Saturday, March 2 – 10:30 AM
Owen
When I wake up the next morning, I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck. My hand hurts, my neck hurts, everything hurts. I try to sit up and nausea hits me like a hammer. I feel like I’m going to vomit, but I’m too dizzy to get up and race to the bathroom.
“Take it easy, dude,” says Craig from somewhere nearby. I could figure out where he was if my head would stop spinning.
“What the hell’s wrong with me?” I groan.
“It’s called Vicodin on an empty stomach,” he answers calmly.
My vision starts to settle out and my eyes finally focus on him. He’s sitting in the armchair across from me, flipping through one of his textbooks. I struggle to my feet and catch myself on the arm of the sofa as I lose my balance and nearly fall over again.
“God, I feel like shit.”
“You look like it too, buddy,” he tells me, shaking his head. “Seriously, go eat something. There’s yogurt in the fridge, or leftover pizza if you think your stomach can handle it.”
It feels like someone’s hitting me in the head with a crowbar as the harsh fluorescent lights flickers to life overhead. I shield my eyes from the glare of the refrigerator’s light bulb and then wobble back to the couch with a slice of cold pepperoni pizza.
“Hey Craig, what time is it?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just relax,” he answers, and I shake my head at him.
“Professor Meador needs me to grade some homework and he wants me to pick it up at noon.”
“I’ve already called him,” Craig tells me, his voice calm and peaceful. “He knows you’re not coming.”
“Craig! That’s my only paycheck!”
I try to get up from the sofa but immediately fall back down.
“I said relax! Just sit down and get some food in your belly, okay?”
“But...”
“Maria’s picking up the homework for you,” he blurts out.
I stare blankly at him, and then suddenly, last night comes rushing back to me.
Maria took me to the hospital. How did I forget that so quickly? She was here with me! She sat next to me on the couch until I fell asleep.
She took care of me all night. I remember it now.
A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I remember telling her about the pomegranate, and then my heart drops into my stomach as I remember the rest.
I told her about Dad and Samantha.
I can’t believe it. I seriously went and told her about my disaster of a family. I close my eyes and sigh as I lean back on the couch. There goes whatever chance I might have had.
I should have known that it was hopeless in the first place; why would a girl as perfect as her want anything to do with a mess like me? I have more baggage than most airlines, and unlike them, I can’t seem to lose any of it.
“Did Maria say anything to you?” I ask quietly, dreading Craig’s response.
“She told me about the Vicodin and the trip to the hospital last night,” he answers. “Sorry I wasn’t around, dude. I had no idea you were hurt. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t want your help. I didn’t want anyone’s help.”
“You just let yourself sit there with a broken hand? Seriously?”
“Yeah...”
“And here I was thinking Maria was the nutcase!”
I nod sheepishly and pick at the unappetizing slice of pizza.
He’s right—I’m totally crazy. I don’t even know why I hurt myself like this in the first place, and it’s a part of why I’m scared of letting Maria in. If I get close to her—even if she can handle my problems—what happens if I turn into my father someday? I don’t want to hurt her.
“So if you didn’t want help, why’d you go with Maria?” asks Craig, thankfully interrupting my thoughts before they went too far into the dark.
“She convinced me,” I whisper, looking down at the pomegranate still sitting out on the table. Someone popped out a handful of pips and left them sitting in a pile beside it.
I bolt upright as someone bangs on the front door and cringe as my head starts throbbing painfully. Vicodin is supposed to be a painkiller, but it sure isn’t acting like one.
“Hey, I’m back!” chimes Maria from the kitchen. Her voice is light and carefree today, and even without looking, I know she’s smiling.
I gaze at her over the back of the sofa as she carries over a giant pile of papers—a present from Professor Meador—and joins me on the couch.
“Jesus, Owen!” exclaims Craig as he stares slack-jawed at the enormous stack of homework. “You have to grade all of that?”
“The title ‘Teaching Assistant,’ is just a fancy term for cheap labor,” I answer as I eye the tower of paper. This is a lot of work even for me, though, and I have no idea how I’m going to finish it all.
“Can you even do this?” asks Maria, thumbing through the papers. “Aren’t you right-handed?”
“I can probably do it with my left. Let me try.”
It’s a struggle even to grip the pen correctly, and what comes out on the paper is illegible even to me.
“Oh wow... no, that’s pretty awful,” I admit, shaking my head. There’s no way I can do this. I don’t recognize a single word on the page, and I’m the guy who wrote them.
“Well, how about this: I have class all afternoon, but what if I come back tonight and help do the writing?” offers Maria with a caring smile.
Her eyes are warm and friendly, and an incompatible mix of remorse and excitement bursts to life inside me. I’d feel terrible to waste her time grading my assignments, but I’m ecstatic that she didn’t run for the hills after last night.
“No way,” I protest, shaking my head as vigorously as my addled, aching brain will let me. “I couldn’t ask you to do that!”
“Hey, it’s not a problem,” she says, still smiling at me. “If you feel bad about it, pay me in cocoa and I’ll do it with you all night if you want!”
Craig bursts out laughing, and Maria looks up at him confused. I groan and press my face into my good hand. Even in college, we’re still just a bunch of children sometimes.
“What’s so... eew!” gasps Maria as she finally gets it. Her face turns red as she covers her mouth with her hands and bursts out laughing.
“If you’re up for grading papers,” I say, turning and glaring at Craig as I annunciate clearly, “then I am absolutely up for making cocoa!”
“Sure,” she agrees happily, sounding almost excited at the prospect, and she hops up off the couch. “I’ll call you after I get out of lab, okay?”
“Works for me!” I answer happily, and I catch Craig making faces at me out of the corner of my eye.
“Hey Maria?” I call after her just as she’s about to leave.
“Yeah?”
She looks over her shoulder at me from the doorway. Her eyes glow with life today, and the winter wind blows her long black hair out around her as it rushes into the kitchen. I wish I had the balls to get up and kiss her right here and now.
“Thanks,” I stammer awkwardly. “I really mean it. Thank you so much.”
Her smile is warm and intimate, and for a brief second, I’m nervous as I wonder what she’s thinking.
“You’re welcome, but it’s really no problem at all. I’m looking forward to it.”
The door closes and she’s gone.