Joel

He called while I was in the shower. I didn’t listen to the message he’d left; I called him back immediately without even bothering to pull on a pair of boxers under the towel at my waist. While the phone was ringing, I checked the class schedule pinned to my roommate’s bulletin board. He was in lab for another forty-five minutes. Perfect. I pulled off my towel and slung it over the back of my desk chair. I relished these precious moments when I knew I had the room to myself, took advantage of them however I could. The line came to life. “Hello?”

“Joel, man, how’s it going?” I fell into a sitting position on my bed, back against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles over the edge.

“Pretty good, pretty good. Nothin’ special to report.” He spoke slowly with a heavy southern accent, voice deep and gravelly. “You?”

“About the same,” I said. “College life, I guess. You know. I got midterms next week, so that’s keeping me busy.”

“I bet. Any good classes this semester?”

“Yeah, actually.” I leaned forward and placed my pillow lengthwise between my back and the cold wall. “Philosophy, economics, art history. Just some prereqs.”

“Cool, man. I’m, uh…I’ve been readin’ some, uh, some Marx in my spare time. Made it through the Communist Manifesto. Good stuff.”

I laughed. “Yeah, definitely, good stuff. So, what’ve you been up to? I haven’t heard from you in a long time, I was starting to think you died or something.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Nah, dude, still goin’. I got a job as an electrician, it’s badass, I get to climb telephone poles ‘n’ shit. Fixed up a transformer this mornin’.”

“Nice.” Silence for a couple seconds. I rubbed my hair with my free hand, top, left side, around the back, right side, drying it a little more. “Where are you living these days, man?”

“I got myself a place in Round Rock a couple months ago. It’s pretty sweet.”

I sat up straight. “Round Rock? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It was time to move outta the house, man. The parents were drivin’ me apeshit. I got my own apartment now.”

I grinned and punched the air. “Dude, I live half an hour away from you.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah, man, you’re like thirty minutes north, tops.”

He laughed. “Holy shit, that’s awesome. We’re gettin’ together. What’re you doing Saturday?”

“Actually, I think I’m busy on Saturday.” I scratched my stomach. “How’s Friday?”

“Friday’s no good, man,” he said. “I work a couple nights a week at Kroger to pull in some extra dough. What’s up on Saturday?”

I slid forward onto my feet, stood up, began to pace back and forth on the crappy green carpet I’d borrowed from our garage back home. “It’s nothing, it’s just…I promised this friend of mine, Trevor, I said I’d go to a thing he’s having at his apartment.”

“A thing? Like a party?”

“Yeah. I told him I’d go.” I added, after the briefest of hesitations, “You can come, if you want. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Nah, man, I don’t have a car. You got one?”

“Yeah, I do.” I drove a used BMW that I’d bought from my neighbor the previous summer and paid seven hundred dollars a year to park it in a garage halfway across campus.

“Then getcher ass up here, man. Get shit-faced here, get shit-faced there. What’s the difference?”

“Well—”

He cut me off. “Well, what? I haven’t seen you for three years, dick wrinkle.”

I smiled to myself. Another pause. Without realizing it, I had wandered over to my desk and was sifting through the spare change I kept in a plastic cup next to my laptop. “See, the thing is, there’s kinda this girl that’s gonna be there.”

Taryn. Shoulder-length brown hair, green eyes, good complexion, a smile that couldn’t make me not smile back. We’d met in my philosophy class when the kid in the front row had launched into another anecdote tangentially related to the topic at hand. Okay, stop talking now, I’d whispered, eyes shut, squeezing the bridge of my nose. She’d been sitting in front of me, had actually turned around, winked, smiled. We chatted every Tuesday and Thursday after that, before and after class, nothing substantial.

“Oh, okay, I see what’s goin’ on,” Joel said. “You wanna get yourself laid this weekend. It’s cool, man. Blow me off for some chick. Whatever. I can drink by myself and cry, it’s not a big deal.”

“Nah, it’s not like that,” I said. I’d lost count of how many college girls I’d met and fallen in love with only to lose interest once I got to know them. Maybe I had high standards, or maybe weekend keggers weren’t the best way to find a steady girlfriend. Either way, that hadn’t happened with Taryn (not yet, anyway), and I considered it notable. I almost felt an obligation to myself to pursue the possibility of her and me. Of us. I was hoping that with a couple beers in me, I’d be able to talk my way into buying her dinner.

“What, you like her or something?”

“Little bit. She’s…yeah. A little bit.”

“Aw, that’s cute. Just don’t blow it by doin’ somethin’ stupid like bein’ yourself.”

I sat down in bed again, pulled at loose threads in my blanket. “You’re just jealous ‘cause my date for this weekend doesn’t have pit hair.”

“What the hell’re you talkin’ about, man? I’m your date for this weekend. You’ll see her around campus, right?” Pause. “Right?”

“Yeah, probably. We’re in the same philosophy class.”

“See? Exactly. I haven’t seen you for three years, man. I miss you. It hurts sometimes.”

I smirked. “I love you, too, man. We’ll see what happens, I’ll let you know sooner than later.” My phone beeped once, twice, three times. “Hey, can I call you back? I’m getting another call, I think it’s my friend about this group project due next week.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“We’ll see.” I pulled the phone away from my ear to hang up and remembered something I’d meant to tell him. “Oh, and Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m naked right now.”

Silence, then a click as he hung up on me. I laughed and switched over. It was my mom, asking if I’d read the e-mail she’d sent that morning.

* * *

“That it?” Joel asked, finishing an overly complicated knot. He stepped across the chasm between the bow and solid ground.

I looked around. Life jackets were all hung up on their posts. Fishing poles leaned against the wooden railing, spaced carefully so the lines wouldn’t get tangled. Three ropes secured the sleek Malibu to the dock, one in the front to anchor it, one each on the port and starboard sides to keep it from bumping the edges and scratching the paint. We’d refilled the gas tank so the next guy who took it out wouldn’t get stranded and have to use the walkies we carried around for emergencies. “I think so, man,” I said. “Let’s head back.”

“You on break now?”

I checked my watch. “As of seven minutes ago. I got noon to two off today.”

“Same here, dude. Movie in the staff lounge?”

“Sure, sounds good,” I said. “Let’s drop by the dining hall first to grab lunch, though.”

“Good call.”

Joel and I stepped into our flip-flops and walked side by side down the pier. The cabin area, the closest of them about thirty feet back from the water line, was more or less empty; everyone was already at the dining hall except for the kids who had to change out of wet swimsuits. The sun beat down on us from directly above, making even the shortest of treks around the grounds a formidable task. The breeze coming off the lake did little to mitigate the July heat. As much as we encouraged the kids to wear sunscreen every day, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the rest of us that to take this precaution was, in Joel’s own words, to “pussy out.” Our red faces and peeling arms were marks of our small act of obstinate rebellion.

The dining hall came within view as we crested a sloping, dusty hill. Everyone should have been inside already, but campers and counselors alike were crammed underneath the front porch area, vying to stay in the shade. We took the steps two at a time and found ourselves face to face with Charlie. “What’s goin’ on?” Joel asked.

“Cabin One was supposed to be doing KP, only they just got here a couple minutes ago. Mark forgot about it,” Charlie answered. Kitchen Prep – folding out the tables, setting them, filling water jugs, nothing a group of nine-year-olds couldn’t handle with a little supervision. The duty belonged to a different cabin each meal. It figured that Mark, of all people, wouldn’t bother to check the schedule at breakfast. Forgetting to lock the archery shed or showing up a couple minutes late to chapel was one thing, but if there was one job it was unspoken to never mess up, it was KP. Dropping the ball meant keeping ninety hungry kids and fifteen hungrier counselors out of the air-conditioned dining hall just that much longer.

“Son of a—” A passing kid (Sam? Sean?) grinned up at Joel, eyes wide, anticipating the swear. Joel glanced at him. “What’re you lookin’ at, little dude?”

“Nothing.” The kid feigned innocence, broke Joel’s gaze and looked out across the lake.

“That’s right, nothin’. Keep movin’, man.” Joel clapped the kid on the shoulder. He pulled off his backwards ball cap and ran his fingers through his long, unwashed hair. “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go in there and help Mark out. Charlie, keep the kids entertained, play guitar or something. Do a repeat song. They love those. Chris, grab lunch for the two of us outta the kitchen, then ask Rich if we can borrow one of his videos. You know he gets pissy when people use ‘em without asking, even though he keeps them in the fu—” He caught himself, looked around. “—in the lounge. Meet you there in ten.”

“I’ll help you and Mark out, I don’t mind,” I said.

“Nah, you covered my rear couple days ago, ‘member? I owe ya. Gettin’ lunch is more important, anyway. You screw it up, that’s on you.”

The staff lounge was just an extra cabin, the one furthest out from the main office and the dining hall. We’d pushed all the bunks up against one wall to make room for a foosball table with a broken leg, a fourteen-inch TV with a built-in VHS player set up on an extra chair, and the removable backseat of Charlie’s truck that we called our couch. Piles of forgotten belongings, towels, t-shirts, books, empty packs of cigarettes, candy bar wrappers, old issues of Maxim, shampoo bottles, littered the room. One of the light bulbs was burned out. The AC was finicky at best. Ants had appropriated the windowsill for themselves and were ready to launch an assault on the top bunk adjacent to it. It was a shithole, not half as nice as even our normal cabins, except for the trumping factor that no campers were allowed in, period, no exceptions. I was splashing lukewarm water on my face when Joel ripped the door open.

“Fuckin’ Mark!” he shouted.

“I know,” I said.

“That’s the fourth fuckin’ time this term, asshole. People gotta cover his ass ‘cause he’s prob’ly jackin’ off when he’s s’posed to be checkin’ the fuckin’ schedule!”

“I know.”

He paced around the cabin, seeking out pieces of trash to kick viciously as he went. “I was with him in a cabin a couple weeks ago, he got sick and took two days off. Two fuckin’ days, loungin’ in the nurse’s clinic while I’m dealin’ with ten fuckin’ kids by myself. He comes back when he’s better, takes over for like ten minutes, and then, get this, goes on his two-hour break. If the kids hadn’t been watchin’, I woulda punched him in the fuckin’ face.”

“Dude, chill,” I said. “We’re so close, man. Three more days this week, kids go home, we clean up, and then we’re outta here. Summer’s over, you never have to see him again. Just…just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m gonna punch him in the fuckin’ face right before we leave, that’s what I’m gonna do. He deserves it, you know he does.” He jumped up onto the couch, holding his arms out for balance as it rocked back and forth.

“So what’re you doin’ after camp ends?” I asked loudly. “Headin’ home?”

“Nah, Eric asked if I wanted to live out here for a while. Cigarette?” He pulled a pack of Marlboros out of the cargo pocket of his shorts.

I nodded. “Let’s head around back.”

“Nah, just smoke on the front porch. Kids’re all at lunch, no one’ll see.”

“Fair enough.”

We went outside and sat on the front steps of the cabin, underneath the shade of the awning, where the concrete was just bearable enough to touch to bare skin. Joel lit my cigarette first, then his. I inhaled, pulled it away, breathed the rest of the way in, closed my eyes, felt my head and fingers and toes tingle. All I’d had that morning was two cups of coffee and a Pop-Tart. No wonder it was hitting so well.

“So you’re living on camp for a while?” I asked.

“Yeah, at least through December. Groups come out every weekend, churches, schools, stuff like that. I’m gonna run programs for ‘em. Prob’ly do maintenance stuff during the week.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, I’m lookin’ forward to it. How ‘bout you? What’re you up to when you get outta here?”

I tapped the ash off the end of my cigarette. “Shit, man, I got two weeks left of summer, then senior year. AP classes, SAT, ACT, college apps, writing for the paper, editing for the yearbook. You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, you’re gonna have it so easy here. Look at all this.” Waves lapped up against the lakeshore. A passing skier about a hundred feet out waved at us. We waved back. I shook my head and took a drag. “You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be studyin’ too, actually, now that you mention it.”

I looked over at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I figger with all the free time I’m havin’, I’m gonna try and study for the GED. I turn eighteen next April, I’ll probably take the test then, go to a community college in the fall. Can’t do jack shit that makes money without some kinda degree. I’m thinkin’ environmental science, that’d be cool.”

“Think you can do it?”

Joel displayed his goofy, dog-like grin. “Just ‘cause I been home-schooled since first grade doesn’t mean I’m a dumbass, man. I can read. I can count. I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ fancy private school like you to get into college.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the step and tossed it into the barbecue pit. “Movie time?”

I stood up and stretched. “Yeah, sure.”

“What’d they have for lunch?”

“Corn dogs. I grabbed like ten of ‘em.”

“Sweet.”

* * *

After hanging up with my mom, I decided to lie down for a quick catnap before dinner. I didn’t sleep. I thought about the last real conversation I’d had with Joel – some random break during the last week of camp when we chilled in the staff lounge and fell asleep during a movie. We didn’t have much free time after that between our daily responsibilities and the chaos of closing down, and the end-of-camp banquet had been more of an occasion for back-slapping and bellowed inside jokes than quiet reflection. I’d think about him from time to time, remind myself to call him or shoot him an e-mail, but I’d inevitably forget.

Just go. You know you want to see Joel. It’s been three years.

This is my chance to talk to Taryn about something other than David Hume’s design argument for the existence of God. I can’t pass this up.

He really wants to see you. Don’t let him down just so you can talk to some girl you may or may not pursue some kind of relationship with over the next two months.

If she hooks up with some other guy while I’m getting piss-drunk with an electrician, I’m gonna regret it.

That’s not fair. He’s not an electrician, he’s your friend. He’s Joel. You saying you don’t want to slum with someone whose life plan doesn’t include a seven-figure salary?

I’m not slumming.

You go to Trevor’s party, you’re gonna put way too much pressure on yourself to try and win her over. You’re gonna get all nervous and awkward, like always, and you’re gonna scare her off. Don’t set yourself up to get let down. Be a man, ask her to coffee after class next week. Just leave your college life behind for a night, get away, clear your head, relax, catch up with an old friend. That’s exactly what you need this weekend.

“Screw it,” I muttered. I rolled over, picked my phone up from the bedside table, and called Joel. I told him I’d be there on Saturday, wouldn’t miss it for anything.

* * *

Joel’s apartment was in a pretty seedy part of town. The streetlights were all out, so I occasionally had to swerve my car one way or the other to illuminate the numbers painted on the curb with my headlights. The sidewalks, where there were sidewalks, were stained and littered with broken glass, weeds growing about ankle-high between cracks in the pavement. Loud hip-hop and shouting echoed down the street from a house up ahead. A shirtless man who had to be in his thirties, sitting by himself on a front porch, silver flask by his side, stared me down as I cruised by.

I pulled into the parking lot and turned the engine off. As I was getting out of the car, almost as an afterthought, I peeled the GPS I’d gotten for Christmas off the far corner of the windshield and tucked it inside an empty fast food bag under the passenger’s seat. I double-clicked the lock button on my key ring, tried the door handle to make sure it had worked. The crumpled post-it note in my pocket said to take the stairs up to the third floor.

The complex was built motel-style, with an uncovered walkway on each floor leading to individual apartments. Dead leaves, dried mud, cigarette butts had accumulated along the edges of every landing in the stairwell. I reached the third floor and strode down the porch, squinting to read the faded numbers on each door. My left shoe squelched in something wet. I turned around and walked backwards to see what it was. Yep. That’s vomit. Awesome. I knocked on the door. While I was waiting, I felt like a bullfighter as I stamped and slid my foot on the doormat to clean my shoe off. The mat was filthy enough already that I didn’t feel bad about it.
The door opened. Joel looked exactly as I remembered him – shirtless, tan, scruff along his jaw and down his neck, greasy hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “Chris, man!” He pulled me into a bear hug. “Holy shit, it’s good to see ya. C’mon in.”

I stepped in and looked around. Bed in the far corner, a chest of drawers, a couch with a tear traversing one of the cushions, a basic kitchen, a circular wooden table with two mismatched chairs pulled in close, a door that presumably led to the bathroom.

“It’s nothin’ fancy, but it’s home,” said Joel. “Can I grab you a beer?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

He grabbed a Shiner off the counter. He twisted the cap off and handed the bottle to me. Classy, compared to the Keystone and Natty Lite that most college parties offered; Joel didn’t mess around, apparently. He pulled cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one, offered them to me.

I shook my head. “No thanks, man, I quit. Dunno if you’ve heard, that shit’s bad for you.”

He wiggled the pack. “C’mon, Christine, just take one.”

“Maybe later.”

“Whatever.” He tossed the pack onto the table. “Take a seat, man. Kick yer shoes off and stay a while.”

I laid out on the couch, Joel took his bed, and we reminisced. We joked about the problem kids from each term, pranks we’d pulled on each other, pranks the kids had pulled on us. We dredged up inside jokes I hadn’t thought about in years, quoting funny (whether inadvertently or purposefully) exchanges and one-liners, complete with voices and exaggerated gestures. The stories got louder and more dynamic, overlapped each other as we indulged ourselves in the past. Joel had kept in touch with everyone from camp more than I had, so he filled me in on what they were doing these days – Charlie had a B.A. in English and was teaching high school. Rich was married with a kid on the way. Eric, our boss, had left the camp and was starting his own business.

“Christ, everyone’s so grown up,” I said, setting my drink on the coffee table. “That just leaves you and me, I guess. The young’uns. Not ready for the real world quite yet.”

“Speak for yourself, man,” said Joel. “I’m the one with the nine-to-five, ‘member? Work sucks.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Yeah, well. College isn’t exactly a picnic, either. I got midterms next week, two tests, two papers, a group project we haven’t even started on. I’m just not gonna sleep, I already know it.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Dude.” He took a swig. “I’d rather work than deal with all that shit.”

I looked over at him. “You just said that work sucks.”

“Yeah, but at least with work, I don’t hafta keep screwin’ with wiring when I get home.” He laughed. “Work’s not that bad, I guess. Better than school.”

Something clicked. “Hey, so, whatever happened to that GED you were telling me about?”

“Huh?”

“Remember? Last week of camp, you said you were gonna study for the GED, take the test, go to college?”

He thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah, that. I bought the book, never really looked at it. There’s a lot of stuff in there I don’t give a shit about. Fuck algebra, man. I don’t want to do algebra.”

“You ever gonna come back to it?”

He shrugged. “Eh, maybe. I don’t see why I need to any time soon.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Look around, man. I’m doin’ pretty well. I work all day, come home, pop open a beer, maybe do some readin’, maybe watch some TV. Paycheck covers rent and utilities with plenty left over for food ‘n’ shit. I’m set.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah. Why?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, what’s up? You look like you got somethin’ to say.”

“It’s just…it’s nothing. Forget it.” Joel just looked at me. I thought for a moment before I spoke. “You’re really content with this?”

“Of course, man. Why shouldn’t I be?” He leaned back, put his bare feet up on the table, laced his fingers behind his head. Sitting there on his couch, in his shitty apartment, puke drying in the crevasses of my loafers, my BMW parked outside, I realized that Joel and I were two friends with nothing in common but the past. There was no point in arguing this one.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said. “You are doing pretty well for yourself.”

Busy Busy Busy

I’ve decided that I like being busy. Sure, I’ll complain about it in conversation, talk about how many papers I don’t want to write or how many meetings I don’t want to go to, but the truth is, I like it when I have things to do. The alternative to having things to do is…well, not having anything to do, which is fun in very small doses. I’m always excited when the semester ends and I get to go home because it means no responsibilities, complete freedom, well deserved vegging. It’s great for about twenty-four hours. I’ll lounge around the house, watch TV, put on a movie, maybe head over to Starbucks, and then I’ll realize, “This sucks.”

We define our lives by how we occupy our time. I’m a student – I go to class, I write papers, I study for tests. I’m an RA – I work the desk, go on rounds, chat with residents. I used to be an actor – I’ve spent more hours in the UCPA and in Parlin than I could even begin to count. I’m a musician (an aspiring one, anyway) – I write songs in my spare time, put them to music on my keyboard, even record them occasionally down at DJ’s studio. I’m a reader – I read. I’m a writer – I write. You get the idea.

My problem is that I’m a very bad self-motivator; I always have been. The more time I have to do something, the less likely I am to do it. I keep telling myself, “I have plenty of time, I’ll do it later. It’s only one chapter. That’ll take like thirty minutes, tops. I’ll do it after lunch.” Three guesses on whether I ever get around to it. My productivity (and, correlatively, my grades) spikes during hell week of whatever show I happen to be in because I just don’t have the time to procrastinate. I get everything done on time, sometimes early, because I can’t do it later. Go figure. I feel worthwhile, I feel like I’m getting things accomplished. Obviously, weeks like these come at the expense of both sleep and sanity, but man, am I productive.

And yeah, when it’s all over, I’m burnt out and exhausted, but thinking about it, that’s no worse than the excruciating boredom that occurs during June and July and random Thursday afternoons when I’m done with homework but no one else is. It’s amazing how much effort the smallest things seem to take when there’s nothing else to do. “I finally have time to check out that book, but that means walking all the way over to the library. Meh.” “I can see that new movie, but that means looking up times, wrangling people to go, driving to the theater, paying eight bucks, etc.” “I could turn on the TV, but the remote’s all the way over there. Not quite worth it.” The boredom is so pervasive that it makes even these minute attempts at entertainment seem insurmountable, let alone anything legitimately exciting like catching a bus downtown to go exploring.

I think that last semester was as horrible as it was due to all my free time and my lack of activities to fill it with. Outwardly, I bragged about my one class on Tuesday/Thursday and how it was over at 11:00 a.m., but in reality, I dreaded going back to the dorm because I knew the rest of the day was going to go downhill from there. I read a lot, I slept a lot, I talked with Sean and Rey a lot, but in retrospect, I feel like I don’t have anything to show, tangible or otherwise, for that entire five-month period. When I have free time, I don’t do anything, when I don’t do anything, I don’t know how I define myself, and when I don’t know how I define myself, that’s a slippery slope that took me a while to come back from.

But anyway, in the same vein as my original point, I’m extraordinarily busy this semester, and I like it. With the combination of RA stuff, maintaining a social life, and Plan II Physics, I barely have time to crap. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays are all eight-hour days before I even get to homework. Thursdays are a little better, only five hours. Friday and Saturday are my chilling-out days, and Sunday is my homework day. There are random nooks and crannies of spare time to amble around the Quad or hang out with an off-campus friend (late nights, right after my last class of the day, etc.), but for the most part, my time is booked, and I couldn’t be happier.

Tonight, for example, I still have to write my weekly RA report and read a chapter of my Comm textbook. I can stay up as late as I need to because my first class isn’t till noon tomorrow, but I’ve spent all day working the desk, reading for my Holocaust class (crazy interesting, crazy depressing), reading for Physics, and attempting the new problem set with Aubrey and Saul over dinner. I keep wanting to call someone at 1:00 a.m. for an impromptu Kerbey Lane run, but it might get to the point where I have to make time for such a spontaneous event in my schedule. Bummer.

But at least I don’t define myself as a Lostpedia fact-checker anymore.