The Boy in the Tunnel

Fall 1997, Chapter 9: Joanie

"We?"

A creak of leather from Joanie's left. A man rose from one of the oversized armchairs facing the fire. He was wearing something ridiculous, a military costume designed by children, all bright colors and impractical silver accouterment. He had pale skin and black hair and a red scar on his face. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

"You aren't supposed to be in here," she said. The scar flickered, on and off, and then his whole body flickered on and off, and then he disappeared, not even leaving his smile behind.

(snip)

She didn't have a class with Dr. Burton this semester, but since she was already in town she thought she'd stop by his office and see if he was in. It was strange to be in Thorn Hall when it was this empty. Even when she'd been here late at night, it never truly felt unoccupied. There was always a janitor, or even just the fluorescents, buzzing with low-key malevolence.

But the lights were off now and the janitor wasn't needed yet. The place was drained, bloodless. Dust hung in the air, catching sunlight. Joanie could almost feel it, like walking through water. Squeaks from her Reeboks ping-ponged up and down the hall.

She took the stairs to the second floor three at a time. When she reached the landing halfway up, she started to hear it: an insistent beat, a pounding piano, a guitar shooting sparks all over the top. A voice howling wordlessly into the void.

She bounded up to the second floor. The music was coming from Burton's office, near the end of the hall. She crept closer. She could hear him singing now, over the music: "Strange ideas mature with age, like leaves when autumn falls." His voice was terrible. Joanie smiled. Burton was younger than most of the English department, and to many of his students this made him the cool one, even the hot one; but Joanie knew, she knew that he was a colossal dork. This was why she believed him when he said she could get into Iowa, why she believed him when he said anything. He never made her feel too tall.

His door was open halfway. She knocked as she pushed it the rest of the way open. He was shuffling clumsily in front of his turntable, studying an album cover. Two women were on the cover, both lean and dark-eyed and half-naked. Burton jumped when he noticed Joanie standing there. He dropped the sleeve and fumbled for the tone arm to turn the music off.

"Joanie! What are you..."

"Nice pipes, Doc."

Burton gave her his dorkiest, most sheepish grin, and picked up the record sleeve. He thought for a second, then set it on his desk face down. "I didn't think anyone was here."

"Sorry, I was just walking back from downtown and I thought I'd see if you were in."

"I'm glad you did. Gives me a chance to talk you into taking Creative Writing 201."

"I want to," said Joanie, and she meant it. She'd always been a decent writer, strictly on a technical level. She could put a sentence together in a non-embarrassing way, and that was enough to win awards in high school. But in Burton's class she actually got good at it. She finally had an audience she wanted to impress. "But it's the same time as practice. I can't make it."

"Right. The spiking and the serving."

"That's about it. But that's what's paying for me to be here."

"Well, next semester."

"Definitely. Oh, check it out." Joanie dug in her bag and pulled out a manila folder. "Some new stuff I wrote over the summer."

Burton took the folder and peeked inside. "Yeah? Can't wait to read it. I'm serious about Iowa, too. You've got to start thinking about that now." Burton put the folder on his desk, next to the album cover. "I'll read these tonight."