"THE ROOMMATE"
by Adam Bender
The front door squealed open and slammed shut. Dash's ears twitched violently. A minute ago the cat had been warm and happy, curled up on the bed with shut eyes and carefully tucked paws. Now his owner John was back and probably out-of-his-mind drunk. Dash was hungry, but not that hungry. He'd rather John hadn't come back until the morning. Sleep was important.
Sam's eyes stared hot at the ceiling fan. He'd told his roommate he had to get up for work at 6 a.m. tomorrow-or good God-that was today now, wasn't it? The alarm clock was glaring; the red numbers a hellish countdown to death and destruction. Should he get out of bed? No, the moron was probably too trashed to be reasoned with.
Dash yawned and fell back asleep.
Sam was still grumbling when another door slammed and a faint electric hum replaced the silence. The shower whooshed into action.
"I hope you slip and break your neck, you drunk," Sam muttered.
Muttering was all Sam could do at this stage. He wasn't going to wait for John to come out of the shower and dress just to yell at him-it was late and he had to get up early! No, it'd be better to just go back to sleep and leave the jerk a nasty letter tomorrow.
A smile crept across Sam's face. He was already writing the note in his head. "Dear jackass," it began.
Sam fell asleep. Meanwhile, Dash rolled over and fell off John's queen-size mattress. The shock was intense, so he scurried under the bed to hide.
Dash poked his head out. A sudden, loud thunk from the bathroom spooked him back undercover.
Sam missed it. He might as well have been dead.
Hours later, the alarm clock was going nuts. Sam snapped up from his pillow and slammed it into submission. He breathed hard, roared in fury and shook the sleep away like excess water. With the morning ritual complete, he fell into intense concentration. Something was off. But what?
He had it: the bathroom was humming and trickling. But that didn't make sense, he thought. John must have come in around 3. He couldn't still be in the shower. Had he woken up and taken another one?
The truth hit Sam like a pile of bricks. John must have brought that girl back with him. He'd been talking last night about some blonde he was hoping to bang. They must have gotten drunk and come back together-that would definitely be a John thing to do.
What a bastard, Sam thought. Now he'd have to wait before he could use the bathroom. "Sam's Morning System"--SMS, he called it-would have to be done in reverse.
Sam opened the fridge and gasped in horror--no milk!
They'd finished it the morning previous, Sam knew, but John said he'd pick some up on his way home from work. Instead, apparently, he just went to a party, got drunk and brought a girl home. Sam decided he would include this transgression in the letter that began "Dear jackass." As for breakfast, he'd have to eat some toast with peanut butter. It wasn't Raisin Bran Crunch, but it would hold him until lunch.
The shower was still going when Sam finished, so he opened the comics page of the newspaper. The unproductiveness of this activity made him panic two strips after Get Fuzzy, so he packed his bag for work instead. Eventually Sam had completed every preparatory procedure he could think of, including writing the nasty letter, which no longer began "Dear Jackass," but instead the more civil John:. And yet still the shower trickled on. There was only one option left.
Sam knocked on the bathroom door. "John," he said.
Nothing.
"John!" he yelled.
