Status: a re-upload. currently active.
Shades of Gray
[three]
Turns out the someone that I end up meeting is just some guy named Tyler. Tyler is completely normal, majoring in Social Science, minoring in Biology. Personally, I think it should be the other way around, but I can't talk, as someone who majors in Business and minors in Chemistry. According to Jack, Tyler is not the guy he wanted me to meet.
"Szalkowski," he informs me for the sixth time, but I still can't get his last name right.
"What language is it?" I ask, tracing the texture on the wall. We're back on campus and I'm wide awake, now, drained of all energy, but my eyelids aren't so heavy anymore, and while my vision is still blurry, the worst that's happening is my constant yawning.
"I don't know," he tries back, and he sounds kind of exasperated. "I'm white. That's all. Not everyone goes on goddamned ancestry.com every five minutes."
"Hmm."
Jack sits on the desk in Tyler's side of the room, diagonal to me. The dorms here are pretty small, smaller than mine, even, but pretty big for Freshmen. My first year I had a bed and a desk and half a wardrobe all crammed into a space ten feet long and two and half feet wide. I'm laying in Tyler's roommate's bed, someone who apparently wouldn't mind it. It still makes me sort of anxious.
He's inspecting the bottle of pills Tyler previously dosed me with, of which were also his roommate's. When I swallowed five of them he gave me a rather disapproving look, and he's making weird faces at the bottle now, so if worst comes to worst, I just took steroids.
But damn, they made me feel a lot better.
"You could nap," Tyler suggests to me, but I am quick to protest.
It's 11:11 AM, but I don't think wishes count in the morning. I am quick to brush off Tyler's suggestion. I seem recharged enough. Or at least, I can pretend I'm recharged.
Jack throws me a granola bar, and I send Lisa a text reassuring her that I'm fine, and hey, good luck on your date with Dan or whatever. (I don't text her the whatever part.) I eat the snack slowly, since adults have always told me as a kid that eating slowly fills you up more. It's not like I refuse to eat, it's more like I forget to.
I've been forgetting a lot of things lately.
The granola bar feels heavy and clumpy and all too gross as it travels down, but I let it make it's way down to my stomach, because I'm actually really hungry.
"I thought Caleb was your roommate," Jack says after a few minutes of silence, the only constant sound of the wrapper of the bar. He hands the bottle of pills back to Tyler, who stores them away in the wardrobe crushed next to the bed I'm laying on.
"He was, but he moved into a co-ed second-year dorm with some guy named Rian. Said it wasn't cool rooming with a bunch of Freshmen," Tyler responds.
"He is a first-year," Jack scoffs. "It's his own fault for not getting his twenty four units complete on time. And for failing general Ed American Literature."
Tyler shrugs.
"You're pretty calm for someone who just passed out," Jack comments. "You were out for...what, twenty minutes?"
"That's enough," I tell him. "I feel much better."
"Did you dream?" Tyler cuts in, and Jack throws him a are-you-fucking-stupid-you-have-short-term-memory-when-you're-unconscious-you-woudn't-remember-if-you-dreamed look.
I shrug in response. "So," I say, in attempt to change the subject. "What were those pills?"
"Funny enough," Jack responds, "the label didn't say. Some kind of receptor to block adenosine."
Tyler and I give him a blank look.
"Caffeine," he says. "A hell of a lot stronger than the load you've had. You're probably sick from too much caffeine, but I bet you can't tell, because this shit has cocaine in it."
"Cocaine?" I'm not sure who says it, Tyler or me, but we're both baffled either way.
"It's a weird combination, and I'm not sure how whoever made this has managed to make a compound out of both chemicals, but it's not impossible."
It's 11:23 AM and I'm already high on two drugs, one that may or may not be illegal.
The room door begins to unlock, and a guy dressed in a hockey uniform steps in, face flushed and out of breath.
He seems to notice my laying on his bed, and my heart starts to beat faster than it seems it already was. I hate being in situations like this, because while Tyler said he wouldn't mind, I'm scared to death of his reaction.
Except he doesn't seem to have one.
"You look like absolute shit," he tells me with half a laugh, moving over to Jack, pulling him up for a 'bro hug' with a short "Sup, man, how've you been?"
There's short chatter for about eleven minutes, something about the room next door and room confusion, and what's wrong with having a gay roommate? but I tune it out, adjusting my beanie.
"So," hockey uniform dude says, clapping his hands once. "What can I do for you?"
Jack shrugs. "I thought you'd might be able to convince this dude to sleep."
"Derek is probably the king of sleep," Tyler comments. "When he's not rushing to finish homework last minute or eating, he's sleeping."
"That's putting it lightly," Derek tells me. He rolls his eyes at Tyler really quick. "And making it seem like I'm lazy. I'm narcoleptic."
"Uh," is all I can fit out.
"Alex here," Jack moves over to sit next to me on the bed, "is an extreme insomniac."
Derek picks up his bottle of pills from the shelf, unscrewing the cap and popping three in his mouth, swallowing them dry.
"We gave him some of that," says Jack. "Of which speaking of, why the hell do you, diagnosed neurological disorder, have something as messy as whatever that is?"
Derek brushes off the question, staring at me intently. "Why the fuck would you give him caffeine if the goal is to get him to sleep?"
"His heart rate was way too slow. If it had calmed down any more, he would've slipped into a coma."
Derek and Jack are both studying me like some kind of animal. Tyler does his own thing on his bed, earphones plugged into his gigantic Toshiba laptop.
"I think I'll just see a doctor," I mumble. "Someone who knows what he's doing."
"Dude, every doctor I went to just told me I needed more exercise. It took five years and two psychiatrists for my mom to be convinced I wasn't some troubled lazy teenager and with hallucinations before she even let them scan my brain. Even now, she refuses to pay for my meds," Derek tells me.
"Okay, well, I don't have a mom problem," I defend. "I just want to not be tired. Or sleepy."
"Then sleep."
I don't want to mention what happens when I sleep.
It's eight seconds past 11:39. My heart rate feels too fast.
The clock inside my head has begun ticking again.
"Szalkowski," he informs me for the sixth time, but I still can't get his last name right.
"What language is it?" I ask, tracing the texture on the wall. We're back on campus and I'm wide awake, now, drained of all energy, but my eyelids aren't so heavy anymore, and while my vision is still blurry, the worst that's happening is my constant yawning.
"I don't know," he tries back, and he sounds kind of exasperated. "I'm white. That's all. Not everyone goes on goddamned ancestry.com every five minutes."
"Hmm."
Jack sits on the desk in Tyler's side of the room, diagonal to me. The dorms here are pretty small, smaller than mine, even, but pretty big for Freshmen. My first year I had a bed and a desk and half a wardrobe all crammed into a space ten feet long and two and half feet wide. I'm laying in Tyler's roommate's bed, someone who apparently wouldn't mind it. It still makes me sort of anxious.
He's inspecting the bottle of pills Tyler previously dosed me with, of which were also his roommate's. When I swallowed five of them he gave me a rather disapproving look, and he's making weird faces at the bottle now, so if worst comes to worst, I just took steroids.
But damn, they made me feel a lot better.
"You could nap," Tyler suggests to me, but I am quick to protest.
It's 11:11 AM, but I don't think wishes count in the morning. I am quick to brush off Tyler's suggestion. I seem recharged enough. Or at least, I can pretend I'm recharged.
Jack throws me a granola bar, and I send Lisa a text reassuring her that I'm fine, and hey, good luck on your date with Dan or whatever. (I don't text her the whatever part.) I eat the snack slowly, since adults have always told me as a kid that eating slowly fills you up more. It's not like I refuse to eat, it's more like I forget to.
I've been forgetting a lot of things lately.
The granola bar feels heavy and clumpy and all too gross as it travels down, but I let it make it's way down to my stomach, because I'm actually really hungry.
"I thought Caleb was your roommate," Jack says after a few minutes of silence, the only constant sound of the wrapper of the bar. He hands the bottle of pills back to Tyler, who stores them away in the wardrobe crushed next to the bed I'm laying on.
"He was, but he moved into a co-ed second-year dorm with some guy named Rian. Said it wasn't cool rooming with a bunch of Freshmen," Tyler responds.
"He is a first-year," Jack scoffs. "It's his own fault for not getting his twenty four units complete on time. And for failing general Ed American Literature."
Tyler shrugs.
"You're pretty calm for someone who just passed out," Jack comments. "You were out for...what, twenty minutes?"
"That's enough," I tell him. "I feel much better."
"Did you dream?" Tyler cuts in, and Jack throws him a are-you-fucking-stupid-you-have-short-term-memory-when-you're-unconscious-you-woudn't-remember-if-you-dreamed look.
I shrug in response. "So," I say, in attempt to change the subject. "What were those pills?"
"Funny enough," Jack responds, "the label didn't say. Some kind of receptor to block adenosine."
Tyler and I give him a blank look.
"Caffeine," he says. "A hell of a lot stronger than the load you've had. You're probably sick from too much caffeine, but I bet you can't tell, because this shit has cocaine in it."
"Cocaine?" I'm not sure who says it, Tyler or me, but we're both baffled either way.
"It's a weird combination, and I'm not sure how whoever made this has managed to make a compound out of both chemicals, but it's not impossible."
It's 11:23 AM and I'm already high on two drugs, one that may or may not be illegal.
The room door begins to unlock, and a guy dressed in a hockey uniform steps in, face flushed and out of breath.
He seems to notice my laying on his bed, and my heart starts to beat faster than it seems it already was. I hate being in situations like this, because while Tyler said he wouldn't mind, I'm scared to death of his reaction.
Except he doesn't seem to have one.
"You look like absolute shit," he tells me with half a laugh, moving over to Jack, pulling him up for a 'bro hug' with a short "Sup, man, how've you been?"
There's short chatter for about eleven minutes, something about the room next door and room confusion, and what's wrong with having a gay roommate? but I tune it out, adjusting my beanie.
"So," hockey uniform dude says, clapping his hands once. "What can I do for you?"
Jack shrugs. "I thought you'd might be able to convince this dude to sleep."
"Derek is probably the king of sleep," Tyler comments. "When he's not rushing to finish homework last minute or eating, he's sleeping."
"That's putting it lightly," Derek tells me. He rolls his eyes at Tyler really quick. "And making it seem like I'm lazy. I'm narcoleptic."
"Uh," is all I can fit out.
"Alex here," Jack moves over to sit next to me on the bed, "is an extreme insomniac."
Derek picks up his bottle of pills from the shelf, unscrewing the cap and popping three in his mouth, swallowing them dry.
"We gave him some of that," says Jack. "Of which speaking of, why the hell do you, diagnosed neurological disorder, have something as messy as whatever that is?"
Derek brushes off the question, staring at me intently. "Why the fuck would you give him caffeine if the goal is to get him to sleep?"
"His heart rate was way too slow. If it had calmed down any more, he would've slipped into a coma."
Derek and Jack are both studying me like some kind of animal. Tyler does his own thing on his bed, earphones plugged into his gigantic Toshiba laptop.
"I think I'll just see a doctor," I mumble. "Someone who knows what he's doing."
"Dude, every doctor I went to just told me I needed more exercise. It took five years and two psychiatrists for my mom to be convinced I wasn't some troubled lazy teenager and with hallucinations before she even let them scan my brain. Even now, she refuses to pay for my meds," Derek tells me.
"Okay, well, I don't have a mom problem," I defend. "I just want to not be tired. Or sleepy."
"Then sleep."
I don't want to mention what happens when I sleep.
It's eight seconds past 11:39. My heart rate feels too fast.
The clock inside my head has begun ticking again.