AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part 1 can be found here -
https://steemit.com/short-story/@phoenix32/journal-a-short-story-part-1
He sat in the dimly lit dorm room. The young man would be back from class within a few minutes, and his roommate was out of the room, possibly attending classes. The man tapped a few keys on keyboard and wiggled the mouse. There was a jiggling sound, as there was a roller ball in the mouse. The screen came to life, prompting him for a password, which he supplied after a couple of attempts. The man chuckled as the lock screen gave way to the desktop, a special theme attached to the Windows 98 environment. He clicked through a few icons and opened some of the folders on the system until he found that for which he was looking.
The key in the lock brought him away from the cyber-world he was visiting. The oak door was heavy, but despite that it swung open with speed. The young man stumbled into the room as he saw the older man sitting at his desk. “Oh, hey. Didn’t think I’d see you here.” The katana was propped against the wall. “How did you get in here — and with that?”
The man smiled and replied, “I’ve got my ways. I know this dorm pretty well. Plus, the overcoat helped.” He indicated to the hook in the open closet. “So… let’s talk. Melissa, huh?”
“Yeah… I don’t want to talk about her…”
“Well, actually, you kinda do, kid. It’s all here in front of me.” He turned towards the monitor, a chunky CRT encased in white plastic. “You’ve got Winamp open. First song on the playlist is ‘Everything You Want’ by Vertical Horizon. You’ve got some morose poetry going on here, too.”
The collegian sat down on his bed, dropping his bag on the floor next to him. “Yeah… I just… I love her. And she broke up with me. Broke my heart. She told me she wanted someone exactly like me, and then she goes and breaks up with me. I don’t get it. What gives?”
The man sat in silence for a moment, knowing that they had all the time in the world to discuss things, as the student’s roommate would be out and about for some time yet. His sigh was weighted. “Chief, it isn’t you. It is her. She’s got this hang up, this… thing about your past. She likes you, she might even love you, but she’s afraid and it is easier to run than to face it.
“But you know what else? You’ve got to chill out. Stop getting yourself worked up — anger, love, happiness — keep it in check. You come on too strong. Hold it back. Yeah, you feel it all strongly and you want to share it. But the world doesn’t work like that.”
The student turned away, but the man had already seen the tears begin their trail down his face. “Shut up, man. Just shut up. What do you know… How could you know… I haven’t seen you, I didn’t tell you about… her… How do you know…?”
“It’s all right to let it out now. It’s just you and me, kid. Your roommate won’t be back for a while.” The man moved the mouse and clicked the play button on Winamp. “I know how much it hurts. Believe me. But you don’t have to face this by yourself, because you’re not as alone as you think you are.”
The student spun about, failing at masking his pain and sadness with anger. Even if he had been successful, the man still would have seen through it even when no one else could or would have. “Who the hell am I gonna go to? Mom and Dad are too busy for this. My brother can’t understand. My sisters —” Opening a drawer on the desk, the man reached inside for a notebook and a pen, and he held them out to the student. “What, you want me to write…? That’s all I’ve been doing. It doesn't help. There’s no one to talk to about anything.”
The man smiled, and that only served to frustrate the student. “You know how this works. You write it. I’ll read it. And then we’ll talk about it. Don’t I always come and find you, kid? Now. Either write something, or we are going to get something to eat. It’s been ages since I ate college dining hall food.”
After burying the katana in the closet, in case the roommate came back before they did, both men grabbed their coats and headed out the door.
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The student pushed around the food on his plate, the fettuccini alfredo failing to appeal to his palate. The man with the scar, however, grinned with unadulterated delight as he repeatedly brought the fork to his mouth. They were seated in the corner of the dining hall, mostly apart from the other diners. No one seemed to notice the odd pairing of a college student with the older, scarred man. It was not unusual for older students to be on campus, or for relatives of students to eat with them at the dining hall. The distance was to allow them to speak freely.
“C’mon, kid, you’ve gotta eat something. Keep your strength up, keep food in your gut. Otherwise, you’ll get ulcers.”
He sighed, his frustration mirroring that of a toddler told to eat his vegetables, but he twirled his fork and gathered some fettuccini. The man smiled. “Ya know, I could tell you all of the cliché things: it’s gonna get better, you’re gonna find someone new, whatever. You don’t want to hear that, do you.”
“No, I want her back. I want this to be undone,” he said, his mouth full of pasta and sauce. He swallowed and paused.
“But…” the man said, prompting the student.
“But it isn’t going to happen. She’s gone, right? I mean, you know things. So tell me the truth.”
Shaking his head, the man responded, “You know how this works. I can’t tell you, one way or the other. But look inside yourself and tell me what you think. Do you honestly think that you two are completely done?”
Another twirl of the fork and a subsequent bite of pasta alfredo, mostly to give the student a few moments before answering the man. He swallowed hard, both the food in his mouth and the truth that lay before him. Unable to find his words, he nodded. The man reached out and clapped his hand on top of the student’s.
“How many other things have you been through where you’ve figured it out and I’ve been here to make sure that you’re not facing it alone?”
“Countless,” the student mumbled, more food in his mouth.
“And that isn’t going to change, kid.
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They walked back to the dorm together, their conversation minimal. They almost parted ways, but the man reminded him of the sword. They glanced up to the 3rd floor of the dorm building.
“Two to the right from the bend in the hallway, right?”
The smile that crossed the student’s face was genuine. “Yeah! You remembered!”
“Looks like your roommate is home.”
“Crap. Living with that guy is just ridiculous. He’s just so damn rude to everyone. No one on the floor likes him, and he acts like he’s better than everyone else,” the student said.
“Chalk it up to a learning experience for you. Maybe use it as some inspiration to do something better. I can’t be the only one who’s been helping you through dealing with him.”
“How are we getting your sword out of the closet?”
The man paused and rubbed his stubble-covered chin. “Guess we’ll have to distract him with something.”
They entered the building, taking the stairs to the 3rd floor. Upon arrival, the man knocked on some of the doors. The guys opened their doors and greeted the student with the typical exchange of “bro” and “‘sup.”
“Hey guys, I need a small favor. I gotta get something out of my room, but my roommate is in there right now,” the student began.
One of the guys laughed. “And he’s gonna see it and narc on ya? Gotcha, man. I owe his ass one anyway, he pissed me off when I was checking my mail.”
The student laughed as well. “Cool. Give us five minutes after we get in the room, and then do your thing.”
The guys laughed, and the scarred man and the student went on their way back to the student’s dorm room. As they entered the room, they were greeted by nasty looks and a curt tone from the roommate. They returned to their previous places, the man at the desk and the student sitting on his bed, as the only other chair in the room belonged to the roommate. They sat in awkward silence until the machine-gun fire of someone pounding his fists on the door resounded throughout the room. The student’s roommate was instantly on his feet and throwing open the door, shouting at the seemingly empty hallway. The student grabbed the katana from the closet and handed it to the man, who stashed it inside of his overcoat. The door slammed as the roommate finished his tirade.
The man and the student paid their respects to each other, as it was time to go.
“Makes sure you write something tonight, OK? And do some homework, that Discrete Math will kick your backside if you’re not careful.”
The student laughed. The pain from his breakup was still there, but momentarily forgotten as he watched his friend leave. The man, for his part, made certain to close the door with far more care and quiet than the roommate. He passed the guys from the floor as he made his way to the stairwell, thanking them for their help.
“Naw, it’s cool, man. We probably woulda done that anyway, just to mess with him.”
The scarred man continued on down the stairs and out the door. He paused as he exited, looking up at the second window to the right of the bend in the building, knowing that the student was going to be OK. He made his way across campus to the corner of the parking lot, where he hopped the fence. There was a small house there, unoccupied at the moment, and he had parked a car in driveway that led to the garage just behind the house. The owners of the car would not be missing it, as they were away. “Las Vegas, if I recall.”
Starting the vehicle, he drove an old and familiar route to bring it back to its appropriate place. It was a good half an hour behind the wheel, and he made certain to take back roads and stay at the speed limit so that he would not get caught. His driver’s license would have involved explanation that was beyond belief, and the katana sitting on the passenger’s seat would have landed him in jail, for a certainty. He made it back to the house where the car belonged, used the remote to open the garage door, and he pulled the car up the driveway. Lights off, car off, mirrors adjusted back. He locked the car with the fob and then opened the door to the inside of the house. It brought him immediately into the kitchen, and he opened the nearest drawer just below the countertop and placed the keyring back in the drawer.
The house was exactly as he had remembered it. Granted, it was a veritable museum when he had frequented it, but he allowed himself to dabble in the surrealism of the moment. He had taken a walk through the place during the daylight, before his trip to the campus, so as not to arouse suspicion with tons of lights turning on and off as he went from room to room. As it was, he needed to make a retreat. One last glance about, and he was out the door. There was a spare key on a hook on the pegboard in the garage that he used to lock the door to the interior of the house, and then he was outside and closing the garage door from the keypad that was mounted to the exterior of the house.
Inhaling deeply, he began the trek down the road. It was only about 3 miles to the bus station, and that would take him about an hour or so. After that, he needed to travel south on the bus, which would take well over an hour, if not more; and then once he disembarked, it was another mile and a half to his destination. Then he could head for home and get some rest.
—————————————————————————————————————————
The basement window was still unlocked, just as he had left it when he first departed from the house. He knew several different ways to break in, but this was the least destructive, left only the slightest amount of evidence, and was the stealthiest, by far. It was dark enough, save for the street light, but that was a matter that he had easily handled during the day by popping the panel and clipping some wires. Now the basement window was shrouded in the shadows of the night, and he easily re-entered the premises, locking the window behind him.
Slowly, as with years of practice and knowledge of the house, he made not a single sound as he made his way up the stairs and out of the basement, through the house, and into the family room. Hanging on the wall was the sword, and he produced the katana from inside of his overcoat. It was time for him to leave, despite his urge to stay and check in on the girls, the older brother, and the parents. He knew that they would be healthy and fine. He touched the hilt of the katana in his hand to the hilt of the one hanging on the wall; with that, he blinked out of existence…
… And he was home, back with his sheet metal desk and his worn out chair and the books that stood upright, held in place by bookends. He glanced out the window at the starlit sky, happy to see that which had become familiar to him, yet nostalgic for the stars that he had left behind.
He flipped open one of the journals and checked the dates until he found the one he needed — February 29, 2000. He read the entry, as he had done before his departure to see the student on the campus, and nothing had changed, save for an additional sentence: I’m just glad that I’m not facing this alone. I miss Melissa, and it’s breaking my heart that she’s gone. But at least someone understands what I’m going through, and he won’t bail on me.
“Nope, never gonna bail on you, kid.”
End of Part 2