk to. I was feeling lonely.

Someone called my name from down the table and I looked up.

“Yeah?” I said. I recognized, too late, Jeff and Jack, with Allen’s roommate and a couple of guys I didn’t know.

“You got kind of weird on us yesterday, didn’t you, Josh?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Gone off your meds?”

I smiled to myself, knowing perfectly well they were joking. Or thought they were joking, anyway.

“So maybe I did. Wouldn’t want you to suffer for it.”

“He’s coming after us,” said someone, and they laughed.

“Is it true you’re a witch?” asked a black kid to the right of Jeff.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You realize witches go to Hell,” he said.

“Just like assholes and losers who nitpick over religion,” I said, and that shut them up for a minute.

“Come on,” said Ashley, giving me a sympathetic look as she stood. “Let’s go.”

So we did.

“Don’t worry about those losers,” she told me as we started leaving the dining hall.

“It’s my fault,” I said.

“Josh, how?”

“I made a fool of myself yesterday,” I said. “I got too silly. Cause I was off my meds.”

She took me to the side by the trees outside, and hugged me. “It’s okay, Josh,” she said.

I wanted to say, “It’s more than okay like this,” but I couldn’t get up the nerve to. My heart fluttered, and then I forgot the idea. I wrapped my arms around her, and we stood like that for some time as I wondered if this was supposed to be her way of giving me a sign.

Finally she drew back. “You want to go for a walk?”

“No,” I said. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go back to my dorm for a nap.”

“Don’t be late for your first class,” she said.

“I won’t be.”

I wanted to stay, but needed to leave. My tired feet dragged me away as my heart stayed behind. She was off for the library, and I was heading to my dorm room.

I barely remember walking down the hall. All I remember is stumbling into bed. I don’t remember anything after that, not even a dream or grogginess, till I woke up with a start and realized I was late for class.

I was instantly mad at myself- blazing angry. I was trembling as I put my head in my hands, positioned on my bed.

Ashley had warned me.

I swore over and over again, my voice growing in volume. “I’m not cut out for this,” I said.

I got up and wondered if it was better to go late than never. Class would be nearly half over by now. I decided it was better to go late than never, and packed my backpack and left.

I walked to class nervously, very near to running, even though I knew I was late no matter what. The paths were mostly empty, though I did run into someone here and there. Francis Marion has a beautiful campus, with mostly wooded areas and squirrels and birds everywhere. On this occasion I noticed something hopping across the lawn behind the Hugh Leatherman building, and stopped. It was then that I realized it was a rabbit.

It was so cute that for a moment everything was okay. I got closer, and it didn’t run away. Then, torn by the desire to stay, I went on my way, knowing I was already inexcusably late for class.

As I walked into the classroom, I heard Jeff snickering. Great.

The professor, an old man with gray fringes of hair around a mostly bald head, looked up at me sternly and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I don’t accept lateness, sir. If you’re late again, the door will be locked.”

I barely listened to the old man speak. Mostly I just daydreamed about death.

Later, in my room again I couldn’t stand it any longer. I hated myself. I was a failure at life, a terrible student, a worthless person. I hit myself in the head, over and over again. The pain felt good, knowing I was paying for the stupidity I had exhibited these last few days. I hit myself again, and stopped because I was dazed.

“I hate myself!” I nearly shouted.

There was a knock at my door.

Allen was standing there. “Josh,” he said, and his face was full of concern. “I can hear you from my room. Cool it before someone says something, damn it! Are you all right? You look horrible.”

“I hate myself,” was all I could say.

“Josh, Josh,” he said. “I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. And I thought of a request, as stupid as it sounded. “Please don’t tell my parents. If you run into them, that is- just don’t, okay?”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” I said. I was on the verge of tears. “I’m doing horribly.”

“I can tell,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” I said, and I stepped aside to let him in. He came in and sat in one of my wooden chairs. I sat on the bed and cradled my head.

“I want to die,” I said simply.

“What?”

“I want to die,” I said.

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have been hitting myself,” I said. “I can’t go on like this. It’s a nightmare. Everywhere I turn I’m being picked on, I’m making a million and one bad first impressions, I’m already in trouble academically and I’m such a miserable person and I’m not good enough for anything and I want to die. I’m sick of life.”

Allen came over to the bed and put an arm over my shoulder.

“My friend,” he said, and even though I didn’t look at him I could tell he couldn’t bear to see me like this. He never had because he’d entered the mental hospital after I’d done most of my recovering. So now he knew my other side.

He had seen me depressed at USC, but not like I was feeling now. Right now I wouldn’t give a damn if someone put a gun to my head. I might even thank him.

“I’ve never heard you talk like that, Josh,” he said, “not even in the mental institution. Charles… you’re beginning to sound like Charles.”

I grunted. Charles was the only one of us that had committed suicide. He was dead. Hearing that I was sounding like him was slightly disturbing. In a way I loathed him right then: I hated him. I didn’t want to become him, and I was so scared of being him that I hated him. I was mad at myself for being so selfish, but I hated him. And partially because of that, partially because of everything else, partially because I just did, I hated myself, too.

“I’m scared for you, Josh,” said Allen.

“Oh damn it,” I said. “I’m not Charles.”

“You sound like him.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You never should have cheeked your medicine.”

“Damn it, Allen,” I said, “I regret it enough already without your two cents, okay?”

“Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Eyes blazing with the storm inside, I turned to look at him. He actually took his arm down and scooted to the side some, wary, and I put my face in my hands, wishing I hadn’t looked at him like that. I sighed. Right then, I felt like the lowest person on earth, and I didn’t think I deserved to live.

“I’m having a rough time,” I told him.

“I can tell.”

“I don’t deserve all this.”

“You don’t deserve to suffer, no, I agree.”

I shook my head, hands trembling as I looked up briefly before putting my head back in my hands. “Not what I mean,” I said. “I don’t deserve to live.”

“Josh!” Allen’s voice was scared, scared like it had never been before.

“It’s okay, Allen.”

“No, Josh, it’s not.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” I said. “I have a good life, and I’m miserable. Everything’s going wrong. I hate my life. I feel like I’m doomed. I don’t know why, I just do. I don’t want to live. I’m sick of living. Right now I dread life itself. I wish it would all just end and go away.”

“Josh!”

I looked up at Allen, and what I saw tore my heart. There was water in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Allen,” I said. “I didn’t mean to get you upset.” I put my face back in my hands.

“No, Josh,” said Allen, his voice shaking. “That’s what I’m here for. And damn it, Josh, you’re not doomed, how the hell can you say that? What the…” He broke into a rant of swearing and affirmations that I had something to live for. When he was done I looked at him. I felt awful for how I was making his face look. Allen didn’t deserve to feel that way. Damn me. I really should die. Allen, for one, would be better off.

“You didn’t have to come down here with me,” I said.

“I’m glad I did,” he said. “You need me.”

“I do,” I said. “But you don’t need me.”

“What?”

“You don’t need me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He paused, and I put my face back in my hands. “Damn it, Josh, you’re my best friend.” He choked. “Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you?” He wiped tears out of his eyes. “It’d be like losing my own father, damn it, can’t you see that?” He was sobbing now. I had never seen Allen sob. I felt like the devil.

“I love you, Josh,” he said.

“I love you too, Allen,” I said.

He hugged me, and for a moment it was okay. It was good to be loved. In the back of my mind was a devilish quip about a gay guy hugging me and saying he loved me, but even its presence in the back of my mind made me sick with myself and I turned away from it.

“You should meditate,” Allen said, drawing back. His face was wet.

“I should,” I agreed.

Allen stood. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah.” Empty words.

Allen seemed to see right through them. “Promise me you won’t kill yourself tonight,” he said.

“I promise,” I said.

He walked to the door. “Try meditating, Josh,” he said.

I nodded. I would.

Allen walked out without another word.

Chapter 7

Friends

I sat down on the floor, the fight ahead keenly there in my mind. I thought. How should I meditate? Allen had taught me many forms.

I decided contemplation was best. Part of me wanted to go ask him if I was right on that, but then, he had done enough already. I shouldn’t bother him anymore than I already had.

So, there was the thing to contemplate: why was I upset?

The answer came readily: I’m a failure at school.

How did I know I was a failure at school?

One question led to another, one answer to more answers. I was mad at myself for failing today, with a deeper grudge against myself from failing at USC. I felt like an underachiever, and was very dissatisfied with my college career. At first this only made me feel worse, but as the time went by I managed to find the good in it all. I managed to realize that beating myself up really wasn’t helping, that I wasn’t a bad guy for a few mistakes.

That’s when I realized it was 1:40. My second class on Tuesday-Thursday started at 1:30.

Quickly I rose, my frustrations returning. I wasn’t going to be able to eat lunch. I swore, anxious but determined not to lose the ground I had gained in my meditation.

This was the result of my bad feelings; I had gotten here by bad internal habits. I probably did deserve to suffer, but to what end? The answer I had been seeking in meditation came then. I would try to set things right. It was that simple.

Immediately on finishing packing, I ran to class. I was not going to be any later than I had to be. Allen would be waiting; he had this class with me- Mass Com 101. It was an introductory course I had taken at USC that hadn’t transferred; I knew from experience that it was mostly useless stuff, like all 101 classes, but once it was over I could move on to something worth taking, like news writing. Actually, I was pretty sure there were other introductory classes I had to take. The thought was a downer. I had taken a class on public relations at USC, one that had, oddly enough, transferred while this had not; that one had been mostly useless stuff, too.

I entered the Media Center building and searched for the classroom. As I found it, I thrust a hand for the doorknob. I really wasn’t that late, anyway. Only about 20 minutes. Well, so that was pretty late.

Oh, crap.

The doorknob was locked.

My heart was racing. I thought at first that I’d come to the wrong room. Then I heard voices inside. Oh, crap. They had locked me out.

I walked back to my room, miserable, beating myself up all over again.

I was rapidly heading toward burning out here, too. If I screwed up here, I was completely out of life’s loop; screwed for life, kiss career and future goodbye, hello maintenance work. I wanted to die. I hated myself.

It so happened that as I retraced my steps I stepped on something and heard glass break. I leaned down, and saw a broken Snapple bottle. It seemed to call me. If I cut myself, I’d be returning to my older ways. I picked up a piece anyway. Just in case I decided to.

I wouldn’t give in, I didn’t think. In my dorm room, feeling lousy, I resorted to hitting myself instead, trying to keep it quiet by hitting myself in the chest, in the stomach, in the arm. My arm gave a slapping sound when I hit it, and I was madder still at myself.

I grabbed the shard of glass compulsively and started cutting. I rolled my sleeve all the way up and cut on my upper arm. Blood showed. Glass is sharp.

I nearly cried as I traced line after line on my arm.

Then I rolled up my shorts and started cutting my thigh. I cut a square. I put an x through it. I hated myself.

Half hoping someone would notice, half dreading it, perhaps even half not caring, I cut my lower arm. It had been half-conscious, and then I stopped and stared at the thin red line on my arm in horror. Suppose someone noticed? It wasn’t terribly unlikely.

I got up from the floor and put the glass in the garbage can. I began to pace.

It was a lot like last time, a lot like the 12^th grade. I never should have gone off my meds. I was sure paying for it now. Then again, suppose it was coincidental? I had been going through a lot. Suppose the meds were not the root of my suffering?

If someone noticed the line on my arm, I could be put back in a mental institution.

It was then that I remembered an old trick.

I went to my drawer, and put on a long sleeved shirt. I would keep it a secret.

The hours crawled by, and I was nervous about dinner. Allen didn’t come to see me. I was glad, as I had been scared he might figure me out, but then, I was also hurt: didn’t he want to make sure I was all right? Didn’t he care? I hated myself. I didn’t deserve for him to care.

I cussed myself out and picked up a textbook, trying to read ahead. I was scared now, too scared to hate myself as much as I had, but still angry at myself. On the one hand, I wanted to punish myself more, for I still hated all that I was; yet on the other, greater hand, I feared going down that road again. I was so scared. I was returning to my roots, and I didn’t like it.

My past is not my future, I told myself.

But from where I stood, it looked pretty darn similar. The fear of the next downward spiral, the possibility that I might slit my wrist, was almost nostalgic. The old battle must be fought again.

The phone rang suddenly, and I was jerked from my thoughts. Starting, I nearly tipped the chair over. I answered the phone.

“Josh?” It was Allen’s voice.

My heart raced. Please, I thought, please do not ask if I am all right.

“Yeah?” I said.

“You want to meet for dinner?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Good. Ashley’s there,” he added, and chuckled.

Ordinarily I might have been embarrassed, but as was, I was just thanking my lucky stars he didn’t know how awful I felt. I didn’t want him to know. I couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing. He was my friend, he was my mentor; right now I wanted him to think I was enjoying myself. Part of me wanted someone to confide in, someone to help ease the pain; the bulk of me wanted to make sure he didn’t realize what I was going through, even if I knew he already had.

And then I realized why. I was ashamed.

There was a line in the dining hall. I could hear the beep of cards being swept through the electronic card slot at the podium in front of the large room inside where we were served food. There was a salad bar near me, just past the line. That’s what I’d get. I didn’t want a burger and fries; I was currently trying to become vegetarian. Knowing me, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’d suck at that, just like everything else. I was on the verge of cussing myself out again when I got to the podium and handed the woman my card.

“Thank you,” I said, taking it back.

“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly.

I forced a smile at her, then hurried off to get a salad. Afterward I got ravioli from the main line, the line for which was, thankfully, not very long. Then I went into the dining room, looking out across the horde of hungry students, wondering where in Hell Ashley was.

After a minute of standing I realized someone was waving at me, and I walked over. As I did so, the group of people sitting there laughed.

I was an idiot. I couldn’t even find a stupid friend.

I weaved my way through tables and chairs, the clang of silverware and din of voices drowning out my consciousness. I moved like in a dream.

When I sat down, it still felt unreal. I was retreating inside myself because somewhere inside, I knew, somehow, I knew the long sleeved shirt wasn’t going to work out. And that scared me.

But how could I know? Even if it was a premonition, I was only a beginner. Maybe I’d had them for a long time, but this one could be wrong. I wasn’t always right.

I sat down.

Ashley beamed up at me. “Hey, Josh,” she said as I fell into place. “This is Daniel,” she said, gesturing toward her male friend. He had semi-long, messy dark-brown hair and a thin body and arms that made him look almost starved.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

“And these are Lilly and Tommy,” Ashley continued, gesturing toward the two other people sitting there.

“Hi,” said Lilly, and I shook her hand, then Tommy’s.

“We met my freshman year,” said Ashley. “And where’s Allen?”

“Right here,” said a voice behind me, and Ashley looked up, startled. I myself jolted, and my head bumped into his tray. Something wet fell on my sleeve, and I shrank away. No. Please don’t try to help. Don’t ask about my sleeve.

“What’s the long sleeved shirt for?” asked Allen.

My heart racing, I replied, “It’s cold in here.”

Ashley laughed. “Yeah, I should have dressed warmer myself. They do keep it like freezing in here,” she said. As for her, she was wearing a cute tank top. No doubt was thinking of the heat outside, not the frigid cooler inside. Evidently my lie had worked. I relaxed.

Allen sat beside me.

“Daniel,” I said, “how old are you?” He looked young.

“Seventeen.” He was young.

My mouth actually gaped. “How?”

“I skipped grade eight,” he said. “It was actually rather fun, being in high school early. But I’m not sure I’m ready for college.”

“Hell,” I said, “if you can skip a grade, you’re readier for college than I am.”

Everyone laughed.

“Don’t say that,” said Lilly. Pretty and physically very attractive, she had blond hair.

“Everyone’s got their own strengths,” said Ashley.

“If I’ve got any,” I mumbled.

“What’s that?” said Ashley.

“He thinks he doesn’t have any strengths,” said Tommy.

“Well then,” said Daniel, “you make the rest of us look better, I owe you a deep and heartfelt expression of gratitude.”

We all laughed. I liked the way he talked. He sounded intelligent. I wondered if he noticed. I felt slightly better for what he said. Here was a kid who was older than he looked- really, older than I. I wondered if I’d ever grow up.

But my heart was growing lighter as the conversation started.

“What are you taking?” Allen asked Daniel.

Daniel ticked it off on his fingers. “Biology, speech, Math 121, English, Mass Com 101, and Biology lab.”

My mouth dropped. “How the hell are you taking all that?”

He grinned. “Thank you, Josh,” he said. “To answer your question, not easily.”

We were laughing again, and I joined in, letting the laughter quell the beast ravaging my soul.

Lilly and Tommy were both juniors; Ashley had met them at orientation. Actually, it turned out Lilly was an old friend from elementary school, whom she had grown up with, but they had both been mistaken about where the other was going, and so were pleasantly surprised at orientation.

“Don’t feel bad if you’re not Daniel,” said Tommy after I made another envious remark. “He’s got something a lot of us don’t have.”

“Cancer,” Daniel said.

People laughed, so I knew he was joking, but it took me a minute to realize that.

“No, seriously,” said Tommy, “he’s bright, and I’m not, and from the sound of it, you don’t do too hot in school either. We should throw a pity party tomorrow and bask in our misery.”

That hit too close to home, though he had no way of knowing it. Pity parties were a favorite gripe of the counselors in the mental institution I had gone to two and a half years ago.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass, “to the best and the brightest of loser-hood.”

I reluctantly raised my glass.

“Oh Tommy,” said Lilly, “just remember, if it came down to a fight, you’d live, Daniel would die. It’s just, you shouldn’t be in this age when it doesn’t matter…”

“Nope, she’s right,” said Tommy. “Daniel, buddy, you’re building me a time machine so I can go to the Stone Age where I belong.”

As we laughed, Daniel said, “Sweet. I’m going with you.”

“And dying,” said Tommy between his hands.

“Sweet,” said Daniel.

I laughed. “How is that sweet?” I asked.

“No, just screwing with you,” said Daniel.

The conversation was lighthearted, and we talked well into the night. As we talked, the number of people in the room gradually died down.

“Josh is handsome,” said Lilly suddenly.

My heart skipped.

“Yep you are,” she said, “don’t look surprised. Isn’t he, Ashley?”

Ashley looked like she didn’t want to answer that, so I said, “Hell, you’re pretty.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And Allen, you’re so quiet,” she said. “You look like there’s some wisdom in you.”

“You’re very astute,” said Allen, and we laughed again.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” said Ashley, standing, and I noticed that both Lilly and Tommy stood up immediately too. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” I said.

“Bye,” said Allen and Daniel.

They left, and I watched them go. I scratched at my arm absent mindedly. I saw Allen glance at my arm, and I quickly pulled the sleeve back into place.

“My roommate and I really aren’t getting along very well, Josh,” said Allen, putting his head on his hands. He was confiding, and suddenly I felt selfish for how wrapped up I was in my own troubles, unaware of his.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s going to be long till he figures out I’m gay,” he said. “He brings it up constantly. He calls me gay, I think it’s an insult, not a claim or anything, cause I defend us.” He sighed. “But I won’t agree with him. I won’t.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You’re gay?” said Daniel.

“Yeah,” said Allen, looking up at him in a tired way, his face constrained as always.

“Sweet,” said Daniel.

Allen smiled.

“So, can you be attracted to anyone?” asked Daniel.

“Any guy,” said Allen.

“Darn,” said Daniel. “I always thought it would be sweet if you could get turned on by anything that walked on two legs.”

“No, that’s bi,” said Allen, his voice calm. “And they don’t get turned on by anyone, it has to be someone they’re attracted to.”

“I wish I could be bi,” said Daniel. “Apart from the thought of it grossing me out, I think it would be sweet.”

Allen grunted amusedly. “It’s not like that. Being bi now is like being black in the early 70s. There’s still a lot of stigma and all.”

“Aye.” He looked from one to the other of us and said, “Sorry, I guess this was a kind of personal conversation, wasn’t it?”

I didn’t want to be alone with Allen. But I wouldn’t be selfish. I let him answer.

“Yeah,” he said.

Daniel got up. “Nice meeting you two,” he said, shaking our hands. He gave me his number and told me to call him, saying Allen was welcome to call, too, adding in, “as long as you don’t try to make out with me or anything.”

As he left, Allen said, “He’s too young for college.”

“I can’t make out if he’s more mature than me or if he has the mindset of a child,” I said.

“Maybe both,” said Allen. “There are always the young at heart. They have the right idea. Better to enjoy life than to be caught up in a world where nothing’s fun.”

“So did you think of trying to switch roommates?” I asked.

Allen sighed, looking tired. I was worried for him now. “I did, but I don’t want to be obvious.” He waved a hand in the air, then suddenly looked at my arm.

I shrank away instinctively. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

Suddenly he grabbed my arm.

“Let go,” I said, fighting back, panic seizing me- but it was too late. The sleeve was up. Allen was looking at the long red line on my arm, obviously not a scratch.

He shut his eyes as I drew back slowly, his grip gone.

“Josh,” he whispered.

My heart racing, I wanted to leave. I wanted to be gone. I wanted to never see him again. Please, I thought, please, just make him forget. I wasn’t sure what I was praying to; it wasn’t to any named god or goddess, nor to the Goddess, nor to any angel or God from Christianity; it was just a prayer, a heartfelt request I wished would be granted, that I knew would not.

“My friend,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. I wanted to go. He wanted me to stay. I wondered if he’d stop me if I walked out right now. Could he, or would he, in front of all these people? I doubted it.

Suddenly I felt guilty. I had just broken my best friend’s heart, and all I could do was think of how to get out of there to make it easier for myself. Words gushed from my mouth as I tried to sort through my deepening self-hatred and guilt.

“Allen, I’m so sorry,” I said, conscious that my voice sounded desperate, maybe even maniacally fast, while inside I felt a kind of constant, perturbed calm of numb pain. “I never should have done it. I know I’ve failed you. You’re my friend, I promised, I promised,” I realized there were tears in my eyes, “I promised everyone I’d never do this again, we all did, and I’ve let all of you down, even Guy, and I know I’ve failed you all and broken my word and I’m sorry.”

Allen just shook his head, looking dazed. I knew, then, as I started talking again, desperate to fill the silence that would surely kill me before I ever succumbed to suicide, that he didn’t want to be there either- he, too, wanted to pretend that this nightmare wasn’t happening.

“I feel awful, Allen. I don’t want you to suffer because of me. I’m so sorry. I know I’ve let you down, and if there’s any way I can make it up to you, please, let me know.”

He looked at me slowly, and I met his eye for a second, that was all I could dare, and then I looked away.

“You want to make it up to me?” said Allen. His voice was as quiet as the glass-like sea after a storm.

“Yes,” I said. I was pleading- it wasn’t just my voice, which sounded like that of an eight year old who’s broken his mother’s favorite vase. It was also in my heart. It was all I could feel. “Just name it. If it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”

Allen cupped a hand to his mouth without responding. His eyes glistened.

“Allen, please,” I said. “I want to make it up to you.”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Allen,” I began. “I want to…”

“It’s not about making it up to me, Josh,” he interrupted, and I gave a start. For a second I thought he was mad at something I’d said. What he said next killed any thought along those lines and guilt grew in the hole left there. “It’s not that I’m mad at you, Josh. I’m scared for you.”

And that was worse.

There was a pause, and I felt like my insides were going to explode, but I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t answer.

“I’m your spiritual teacher,” he said. “I’ve failed to guide my closest….”

“No!” I interrupted. “Allen, don’t make this about you, don’t blame yourself, it had nothing to…”

“You want to make it up to me, Josh?” he asked.

“Allen, don’t think it’s about you,” I pleaded. I felt awful. This was worse than him being disappointed in me. “You’ve done more for me than….”

“You want to make this up to me, Josh?” he asked. His voice was quieter, but it held force. I didn’t dare try to press on, and I could tell from his tone that he’d gotten the message.

“Yes,” I said.

“Promise me you won’t cut yourself again.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I… Allen, it’s not in my power.”

“Of course it’s in your power!”

“I would promise you that, Allen,” I said, “but it would be a lie. I know I’m going to.”

Allen turned his whole body to face me, his eyes staring me down.

“Now, Josh,” he said, “I am disappointed in you.”

The thing that made me feel most guilty right then was not what he had said. It was my own decision: that I was going to hide it from him from now on.

“I’m not promising anything, Allen,” I said softly. “But I’ll do my best.”

Allen made a motion with his hand. “I suppose that’s all any of us can really do,” he said.

It seemed like we were okay again.

“Want to go to the UC?” he asked.

“I should study,” I said. It tore me apart to say it. The Lady knew, I did not want to study; but I needed to get to work.

“Josh,” said Allen. He paused. “I think you need a break.”

I realized he was right. “Okay,” I said.

A cell phone started ringing.

“Is that you?” I asked.

Allen started getting up, looking tired. “Come on,” he said.

As I followed, I became surer it was him. “Allen,” I said, “I think your cell phone’s ringing.”

As he put his tray up he turned to face me. “Josh, I don’t give a damn.”

We went to the gym and goofed off a little. Neither of us were weight lifters. Mostly we just laughed at ourselves trying to do something remotely athletic.

Allen picked up a 45 pound weight and dropped it near his foot by accident. Immediately he started jumping up and down clutching his foot, but fell over.

The only other two people in the gym gave us weird looks. I didn’t care. I felt free.

“You should be more careful,” I said in a mock authoritative tone.

Allen walked up to me, putting on his sternest expression- which was pretty good, because his face was always naturally taut, his body always naturally stiff.

“You got a problem?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I got a problem.”

We were near a kicking bag, and Allen gave a grunt and turned to face it. He ambled off to it, then did a few crappy kicks. He came back to me, as I burst out laughing.

“You dare mock my art?”

“Your chi is strong,” I said. “But watch this.”

I went to the kicking bag and tried an elbow strike, but missed. Allen guffawed behind me.

Later we played pool, and Allen killed me. Second game I did better- we were evenly matched nearly the whole way through.

Allen’s phone rang again that night, and again he doggedly refused to answer it. This time he turned the sound off.

It was a night I did not want to be over. I wanted to fall on my knees and thank my friend because right then I knew how much he cared for me. But I didn’t think that was a good idea, and I really wasn’t sure how to thank him. So come 8:45, when I realized I hadn’t taken my meds yet, I just told him I had to get back to my dorm or I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep that night, and we walked back to our dorms.

But I think that somewhere inside, he must have known just how grateful I was.

“Goddess,” I whispered inside my dorm room, pill case in hand. “Thank you, thank you, so damn much, for Allen.”

Chapter 8