What We Take Away

Chapter 17 | Aram

December 7th, 2005

A sense of doom materializes over my head as we catapult into the last week of the semester. Despite the wintry decorations on Church Street and the dilapidated, dollar store Christmas decorations draped over every off-campus porch, I feel more depressed than ever. The end of one semester means that half of the year is already over, making me that much closer to becoming a college graduate with no real sense of direction or life goals. My dismal, not-so-distant future is becoming a more concrete and unavoidable reality.

Everyone else is happy, the voices sneer. What's wrong with you?

Weary, I park my car along Arch Street and shove a few coins into the meter. With final exams around the corner, the Burnie is constantly at max capacity. It's been difficult to study comfortably there, let alone find a quiet and secluded spot. Though I normally avoid being near Church Street during the holidays, Mal suggested we try studying together at a diner he's been frequenting before heading to the last prayer night of the semester.

The last thing I want to do is to go to another one of Mal's prayer nights. He's dragged me out to a few of them in the past, and each time I sulked in the corner wishing the ground would swallow me whole. It's one thing to attend and watch other people connect with a God who's completely forgotten about you. But it's an entirely different thing when your best friend, who is beloved by all, is the one running the dog and pony show.

My breath comes out in shapeless puffs as I walk. The street lamps along Church Street glow against the darkening sky. Giant snowflakes made of lights are affixed to each lamp, brightening the length of the street. Flurries have been on the forecast daily, but none have fallen. It's only a matter of time, I grumble. Snow means limited parking on campus, waking up early to shovel and clean off my car, running on treadmills instead of outdoors, along with other tedious things...

I pass a frosted window looking into a café, where couples flirt across tables and overpriced sugar drinks. I roll my eyes with irritation and trudge onwards. Why does the entire campus seem to couple up during the month of December? There's nothing romantic about cold weather, impending snow, mistletoe, capitalism, or the baby Jesus. Everywhere I turn, students flood the bookstore, pizzerias, and coffeeshops, seeming cheerful and happy. Up ahead, a pretty girl gazes sweetly into her lover's eye and kisses him sweetly. I ignore the familiar, dull thudding in my chest and walk on, taking care to avoid eye contact as I pass them.

Hunching my shoulders against the brittle wind, I cross the street towards the old brick diner with a pink neon sign that reads "Jake's." As I push my way through the doors, my nasal passages are assaulted by smells of pork grease, stale onions, and old people. Mal waves from one of the beat-up booths in the back of the restaurant, weary a goofy grin.

"Hey," I grunt, warily observing the worn red vinyl seat.

"Sit!" Mal beams, shoving a plate of half-eaten meatloaf and roasted carrots towards me.

I shake my head and hold up a hand. "No thanks."

Mal pulls a face. "Deb won't be happy. Just try a bite!"

"Who's Deb? Your girlfriend?" I smirk.

A plump arm appears across the table, refilling Mal's empty coffee mug.

"He wishes!"

A middle-aged woman with a name tag that reads "Deborah" gazes loftily at us, her wispy orange hair clashing with the bright blue of her eyeshadow. "If ya only knew me back in my actin' days," she says coyly, her voice crackly and rough from years of smoking.

"You're still beautiful, Deb," Mal gushes sweetly, pouring cream into his coffee.

"Shucks, honey. That mouth of yours will getcha in trouble," she purrs, batting her lashes.