He came into my home rambling

onmybed

Interesting People Post: My first UC Berkeley friend, he came over just to use the internet

He came into my house rambling about dramas. I didn’t hear him come in because I had headphones on and was editing footage for a job that is due in just a few hours. He walked up the steps and asked for me while my apartment-mate blew the last of her hash into the nippy night air. They called my name and I turned around to find his red face before me.

He’s been crying, I think to myself, or maybe not. Can’t really tell nowadays. It’s likely he’s had too much to drink. I say inside my head, but I’m not going to judge. He’s just gone through a bad break up. He just had a bad hair cut. He just finished packing the last bit of his stuff from his college apartment. Everything around him is changing dramatically. And even so he managed to take care of me this past Monday while I was dying from a cold. You’re such a drama queen, I tell myself. He rambles about moving, how hard it is to pack, and my roommate (aka Ukulele Girl) is listening in.

Ukulele Girl: Wow, you’re talking really fast right now. You should like, take a chill pill.

My friend hates overly opinionated individuals. I smile at my roommate and he rolls his eyes. She looks at me with a gaze of confusion as he slips into my bed. She does this when she can’t tell if I’m a slut. But my pal is not into the female sex.

Pal: I haven’t slept in two days!

He’s been packing. He’s been remembering the situations in his bedroom: lovers, friends, arguments, reconnections, etc. etc. etc.  He was leaving behind imprints of pain and ecstasy in this man-cave he had made for himself. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to move on. I can tell he’s talking about his ex, but I pretend to check the time on my phone. No messages, I think to myself, life sucks.

Me: We all have to move on, and I’ll be in Oakland after the summer. We can be neighbors again.

My roommate walks away after realizing that I was conversing with a gay man.  He opens his laptop and loses himself in the sea of never ending crap you find on tumblr (I love you tumblr.) I excuse myself and go back to work. He giggled and blurted that he was using me for the internet, but I just say “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!” and we move on with our lives. His home no longer supplies the nectar of the Gods — wifi. His home is empty with no electricity, with no people, and no one knocking on the door. I could tell it was getting to him. I let him be. He watched a show on my bed and devoured a 7-11 sandwich. He passed out on my bed for a good two hours as I worked on my video edit.

Oh my, I say to myself, it’s almost 2:00am! My pal attempts to stand, but I walk him to my comfy couch and tell him to settle down. There he is now, nestled between the blue blanket (I bought over three years ago with a matching one for my grandmother in Perú) and my boyfriend’s purple throw stamped with the Minnesota State University Mankato logo on it.

Yesterday he called me in tears. A box with old letters and notes from people who care about him resurfaced miraculously, as did all these hidden emotions he’s in denial about. “There’s nothing in my apartment but darkness,” that’s what he told me tonight. I offered him chicken noodle soup, the way he did this past Monday when I was drowning in mucus, but he didn’t want any of it.

I see him now through my bedroom door on my couch. He is enjoying the sleep I would like to have. Here I am typing away and only with 36% with my video rendered. God help us all.

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