I remember the very first time I saw one of those terrifying, wild things.
I think about it when my ear is pressed tight against the skin of his chest, and the thudding inside
becomes the sound of its frantic feet against the pavement.
He didn’t believe me when I told him,
He still doesn’t,
“Babe, they’re just myths, ok? Not real. I mean, not to be a dick or anything, but you don’t have the most rational brain, O
K. We’re good though, right? Yeah.”
We weren't ok, Jake and I,
Because when I close my eyes, I still
remember that mutual terror in passing, beneath the cold litter of mid-October rain,
as the droplets seemed to fall in perfect unison, as if filtering through some cosmic colander.
They had only ever been spotted on the other side of campus before, but that night was different.
It was nearly 2 am,
as I slowly passed the rows of houses and apartments, hoping I didn’t look suspicious in my Winnie the Pooh t-shirt,
the cool air moved softly through the hole beneath my armpit,
the kind of hole you ignore for the sake of sentiment.
I tried to let the small bursts of wind wake up my mind,
pull it from the deep fog it was put into after birthing a six-page essay on the history of Mayan Sexuality.
This was the West side, always calm,
but the gentle thudding of distant bass still jumped the pebbles off of the pavement,
the soft buzz accompanied by a clicking noise,
I looked down to see my shoelace swinging and wrapping around my sneaker, and
moved off the road to tie my shoe.
I was huddled beside the shadowed shrubbery, when I heard it coming.
I hadn’t noticed the supple trod of boat shoes until it stopped next to me, like the sudden ceasing of a noisy air conditioner.
I looked to find the creature’s ghastly calf was within reaching distance,
its veins running green with the lingering tinge of pre-workout supplements.
A rush of bile came frantically knocking at the door of my lips,
but I swallowed it back.
Stepping into the light, its pasty skin cast back a glow that said I’ve never eaten a vegetable in my entire life,
and this hue of self-neglect was supplemented by the dull blue glow of a screen pressed against its face.
Then,
it spoke, “But,”-
The sweet, clear, nectar of masculine grief was running down his cheeks, and mucus spilled from each nostril, sprawling across his small upper lip to be intercepted by the wiping motion of the back of his hand.
- “we’re the nice guy Frat”.
I tried to center my breathing, knowing he wouldn’t notice me over the awesomeness of his own sorrow.
There was mumbling coming from the box on his face, deep grumbles of male comradery,
“Josh, they didn’t even make the jungle juice for the girls”,
the thin whine rang from the hollow of his mouth like a distorted church bell.
His six-foot frame was contorted and hunched, resembling the stunted limbs of a tree, as though his growth had been hindered in some way.
He stood blubbering, for what seemed like an eternity of me basking in the heavy fog of Old spice and flat Corona that moved with him, as it seared my lungs in a tangible cloud.
“I missed Stranger Things for this,” he cried,
Digging into his pocket for a small black rectangle,
before raising it to his lips and gingerly suckling at its chemical bliss.
As it flowed forth, birthed from the shaky stream of his breath, the smoke seemed to take the shape of his tears.
I shifted my weight, and the snap of a twig broke the barrier between us.
I watched his eyes flood forth a deep visceral fear as his head turned downward towards me
he realized he’d been seen.
He ran,
his feral body moving fast, supported by his Nike Airs,
and the wrinkle of his salmon colored shorts making him look more like a colorful dream.
The last trace of him was the distant whisper he left for me in the wind,
“Alpha Phi Sucks”.
No, I thought,
Alpha Phi really fucking sucks.
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