Unfair

“I know the world isn't fair, but why isn't it ever unfair in my favor?”
-Bill Watterson

I sat in my room, at the desk, and stared at the book in front of me. My eyes moved across the page, but didn’t absorb the words.

My thoughts drifted to the real human interaction I had had that afternoon. He had chosen to talk to me. Hadn’t been forced in any way, shape, or form, to communicate with me. Maybe it was just to see who I was, to get rid of the mystery and discover the plain girl that I was, and then he would move on. The idea of that made me both grateful and scared.

Grateful because I would be able to go back to the way things were. Get a college degree and possibly work with children. I hadn’t decided what yet, maybe a teacher, or a child psychologist. The children had looked up to me when I had worked with them. They hung on my every word. I told them stories that I had made up off the top of my head. I would be able to get on with life normally.

Scared because, what if I never really communicated to people in this way again? What if I was frightfully boring and I was only put up with because I was a good worker? Never invited to office parties or get-togethers with co-workers to celebrate something. What if this was the moment that changed everything and made my future unexpected and exciting? It would be lost forever if this didn’t work.

I put my head on my book and willed away those thoughts. I tried to not think of the future and how depressing it could be, I just couldn’t take it. I just couldn’t comprehend the vastness of the “what if’s” and the power that they held. Everything was a “what if”, but I wanted to be sure of my future. I wanted a set path that I could follow and possibly be happy with. If not happy, then content.

The chair I sat in creaked as I straightened myself. I gazed back down at the page of Russian history and sighed. It was no use. My mind was too muddled.

It frustrated me. It was odd. I liked it and hated it at the same time. After years of the same routine, how could one boy, one person, shake the foundation of myself? It made no sense. I snapped off the light, disappointed with the lack of studying that I had done. After a night’s sleep I would wake up and find myself clear-minded. I told myself that over and over again as I brushed my teeth. I repeated it as I changed into the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants I would wear to bed. It ran through my mind as I put my hair up into a bun and slipped underneath the covers of my simple, comfortable bed. It—

I sat up straight.

I could have sworn… I shook my head and laid back down. Then I heard it again.

There was a knocking somewhere on my floor of my dorm. I looked around, trying to locate what direction it was coming from. Then I looked over my left shoulder, where the wall to the outside was. The head of my mattress was at the outside wall, while the foot was in the center. The desk I had been sitting at a few moments ago was close to the right side of the foot of the bed. The only window in the room was placed near the head of my bed.

I was staring out of it as I located the noise.

It was probably someone’s boyfriend sneaking into the girls’ dorms after curfew. I laid back down.

The knocking came again. Maybe the boyfriend can’t find the girl’s window, I thought drowsily.

It came again. I yawned and turned my back to the window. I needed to sleep.

A rapping noise shocked me out of sleep and I whipped around to look at my window. There was nothing there, but I went to the window anyway. I unlocked the latch and pushed the window, it swung to the right.

I stood still for a moment, staring out the open window. The breeze fluttered into my room as I called out,

“Hello?”

A face swung down into my view and I strangled a scream. I quickly recognized the face. It was that Irish boy. I dashed to the window and looked to the left. There he was, balancing on the three-inch ledge that ran across the second story.

He grinned down at me.

“Can I come in?” he asked a little breathless.

I sputtered for a moment before I backed away from the window and let him grip the window frame with his hands. He placed his foot on the bottom of the frame and grabbed the sides of the frame with his hands. In a quick movement he heaved himself into my room and landed on the balls of his feet, barely making any noise.

After a few seconds of processing what just happened, my face heated up. A boy was in my room. A boy I met a few hours ago, the one that had wanted to know my name. He had been the one going from window to window to find me.

“So it’s Deirdre, huh?” His voice tore me from my reverie. He was standing at my desk holding the history book, looking inside the front cover.

I felt my face color some more before I reached for the book. He was too quick though. The boy was able to jump over my bed with no problem, book still in his hands.

“I’m not saying that I hate yer name. Mine’s worse. There’s no doubt about that.” He smiled wryly. This perked my interest.

“Fine. Now that you know my name what are you going to do?”

He looked up from the book and contemplated for a moment.

“I still need te know yer favourite color,” he smiled truly.

I thought for a moment.

“If you tell me your name I’ll tell you my favorite color. “ It seemed like a fair trade.

He took another moment to think. “Now where’s the fun in that?” he grinned.

I stared at him. What was it that he wanted? Was this a twisted game that he thought up?

As I thought his eyes wandered around the room and took in the sight. His hair was completely ruffled from the wind that hit the side of the building, so was his shirt, but his jeans looked untouched. The material was wrinkled, but not from his adventure on the ledge of the building. It seemed to balance his image out though.

What was with this boy?