"Of all the money that e'er I had,
I spent it in good company
And of all the harm that e'er I've done,
Alas, it was to none but me"
- "The Parting Glass", a Scottish traditional folk song -
*****
Tyson
Enrolling in Hoovensguaard for law school was a deliberate choice. And worst of all, on my part too. Following the drunken stupor the night before my graduation, where my parents unearthed my past recklessness despite my accomplishments, their faith in my ability to mature independently waned.
Mom hinted that attending law school elsewhere was an option, but it came with a laundry list of expectations: maintaining impeccable grades to demonstrate my commitment, securing internships at prestigious firms, obtaining a recommendation from Dad's influential associate for a leg up, and these are just the tip of the iceberg. But I know better that they exist in the first place to steer me back to Hoovensguaard. And realizing that my idealism cannot be realized, I let them win.
Initially, I questioned their confidence in sending me back to a place where I'd indulged in my "reckless behaviors." Then it clicked — Hoovensguaard is connected to Mom's old friend. They're sacrificing my autonomy for their personal competitive agendas. And whether it's a matter of familial rivalry or it's just me assuming, it sucks at the end of the day.
Thankfully, the prospect of reuniting with friends offers a glimmer of comfort amid the wreckage of dashed dreams going down the drain. Still, I rue the missed opportunities for academic pursuits abroad and immersive travel experiences simply because of a single ill-fated party and three shots of vodka. And panoramically, what's there in Monteverde? Just the old town, the lookout points, some historical landmarks, hiking trails...
And I guess Samuel and Foster, who are currently riding along in my car after I offer them a brief recapitulation for my return to Hoovensguaard. And right now, we're navigating downtown en route to watch Matty's group debate at a hotel.
As we arrive around noon, the car parks outside the building, right under the shade of an elm tree. We step out, the door closing with a definitive thud. After ensuring the car is securely locked, we stride purposefully toward the entrance. Inside, the lobby exudes an air of opulence, with polished marble floors and glistening chandeliers casting a soft glow.
As my gaze sweeps across the lavish interior, I catch Samuel pausing, his attention affixed to something. With practiced discretion, he discreetly captures a moment with his phone — a snapshot of two young women, one an Arctic wolf and the other a Border Collie, holding hands on a metal bench, minding their own business.
"You could get sued for that, you know?" I interject, attempting to dissuade Samuel from his impromptu photography session. His reaction is nonchalant, unfazed by my caution.
"I'm aware, but I can't pass this up. Not like I'm planning to post this online, you know? Just for my personal gallery." The Birman slips his phone back into his fanny pack. Foster and I exchange knowing glances, amusement twinkling in our eyes. Samuel doesn't like what we're doing. "What?"
Before I can add anything, Foster beats me to it. "Just a gentle reminder, we're law students."
"Ugh, fine." Samuel unexpectedly strides toward the women, engaging them in conversation. As they converse, I can't help but wonder about the nature of their exchange. Eventually, Samuel returns to us with a scowl. "I got their permission to take the photo, and they're fine with it, and I shared it with them. Happy now?"
"Huh..." Foster nods in approval, though a trace of amusement still lingers in his muzzle. "Some people will really go to great lengths to make a point, huh?"
"Shut up, Elk." Samuel's face remains sour as he walks ahead of us.
Meanwhile, Foster continues to giggle at Samuel's expense. I quickly pinch his arm, prompting him to stifle his laughter with a wince. Rubbing away the discomfort, Foster shoots me a glare. "Are you really going to lecture me about making harmless jokes at the Birman?"
"Just a gentle reminder that he has a temper, dumbass, so don't provoke him unless you want to ruin this day!"
With a resigned sigh, Foster relents. "Fine, fine. No teasing the cat." And with that, we follow behind Samuel as we resume our journey toward the ballroom.
Entering the space, we're enveloped by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buzz of nervous excitement. Guests take their seats while event staff bustle about, attending to last-minute details. Across the room, a large banner hangs above the stage, proudly displaying the event's name, "HAIDS: Hoovensguaard's Annual Intercollegiate Debate Symposium 2020."
Spotlights illuminate the main stage, where Matty's group is diligently preparing. Podiums and microphones are arranged around them as they review their debate points. The live feed on the projector screen provides a clear view of Matty's focused expression as he reviews his notes. As Samuel, Foster, and I find our seats near the front, Matty catches us from the stage, and we offer a reassuring smile at his ecstatic self before he turns back to his team, who are deep in discussion.
Not long after, the moderator steps onto the stage, signaling the imminent start of the competition. After some winding rundown tick-boxing, from welcome speeches to the introduction of the present juries, the time clocks on the start of the debate. The lights dim, and the moderator takes the mic, setting the stage for the contentious topic ahead: "Government surveillance programs are necessary for national security and crime prevention, and their effectiveness outweighs concerns about privacy rights. Agree or disagree?"
With the question posed, the juries provide them a moment to have a short discussion. Then, Matty's group seizes the initiative, with Matty himself stepping up to the desk microphone as he begins, "Nowadays, with threats like terrorism and cybercrime constantly evolving, it's not only essential but crucial for the government to have the right tools to keep people safe. Surveillance programs give law enforcement the edge they need to detect and stop potential dangers before they become real threats, ultimately saving lives and preventing chaos."
He straightens his posture, gesturing emphatically to emphasize his points. "While surveillance programs may infringe on privacy rights, it's essential to recognize that individual liberties sometimes need to yield to the greater good in a society governed by legal principles. Privacy isn't absolute; it must be balanced against the imperative of maintaining public safety and security."
He pauses, allowing his words to resonate before pressing on. "Moreover, robust oversight mechanisms are already in place to ensure that surveillance activities adhere to legal standards and ethical principles. These mechanisms include judicial review and congressional oversight, serving as vital checks and balances to prevent any potential abuses of authority."
As Matty concludes his opening statement, the stage is set for a heated debate, with the opposing team ready to counter his arguments. Sandwiched between Samuel and Foster, I try to maintain focus throughout the proceedings. However, despite my best efforts, I succumb to distraction, texting idly with my football buddies. Next to me, Samuel struggles to stave off drowsiness.
This poor, clueless English Literature guy really wants to support his best friend, huh?
As much as I lament the turn of events in my wake, especially the lingering disappointment of not being able to continue law school elsewhere, I must admit: being back here feels oddly comforting.
*****
As the event draws to a close, Matty breaks away from his group and makes his way toward us. Foster eagerly closes the distance, snatching Matty in a congratulatory embrace and violently shaking the unsuspecting Golden Retriever's shoulders. "You nailed it out there, man! Never pegged you for anything but a slacker."
Matty wriggles free from Foster's grasp, a playful scowl on his face. "Skipping a few classes doesn't define my knowledge, you know?" Then, he turns to Samuel and me, his tone softer. "And my favorite ex-mentor. And roommate. Thanks for coming, guys. Means a lot."
"Anything for a friend." Samuel gives Matty's shoulder a reassuring pat. We exchange banter for a few more moments before Matty has to rejoin his group and their professor. It doesn't take long before he's free again. We exit the hotel and pile into my car with Foster in the shotgun and the rest squeezed in the middle.
Pulling the car out into the streets, we head straight to Radiant Views Plaza, our agreed-upon destination for the day to make the most of our time while still downtown. Arriving at the place, we park underground and waste no time heading straight to the food court, hunger gnawing at us after the event. It's already 2 PM, and the heat outside makes the idea of a refreshing drink all the more appealing to me. As thoughts of future summer jogs and the scalding sun loom in my mind, Foster appears beside me. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah, just need something to drink," I reply, scanning the stalls. Spotting a juice stand, I make a beeline for it, leaving my friends to decide on their own. "You guys should find something to eat!" I call out as I walk, only to realize that my friends have scattered.
Shrugging it off, I position myself by the stall and request a revitalizing blend of spinach, orange, and pineapple smoothie. It arrives promptly, and as I indulge in the first sip, a notion strikes me that I ought to watch my calorie intake until dinner. Spotting Samuel waiting alone at a nearby table, I take a seat across from him, scanning the food court for Foster and Matty. They're still in line. "You're not getting anything?"
Samuel shakes his head. "Nah, I picked up groceries several days ago. I'm just gonna cook later."
I chuckle and offer him my juice. "Want a sip?"
Samuel eyes the straw warily, his expression cautious. Remembering his aversion to salivae, I quickly wipe the tip with my polo. "How about now?" I offer again.
He hesitantly accepts the juice with a bashful smile. "I know I should be thankful that you remember, but I feel offended when you did that. But thanks." He takes a modest sip, so modest that I groan when Samuel passes it back to me. Knitting his brows, Samuel's face looks unimpressed. "What?"
"Take more sips, dude. You're barely drinking."
"That's your drink, Ty. I'm an asshole if hijack it."
"You weren't even drinking, dude, you were just tasting."
"I was swallowing. It's technically drinking."
I scoff. "Yeah, sure."
"Look at you, already comfortable in showing your inner sarcastic jerk around me."
"Sorry for caring about your dehydration, dumbass. Did you even drink anything before we left?"
Samuel ponders for a moment. "Actually, no. I don't think so."
"Buy some water then. Or if you're gonna be frugal about a bottle of water, don't act surprised that I'm gonna make you my charity case." Starting to rise from my seat, Samuel yanks my wrist. A smirk plays on my lips as I look at him letting go of me.
"I'm gonna let you win this time since you wounded my pride, dickhead." Samuel rises with a mock scowl, scanning the food court. "It's not like I'm dying from thirst, but I'm doing this just so you shut up."
With my smirk lingering, I settle back into my seat while Samuel strides toward a nearby stall to fetch a bottle of water. Once we're all gathered at the table, we commence eating — or rather, drinking for Samuel and me, while catching up amid the lunch. Samuel is in his final month of volunteering, Foster has been on the hunt for internships, covertly avoiding his thesis work, and Matty plans to focus on joining student organizations in the upcoming semester and keeping up with his debating forum. As the conversation shifts into light banter and life's general topics, Matty excuses himself to the restroom.
At first, the conversation flows seamlessly in his absence. However, all of a sudden, everyone's gaze is fixed on me. I nervously smile at my friends. "Why are you guys staring at me like that?"
Foster and Samuel exchange glances before the elk turns back to me. "You seriously don't remember?"
I continue to gaze at them cluelessly, prompting Foster to groan as he retrieves his phone. After a brief moment of scrolling, he displays a snippet of our chat history where he asks if I want to attend Matty's debate. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I simply shrug and shake my head. "You asked if I wanted to come, and I did. What's the issue?"
"Look at the bubble chat before that!"
Following his instruction, I peruse the messages and discover that today happens to be Matty's birthday. My eyes widen with panic as I nervously glance between my friends. "Shit... Don't tell me you guys have prepared something for him."
"We have, actually. But the gifts are currently at my place. We're both planning to spring it on him when you drop me off later."
"What about Quinlan?"
Samuel jumps in to respond. "He can't make it, but he said he'll give his gift tomorrow."
"Damn it... Why didn't you guys mention this before we left for the hotel?!"
"We thought you'd remember! And... Well, I guess it slipped our minds for a bit and—"
But before they can finish, Matty interrupts with a loud exclamation as he emerges behind me, planting his hands on my shoulders and causing me to jump. "HEY, GUYS!"
"Jesus, Matty! If you were in front of me, I could've decked you!" I retort, turning to glare at the mischievous guy.
"Hehe. My bad, dude." Brushing off my reaction, Matty continues with his train of thought. "Anyway, I'm thinking about hitting up Barns & Novels after this. I need to grab this... Carl Jung's book."
Samuel, Foster, and I exchange glances before Samuel speaks up on behalf of Matty. "Yeah, why not?"
Not long after, we step into the bookstore, and I engage in some window shopping while pondering what gift to choose for Matty. Shit! It just occurred to me that I'm not well-versed in his preferences. All I know is he's into metal music, but how would that translate into a gift from this store? Oh, wait! Matty mentioned he talks with me more than he is with Foster, so Foster might not be privy to much about Matty. Did he consult with Samuel? No, hold on. What if Foster actually understands Matty better than I do? Shit!
"Guys, I'm gonna wander around a bit. Just shoot me a text when you're finished and let me know where you'll be." Without waiting for their response, I break away from the group and navigate through the expansive store, keeping a vigilant eye out in case Matty catches me in the act of selecting a gift. Damn my habit of skimming through chats!
Entering the music section, I peruse through CDs, merchandise, and vinyl records, but nothing seems quite metal or practical enough for him. With a frustrated click of my tongue, I continue scouring the area in hopes of stumbling upon the perfect gift for Matty, until a familiar voice startles me. "Having trouble finding something for him, huh?"
Glancing to my right, I see Samuel examining a Matisyahu vinyl in his paw before returning it to the shelf. "What are you thinking of getting?" His gaze shifts to me.
I scratch the back of my head. "Uh... I'm not sure. Something that screams metal?"
Samuel surveys the room briefly before pointing toward a rack adorned with various merchandise. "You could grab a tumbler or glass. There are some with metal or band logos."
I shake my head. "I feel like that's too generic."
"Then what's not too generic?"
I ponder for a moment. "Maybe some clothes? But I don't see anything here that—"
"Then let's find them somewhere else." With that, Samuel casually pivots on his heels and strides away, leaving me standing there. I release a sigh of resignation and follow suit, slipping out of the bookstore and onto the concourse. As we pass by a clothing store, Samuel halts. "Wanna check this one out?"
I simply shrug, slumping at the idea of contemplating about what gift to choose. "You know what? Sure."
Entering the store, Samuel approaches an employee folding previously tried-on pants. "Excuse me, but do you have any t-shirts with printed metal band logos?"
The red panda doesn't glance up from her task, continuing to arrange the clothes before her. "Yeah, we do. But, uh... could you excuse me for a moment?" After swiftly yet meticulously folding two more pairs of jeans, she gestures for us to follow. Along the side of the store, rows of clothing display various printed shirts, ranging from cartoony designs to straightforward typography, all exuding consumer appeal. After pointing out the section where the band logo shirts are hung, the employee leaves us to browse at our leisure.
Samuel and I sift through the clothes, and it doesn't take long for me to pluck a t-shirt from the rack and present it to the Birman. "What do you think about this one?"
Samuel gives it a once-over while he continues to browse through the t-shirts. "Metallica? You sure about that?"
I'm unsure if he's subtly trying to dissuade me from my choice or simply ensuring I've thought it through. Regardless, I respond confidently. "Yeah, I think so. Can't really go wrong with a classic, right?"
Samuel shifts to the clothing display above him, his movements cautious. "Well, you're not wrong, but I think Matty might appreciate something a bit more unique than Metallica."
His words give me pause, and I scrutinize the t-shirt I'm holding. "Wait, are they considered... not good?"
"Oh, no. Just overhyped. At least that's what he told me. He said there are other better popular metal bands, like..." Then, as if on cue, Samuel interrupts himself by pulling a t-shirt off the rack and presenting it to me. "This one."
The shirt bears the logo of Iron Maiden, a loose-fit garment featuring a striking blue graphic with a wolf-ghoul creature with wild bedhead hair and white eyes, clutching a white orb in one paw while two mushroom clouds loom in the background. Comparing it to the t-shirt I initially chose, Samuel's suggestion does exude a more definitive metal aesthetic. Trusting his judgment, I return the Metallica shirt to its place as I affirm, "Let's just go with your pick."
I extend my arm, anticipating Samuel to pass it to me as he checks the size printed on the collar's tag. Then, he pauses. His brows are furrowed, lips thinning. Sensing his hesitation, I approach him instead. "What is it?"
"Just... a bit stumped at the price, is all. But I'm sure you can swing it." Handing it over, I quickly glance at the price tag. It reads thirty dollars.
I simply snicker at the sight as I fold the t-shirt over the hanger. "Considering it's fast fashion, I guess it's to be expected. But I know places where they'd charge more for something like this. Come on, let's just get it over with." We make our way to the cashier. After the purchase, the cashier places the folded shirt into a bag, and it dawns on me how to discreetly carry the gift without tipping off Matty.
Catching on to my discomfort, Samuel suggests, "You should probably head to the car and stash it in the trunk or something. I'll catch up with the others and tell them you're using the restroom."
I smile at the cat. "Yeah, that should work."
"Alright, then. Let's just get out of here first." With that, the two of us walk out of the store and split up into our respective destinations. A few minutes later, I concealed the bag containing Matty's gift under my football jersey. Rejoining my friends on the third floor, I find Matty just finishing his book purchase as I reach the bookstore entrance.
Before anybody can say anything, Matty suddenly brightens, likely in high spirits due to his birthday, and suggests with a wide grin, "Wanna try the arcade, guys?"
*****
Matthew
With a sheepish grin, Samuel extends the Walkman toward me. "Happy birthday, Matty." I accept the gift without hesitation, my eyes lighting up. Standing on the pavement right in front of Foster's apartment, I find it an unexpected locale for a birthday surprise. I had imagined my friends surprising me after the debate, or during our mall excursion, or later when Tyson drops us off at our new apartment. But here I am, and the setting matters little at the end of the day; I enjoy the surprise nonetheless.
Inspecting the headset, shaped perfectly for my Golden Retriever-sized head, Samuel provides further details. "I'm not sure how much you contributed monthly for the violin, but I reckon it pales in comparison. Found this on ePay, by the way." He turns the device in my paws. "It's the 1990's model, the WM-F2015. Pretty ergonomic too, so I hope you like it. Haven't tested it yet though, so fingers crossed it's not a dud."
"Dude, it's all good," I chuckle, sliding the Walkman into my pocket despite its snug fit in my corduroy pants.
Noticing my struggle, the Birman emits a nervous chuckle. "Shit, I think I forgot to buy a belt clip for that."
"I said it's all good, man. Thanks for this. Seriously." It's true that I'm fine with it; I'm known not only for my chattiness and aspirations but also for my habit of blasting metal music. Now, in an environment where my musical preferences are accepted, even celebrated, having a Walkman — especially a retro one — is a step toward embracing my passion. Though, admittedly, a Swiftie tumbler or a book or just anything wouldn't have gone amiss. Still, this feels right.
Foster hands me a Mastodon poster, recalling our conversation during the ride back from watching Obscure Organism. Then Tyson passes me a bag of R&M with a black Pearl Jam t-shirt inside. While I may not boast Samuel's encyclopedic musical knowledge, having friends who not only acknowledge but embrace my interests without judgment is truly comforting. There may not be cake to eat, but this is far better than having no one celebrating my birthday.
Maybe it's nostalgia for my high school friends, or perhaps it's the realization that my current friends are more genuine than those I had, but I refuse to diminish the significance of this simple birthday gesture. Despite trying not to sound overly dramatic, the absence of a birthday greeting from my mother still stings. I should have expected less from her.
I should've known that distance wouldn't suddenly make me the apple of her eye. I should've realized that pursuing law instead of psychology was me merely fulfilling her unmet aspirations. I should've realized that a part of Mom still resents me for not choosing her exclusively and still keeping in touch with my dad. Still, if there were a birthday cake in front of me right now, my wish would be for a simple text from her. I hope Quinlan and my Pre-Law buddies prepare a cake for me tomorrow.
No, wait. Scratch that — I hope they remember my birthday at all.
Gosh, am I this desperate to have a company?
As we pile my birthday gifts on the middle seat of Tyson's car, we capture a group selfie before bidding farewell to Foster, who promptly heads inside his apartment. Soon, Tyson's car takes us to our own apartment, where we bid goodbye to him as well.
Upon entering our second-floor room, I drop my gifts and the book I've bought on the couch. Samuel heads straight for the bathroom, now equipped with a bidet at his insistence, citing its superior hygiene over toilet paper — a stance I can't argue with, given its scientific backing. Meanwhile, I change into my usual attire and find myself eyeing the Walkman on the couch.
Where can I get cassettes? Which album should I get first? Which spot in my room is ideal to put up the poster? Shit, I do hope my room won't seem too angsty. I still like to maintain my minimalist aesthetic, even if just partially.
Samuel and I settle in, chatting as we queue up an action flick on his laptop. Despite the movie's allure, my attention keeps drifting to my phone, hoping for a message from Mom. By 9 PM, with still no word from her, only mundane exchanges with my old buddies and Pre-Law cohorts fill my notification. Even after the movie wraps and Samuel ducks into the bathroom for a smoke break, her silence remains deafening. The next morning, before 10 AM, I check once more — still nothing.
With a heavy sigh, I ready myself for my morning lecture, which looms just 50 minutes away. After a brisk shower and getting dressed, I step out of the apartment and directly into my car, my head making plans to snag a cassette and belt clip for the Walkman after class. Starting the car's engine, my phone nestled in the cup holder suddenly vibrates. Glancing at the screen, my mother's number flashes. Excitement courses through me as I unlock the phone, only for it to be quashed by her terse message.
Mom:
tell ur dad to pay the bills as soon as he gets his paycheck
its the end of the month
I reply with a curt "ok" before pulling away toward campus. I wish Mom would find steady employment, something more dignified than being at the beck and call of some rich husband. I wish I didn't have to feel torn between Mom and Dad. I wish Mom treated herself better.
Perhaps, if there's a belated birthday cake waiting for me, I should start making those wishes too.[]