Diane is waiting for me by the bike racks outside of the library. Her coral colored coat differentiating her amongst the other students walking around her. I finish locking up my bike when I hear her stomping towards me, a clear look of a mixture of annoyance and yet excitement contorting her features.
"Soledad Gutierrez," she starts and with just that I can already know what is coming.
I grimace.
"Yes?"
"Did you, or did you not watch it?"
Turning fully towards her, I grab a hold of both of her shoulders, hoping our friendship won't end the second I say:
"No, I'm so sorry."
"Sol!"
"I was busy okay?" I take a step back, grabbing my backpack from my bike's basket. "Things kind of got complicated because the guy of the house and I had to fix that first. I swear I'll watch the show tonight — after finishing my essay."
"It's the greatest thing ever, I can't understand how you're not watching it already." We walk into the library as a gaggle of students tries to push their way out of the door, this creates an awkward shoving of bodies that should only really be experienced if you've camped outside of Best Buy for three days on Black Friday because stupid Billy wanted that Nintendo Switch and you're supposed to be a "good" parent.
I usually don't like coming into the library when I'm not working, I know too many people here, but there's nothing really that you can do when you're a student on campus. We had to do a research paper for our English class like a week ago, but our Professor extended it so there is nothing I can truly complain about. Lenient teachers are a gift sent from heaven.
The doors of the elevator whine open to reveal the third floor of the building. This area holds most of the computer equipment for the students and the majority of the tables that would allow for groups to meet amongst the bookshelves and old video tapes. While the place is supposed to be silent there is a persistent murmur amongst students that is not allowed on any of the other floors in the building and it is somewhat of a relief as I spend most of my time in this place as silent as a corpse.
Diane places her backpack on top of the table closest to the floor-to-ceiling window panes, her hoop earrings glinting as she sits down in front of me. I take off my jacket and take out my English folder where I have the notes for the story we're researching. The Yellow Wallpaper. It's a pretty standard read and one I covered before I got into college, after all, I love my good old feminist papers. Learning about rebel women in the past has always fascinated me. Charlotte Perkins Gilman is not different. Her mystifying approach to postpartum depression and the oppression her character felt was only mirrored by her own sorrow in her real life. She was miserable and this is clearly shown in her story, which makes the powerful ending more important.
"So what happened with the house guy?" Of course, I told Diane about what happened, what kind of friend do you take me for? I might not have told her about how I fell on my ass while running away from Ethan, but she pretty much knows all of what went down.
"I mean, I think it's over, but I wouldn't be too sure." Ethan hadn't looked the happiest I've seen him this morning, and that's to say a lot since every time I've encountered him he has been in at least one of the four stages of Anger (those being all made up by me, mind you). "He left without taking the invitation to the club so I hope he gives it a rest."
"You do know that I still think you're crazy for joining that club, right?" She takes out a highlighter from her bag, one of those mid liners that you see in those studyblrs (hint: study + tumblr) that was the only reason why you truly started a planner before you gave up because your handwriting is hideous.
I shrug, passing her the notes I've written on the short story, "True, but I'm already in it."
"You know, that sounds closely like something someone who is in a cult would say."
"Oh, fuck off, I told you he said that."
"I mean, he's not wrong."
He's not, it's truly annoying how many things I can agree are logical about his arguments. I know I'm on the wrong about, well, most of the things we have argued about so far, from entering his house to the complete lack of legal bindings the club seems to have; and while I consider myself to have a good moral grounding, I can't say I know where the lines are drawn in the HIstory Club. Shaking my head, I take a sip from the nearly cold coffee I still have.
"Here's the thing," I say once I place my cup down, "the school's clubs are shit."
Diane leans back, nodding in agreement.
"We have an anime club, for Christ's sake, and I'm not shitting on anime, I love my good old Dragon Ball Z and Soul Eater as much as that guy in the dark corner does, but you have to admit that writing "president of the Anime Club at Westray College," does not sound appealing on anyone's resume.
"When I applied to the History Club I didn't know that I'd have to break into the Winston's house to 'gain' my seating, I don't think anyone does, and while I am not the person to come talk to when it comes to being traditional, I don't think, or I didn't think at the time, that there was much to do about it. Carlos -- I've told you about Carlos -- went to the middle of town and climbed on top of the Founder's statue while only wearing underwear, it was two in the morning in January. Anna, the President, managed to get on the roof of the school, I don't know how, and draped a giant picture of Obama --"
"Wait, that was her?" Diane seems surprised, not that I can blame her, no one knows who does what when it comes to the club until you're in it, I'm technically breaking policy by mentioning it to my friend, but considering the vice president is also my best friend I don't feel like I have much to fear.
"I don't even know how they got the Winston's key in the first place," I tell her, lowering my voice as a small group of guys pass by our table, "all they told me was that I had to get a fork, and I did, and now I'm in this mess."
"Well you did a good deal in getting "in this mess.""
"Diane."
"I'm just saying."
"Okay, yes I fucked up, but here's to hoping that it all gets fixed."
"And that you won't go to jail."
"Diane."
"I'm serious, I don't want you going to jail, who am I going to bother when you're gone?" She bumps her cup of coffee with mine as I shake my head, trying to concentrate back on our project, after all, Charlotte Gilman is way more interesting and a lot more important than my ever existing fear of the authorities coming to get me.
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I get the first message around six in the afternoon. I have just finished my shift in the library and I am more than ready to go home when I feel the vibration against my thigh and for a moment I think it's mom just before I realize that it's too early for her afternoon classes to be done.
I reached into my pocket, the dread of already knowing who it is slowly creeping up my spine as it has for the past few days. I try to reassure myself thinking that it might be Anna with news of the Club, or perhaps Carlos asking whether or not we're going to order pizza and marathon the newest season of Peaky Blinders, but I know deep inside who it is.
I shouldn't have assigned him his own notification sound. Letting out a slow breath I unlock my phone and lower the notification bar to see what he sent before I make the mistake of letting him know I've read his message.
Ethan: Where do you guys meet?
I bite my lip, holding back the urge to answer with something sarcastic that won't give me any friendship points with him. Not that I want to be his friend, but getting along with him could help me feel better about the whole breaking in ordeal.
I am easy to guilt trip, go complain about me repeating this over and over to someone else.
I text him our room number and the times we meet during the week before putting my phone down as soon as I can. It's not that I don't want to see if he answers, but it is just that I don't want to see if he answers. I sealed my fate the moment I replied to him and I am not about to back out, but that doesn't mean that I have to check if he'll reply with an: Ok cool, or nothing at all.
The air is nice and crisp this time of the year, cool, but not cold enough to require a scarf. I place my backpack in the basket of my bike and move to unlock the padlock when I catch sight of a light green jacket worn by someone walking by me. I don't know this person, but their jacket is cute and when I make to stand up I accidentally push my bike, which in response throws my backpack out of the basket. My backpack crashes against the floor, and so technically does my laptop inside of it.
"Oh shit, oh no," I whisper, kneeling on the floor, the air leaving my lungs as I nearly rip the zipper out of the fabric. It's not like I have a Macbook or something like that, I live for the aesthetics, but even with a job, I don't have the kind of money that would allow me to get an Apple product, let alone an Apple laptop.
My laptop appears to be okay, or at least it does when I crack it open in the middle of the sidewalk leading to the library. I do notice that some people are giving me questioning looks so what I do is more of a search for battle marks rather than assuring that it is okay. Once I'm sure there is no big crack running across the screen I am somewhat relieved and can put it back inside my backpack.
To prevent something like this from happening again, I put my backpack on before righting my bike and finally moving it out of the rack.
I feel a vibration against my thigh, but I'm too preoccupied with my stuff so Ethan will have to wait till I get home before I can start worrying about everything else that is going wrong with my life.
🌥
So, remember how I said my laptop seemed to be alright? Yeah, I lied.
I clap my hands together exhaling slowly through my nose as I stare at the multi-color screen shining in front of me. It has happened three times now, I tried restarting it three times already and it happens every time. It seems to be doing fine, flashes the opening logo three or four times, then instead of the screen saver several colors seem to blend into the image of a wannabe blue screen of death.
Your PC ran into an error that it couldn't handle, and now it needs to restart. Ok, I might or might not relate to my computer on a deep personal level because of that message, but it still does not fix the fact that I do not have the money to get a new laptop.
Concha meows next to me, pushing her head against my lower arm and when she notices I'm not paying attention to her she walks up on my keyboard and sits down, staring deep into my soul with eyes that say: "Feed me."
I'm such an idiot, I shouldn't have placed my backpack in the basket until my bike was unlocked. Now I'll either have to fix the stupid thing or buy a new one and aside from the money factor, I'm not compelled to do any of those things because I know my parents are going to give me the talk about how I can't have nice things for more than a couple of months before I break them. Which, in and of itself, is kind of true but I don't need them to rub it in. I earn my own money, I buy my own things, and I break such things, which hurt twice as much as if they'd been a gift.
Groaning, I pick Concha up in my arms, laying down on my bed and placing her on my stomach as I pet her head.
I could go and look for old laptops in pawn shops, but my first laptop ever was from a pawn shop and it died a month later, so I don't really trust them. It's not like I just can't have a laptop, that's scholar suicide these days, and while the library does offer a computer lab for the majority of the day, I'd still need it for my online class and the essays I write at two in the morning.
I should be feeding my cat and making dinner for Dad and I, but instead, I grab my phone, quickly opening up my texts and sending Diane a message saying:
If I give you five dollars, will you run me over with your car?
She's used to my morbid jokes, it's truly what keeps me going from day to day, humor and the reminder that one day all humanity will cease to exist.
I put my phone down, staring at the ceiling of my room for a moment, though she answers nearly immediately. One look at my screen saver nearly makes me forget about my laptop, though.
"Shit," I sit back up, Concha purring offended at the fact that I dared to move when she was falling asleep comfortably on top of my chest.
I didn't text Diane. Of course, I didn't, the universe seems to be plotting against me today and I should have known something else was going to happen again before the day was over.
Ethan: ??
I try to brush it off. He doesn't need to know about my dark humor, or the fact that I ignored his text for some good four hours before messaging him with an offer to take me out of my misery, although if we're being fair if there was one person out there who might entertain the idea of running me over with their vehicle, it would possibly be this man.
Another ding of my phone. He sure is talkative today.
Ethan: Are you ok?
I begin to type a long message somewhere along the lines of : Oh well my computer is dead, and I'm hungry, and my cat won't love me because I knocked her over...before I realize what I'm doing and quickly delete it.
Sorry lol, that was meant for someone else.
Ethan: Oh, ok, but you didn't answer my question.
I feel confused for a second before scrolling up to the message I had ignored all afternoon and realizing he had asked me whether or not we could meet before the Club meeting this week. There is a possibility of using the volunteer hours at the history department as an excuse since Carlos and I will be there before the meeting starts, but I can't be bothered to be mean at this unholy time of the night.
Sure, why not. I can meet you there with a friend.
Ethan: Sounds good.
I put my phone down, just as Concha finally approaches me once more when it dings again.
A nap. I need a nap. I think, turning on my screen.
Ethan: Also, bribing people to run you over is a bit morbid, have you tried ice cream?
That gets a small laugh from me. It's oddly refreshing not to see him questioning me about his key all of a sudden, but this of course doesn't make me want to full on appreciate the power of friendship and bonding over dark humor.
I'll try some, thanks.
This time when I shut my phone I take Concha in my arms, getting up from my place on my bed and walking towards the kitchen to get her some food.
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