Higher Education (20 page)

“
I could do that.
”

“
I'm counting on you. So brush your teeth and get under the covers, okay
?”

“
Okay.
”

“
Good. And call me back if you still can't sleep.
”

“
Really
?”

“
Yes. You want to have dinner tomorrow
?”

“
Can I come up to North House
?”

“
Yes.
”

“
Okay. Good night, Bry.
”

“
Night.
”

“
Thanks.
”

“
Don't mention it. See you tomorrow.” We hang up
.

The streets are cool and still. Slipping along Mount Auburn Street, my sneakers silent on the pavement, I realize I need to blow my nose. By the time I draw near the Lampoon, I'm soppy enough to pull up the neck of my t-shirt and use it to wipe my nose.

“Ooh, disgusting!” somebody yells from the Lampoon turret.

I look up and there's Teddy Anson leaning on the ironwork balustrade, grinning and wiggling his fingers at me. He's wearing a big gray Yale Crew sweatshirt, and a Red Sox cap tilts rakishly low over his brow. “Hi, Miranda,” he calls down. “What's wrong with your nose?”

“Hay fever,” I reply sourly.

“You poor thing. Hey, I finally got my mother a birthday present.”

He's looking at me with such bright-faced expectancy that reluctantly I yield. “Yeah, what?”

“A vacuum cleaner.”

“What?”

“Yeah, a mondo deluxe Hoover.”

“You're joking, right?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, sounding hurt. “Why would I joke about a thing like that?”

“Why would you buy your mother a vacuum cleaner for her birthday?” I wipe my nose again, this time using the back of my hand.

“Ooh, gross me out.”

“Doesn't the poor woman already have a vacuum cleaner, for god's sake?”

“Yes, but the Coop had a sale on Hoovers.”

“I see.”

“So I charged the biggest one I could find and had them gift-wrap it and ship it out to her.”

“Why didn't you just use Federal Express?” I say disagreeably.

“My folks don't have a charge account with them.”

“Good thinking.” I nod up at him. “I'll bet Federal Express doesn't gift-wrap either.”

Teddy doubles over with a loud whoop of laughter. “Hay fever!” he cries, slapping the balustrade. “Oh god, Miranda. You slay me.”

Tapping my foot, I wait for the chuckling to subside. “Well, Teddy, I'm afraid my nose and I have got to be running along now.” I flap my fingers at him and turn away.

“Wait!”

I halt. “What.”

“Why don't you buzz on up? We're just starting our Helen Reddy retrospective.”

“No thanks.” I haven't taken more than two paces when Teddy calls out again.

“Wait!”

“What, for god's sake?”

“You haven't called me Theodore once tonight.” He leans over the balustrade to peer down at me. “What's wrong?”

“Mind your own beeswax.” I turn away.

“That's okay,” he cries. “It happens to the best of us.” He says something else too, but I can't make it out over the rising strains of “Ain't No Way to Treat a Lady” pouring out from the second floor.

I cross Plympton Street, and as I'm going down the stone steps to Adams House I spot the pear-shaped junior ahead of me, opening the door. “Hey, wait up,” I blurt, rushing to catch the door before he lets it swing shut behind him. I grab it just in time and squirm inside, bearing down on him by the C-entry mailboxes. “Hey,” I say, tapping him on the shoulder.

He jerks around with such a look of dread upon his wan doughy face that automatically I recoil too. “Oh, sorry. Did I frighten you?”

He just looks at me, gripping his books to his chest, and in the silence I find myself noticing that the color and texture of his skin reminds me, strangely enough, of a plucked chicken.

“Hey.” I try to smile. “My name's Miranda. What's yours?”

His back straining against the mailboxes, he seems to be willing himself to disappear behind his massive armful of books. His pale eyes dart erratically in their sockets.

“I said, my name's Miranda. Who are you?”

At last he garbles something in a thin asthmatic tremor. “Mahnmzlrzn.”

“Pardon?” Leaning forward, I cup a hand to my ear. “What did you say?”

He looks ready to crawl into one of the mailboxes. “Ahsd, mahnmzlrzn.”

“Oh.
Larson.
” I break into a toothy smile of relief, and my nose starts running again. “That's some Southern drawl you have there.”

“Ahmntsuthn.”

“Oh, really?” I give a loud sniff. “Then why's your face so red all of a sudden? Looks to me like you're blushing.”

“Izmallrgeez.” His eyes are skittering wildly.

“What? You have hay fever?” I exclaim. “Say, you wouldn't happen to have a Kleenex I could borrow, would you?”

Drawing a long sibilant breath, he hoists his books a little higher on his chest. “No,” he says, very distinctly. “Ah don't. Now y'all leave me alone.” Then he lunges past me and scuttles across the corridor into the men's room, locking the door behind him.

Leaning against the mailboxes, I use my t-shirt again to wipe my nose. Then I pick at my cuticles for a little while, yawning. “Hey, Larson.”

Tomb-like silence from the men's room.

“Aw, come on out. I won't bite you, I promise.”

Nothing.

“Come on, don't be such a stick in the mud.”

Still nothing.

With a sudden flash of resentment I find myself wishing I had Gerard's shark right now.
Candygram. Special delivery
. “All right then. Be that way.”

Nothing.

“It's no skin off my nose, pal.” I sniff again, even more loudly. “But how do you ever expect to make any friends if you're going to be such a loner?”

Then I slink off, without so much as a simple
Ciao
to give him fair warning that I'm gone.
When the cat's away …

As I trudge up the C-entry stairs, I'm wondering if poor pear-shaped Larson will end up spending the night in the men's room, staring bleakly into the mirror or perhaps even doing some reading from one or another of his textbooks. Still, there are worse fates, I tell myself philosophically, and then I realize with an abrupt little jolt that UHS was actually right. I'm not pregnant after all.

That's it
, I vow.
I'm never having sex again
.

My feeling of cheerful resolve barely lasts the time it takes to ascend a single flight of steps, and in its wake comes the unwelcome yearning to cry. As I bite my lower lip, a dimly remembered voice floats through my head, echoing softly.
It's a party, remember? It's a party, remember
?

I pause on the landing, confused.
God, who said that
? I can't seem to think, and shaking my head I keep plodding upward. When finally I reach the door to C-45, I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders before letting myself in.

Inside it's that ponderous dead-of-night darkness, shadowing everything with an eerie amorphous underwater dimness. In the living room the furniture seems transmuted into vague, unfamiliar objects, shapeless and threatening.
Oh god, are they moving toward me
? I start to look around for the night-light, then catch myself.
You little dope. Grow up, why doncha
.

I creep back into the hallway. The door to Jessica's room is halfway open, and from her bed comes the low rippling growl of her snoring, rising and falling in a slow, steady glottal cadence.

Quietly I shut the door and go down the hallway into the bathroom, where I swipe one of her Tampax. After I shower I step onto the cool floor, toss the empty shampoo bottle into the waste-basket, and lackadaisically towel myself dry. I brush my teeth, avoiding my image in the mirror, and just this once I skip the floss. Then, wrapped saronglike in my towel, I pad back down the hallway, hesitating at Jessica's door to listen for a moment to her snoring.

My room feels cold. Shivering, I drop the towel onto the floor and get into bed, too tired to look for my only pair of pajamas, which in fact, I suddenly recall, I borrowed from Michael for last year's pajama party. Grimacing, I blow my nose, toss the soggy Kleenex in the general direction of the plastic garbage bag in the corner, and pull the covers tightly around my shoulders. I stare up at the ceiling in the blue-black darkness, listening to the tiny electric hum of my clock-radio. Then I curl up onto my side and close my eyes, numbly wondering if this chilly, pinching sensation in my chest will ever relax its hold.

5

SUNDAY

I cross Mass Ave in the brilliant morning sunlight, and as I round the comer onto Quincy Street I see Walt coming toward me on the uneven brick sidewalk. He's dressed in gray sweats and white hightop athletic shoes, and has on a pair of dark sunglasses that look rather like the ones I myself am wearing.

“Well, hi,” he says, smiling. “Aren't you the early worm.”

“Bird.”

Walt ducks. “Where?”

“It's just an expression.”

“Oh.” Slowly he straightens up. “You English majors.”

“What about us?”

“You talk funny.”

“Do you mean funny ha-ha or funny strange?”

“And nitpicky too. Do you have a cold?”

“No. Why?”

“Because your nose is red and you sound stuffed up.”

“Who asked you?”

“You did.” He looks at his watch. “Oh my god. I'm late.”

“The White Rabbit. Spoken like a true English major.”

“What?”

“A literary reference.”

“See? You're talking funny again.”

“Then why aren't you laughing?”

“Say, shouldn't you be out doing your pre-brunch jog right about now?”

“I have a cold.”

“You poor thing.”

“Plus I'm on the rag and I'm bloated to twice my normal size.”

“Yes.” Walt clears his throat. “Love your shades.”

“Thanks.”

“Are yours Raybans too?” He leans so close our noses bump. “I can't see a thing in these.”

“Maybe you need glasses.”

“You think so?” Worriedly he bumps his nose against mine again.

I step back a few inches. “I think you should come to brunch with me at the Union.”

“Why aren't you having brunch at Adams House?”

“Because I went around the Spee last night with a lampshade on my head,” I say evenly. “I can't show up at the Adams House dining hall until dinner at the earliest.”

“A lampshade, really?” Walt marvels. “How could I have missed that?”

“Maybe that's why you need glasses.”

“Oh dear.”

“Walt. I'm kidding.”

“You mean you didn't walk around the Spee with a lampshade on your head?”

“I mean I'm kidding about maybe you need glasses.”

“Oh.” He looks at me over the rims of his Raybans. “So tell me more about the lampshade.”

“I'll tell you over brunch at the Union.”

“Can't. Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Why are you scowling at me?”

“I'm not scowling at you.” I lift my eyebrows and curl my lips into a smile. “Come on. I'll help you steal Cocoa Puffs.”

“Well, it's nice of you to offer, but—”

“But what?”

“And now you're shouting at me.”

“I'm not shouting. Why don't you want me to help you steal Cocoa Puffs?”

“Check it out, Miranda.” With a crafty look Walt twists around and displays his bulging green backpack to me. “Two Rice Chex, three Corn Chex, four Special Ks, four Cap'n Crunches, and
six
Cocoa Puffs.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. But I need to hit at least three other houses in order to meet my brunch quota.”

“Your brunch quota?”

“Miranda, we've gone over this before.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“They allot seven dollars for brunch, remember? And my backpack isn't big enough for me to sneak out with enough boxes from a single dining hall. So I have to make drop-off stops at Adams House.”

“I'd forgotten it was so complicated.”

“Miranda, stealing cereal isn't all fun and games.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Why do I do it?” He frowns, scratching his head. “Nobody's ever asked me that before.”

“Just like nobody's ever asked you why you want to be a dentist?”

He's silent for a few moments, peering at his fingernail. Then he looks at me. “I know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why I take cereal from the dining hall.”

“Well?” My nose has begun to trickle, forebodingly. “Why do you take cereal from the dining hall?”

“Because it's there.”

“What?”

“I said, because it's—”

“You're crazy,” I interrupt, and am abruptly shaken by a violent sneeze. My sunglasses fly off and I'm still pawing at my nose as Walt, having picked up my glasses from the ground and wiped them on his sweatshirt, holds them out to me. “Thanks.” I slide them on top of my bangs, hooking them neatly over the snarl right above the hairline. “That was nice of you.”

“No problem.” Walt hikes his backpack more firmly over his shoulder. “Well, it's been fun, Miranda.”

“Come with me to the Union.” I squint at him in the sunlight.

“I'd love to, but—”

“We'll have a blast. I'll stick little gooey bits of raisins between my teeth.”

“Sounds appealing, but—”

“Just like old times.”

“I'm under a deadline here, Miranda.”