Friday, March 20, 1998

10:48 AM

Megan rolled over.

Grumbling in a half-awake war with her bladder. She was losing, but didn’t want it to know she knew yet. Somewhere in her semi-consciousness she became aware she wasn’t alone. Eyes fluttering, she let in the light revealing Horatio’s crotch.

Bending at the waist, he put his grinning, bearded face in hers. “Morning, Sunshine.”

Groaning she pulled her pillow and most of a sweatshirt over her face.

“It’s time to get up,” he informed her back.

Shrinking into a fetal position, she tried to hide. It was from this position she caught a whiff of herself. Wasn’t she supposed to take a shower? She called the part of her brain responsible for last night. It didn’t answer, she was willing to believe it was dead. “Go away. I smell,” she instructed from under her impenetrable pillow shell.

“She’s coming around,” Horatio informed a third party.

Rifling through a rolodex of likely suspects, Meg reviewed her state of undress and how appropriate it was for mixed-company. Like, her underwear didn’t have any embarrassing rips or tears, did it? Was she even wearing underwear? Check. Which ones? The green ones? Oof, why? They were for laundry days and her period, why was she even….

Lazily the sweet abyss of slumber reached out to reclaim her.

“You are coming around, right?” Horatio jarred her back.

Resisting reality’s advance only furthered her bladder’s agenda. If history taught her anything, it was something about wars and two fronts. With several pillow-muffled invectives, she prepared the terms of her surrender.

“This is the part when I remind you, you asked for this,” Horatio excused his presence and persistence of same. “Also, Eric’s here,” revealing the identity of her Mystery Date.

“Hey,” Eric announced timidly.

Weaving one arm free of the blankets to wave – shooting her arm in the air and letting it fall heavily back on the bed. Couldn’t it be anyone else? After her mooning phase there was a shrinking number of people on campus who hadn’t seen her butt, and she had hoped to graduate with that number more or less intact. “What times’it?”

“Ten of eleven.”

“That’s the devil’s hour,” she splayed on her back, and took the pillow away from her head. Fixing her blurry vision on the scribe to accuse, “Why didn’t you call?”

“You said I’d be wasting both of our time,” Horatio recited.

That did sound like her, she nodded. Willing herself to sitting, enough to actually see Eric she gave the heavyset boy another wave, only slightly better than the last one. Adjusting his glasses he meekly extended his fingers in the bare minimum of a wave back. How could a kid so big look so small?

Doing a cursory nipple check, she judged she was mostly decent and let most of the blanket fall over her lap. Searching the head of the bed, she grabbed her smokes. Catching another whiff of herself for the movement. “Seriously, can I take a shower?” She rubbed her eyes with one hand as the other singled out a butt.

“We’re already behind schedule. Can you promise this shower isn’t going to turn into us following you around campus for an hour and a half as you ‘just need one more thing’?” Horatio prosecuted.

“Yes?” Meg squinted and lit her cigarette.

Horatio tilted his head disapprovingly, “Megan,” he stated paternally.

“No,” she admitted mopily.

“Then, no.”

“But I smell!” Meg lifted her arm and pointed to her armpit.

Horatio leaned in and showily took a sniff. “You don’t smell,” he lied. A white lie. It wasn’t near offensive and Horatio knew better than to say yes if he wanted to be on the road anytime soon.

“It’s full on onions and… like, rotten plums, man.”

“No it’s not, and you’ll be outside, no one will notice,” Horatio assured.

“You won’t be saying that Sunday on the ride home.”

She probably had him there, but for all of the rigamarole of getting into the senior dorm, he was already running behind. “Coolers are in the car,” he defended his time table.

Rubbing her eyes more heavily this time, Meg groaned in defeat. Whatever man, she was trying to do them a favor. Reluctantly she scanned her immediate area for pants that didn’t require her to stand. Instead she found a sweatshirt, and her towel lying at the head of her bed. Dimly remembering dropping it there last night and thinking she’d just lay down for a minute. After that, all was darkness.

That was a no on pants though, huh? No ashtray either, she noted, ashing on the floor. Seconds too late Eric helpfully offered the one from her desk. Taking it with a smile she zeroed in on a burnt down joint among the butts. Rescuing it, she leaned over to put it atop her cigarettes for later.

Eric glimpsed down Meg’s shirt, and found somewhere else to look. Landing on a discarded bra. In fact, his every attempt to find someplace safe was met with another underthing taunting him. He imagined Meg didn’t so much undress as violently eject used clothing in all directions.

“What can I do to help?” Horatio finished his internal count of how long Meg was allowed to smoke and look blearily around the room. “Take your bags down?”

Meg froze. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her. Not only did that not work, he perfectly interpreted the sudden panic in her eyes. There were no bags to take down because she wasn’t packed.

Horatio sighed. Loudly.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she insisted, cigarette dangling from her lips. Pivoting at the shoulders she drew a mental map around her suite. “Alright, you, and you,” pointing at the boys respectively, “go over there and turn around,” she motioned toward the door. No need to be shy in front of the scribe – worst underwear or not – but she wasn’t there with Eric.

“We’ll go outside,” Horatio turned Eric around by the shoulders and excused them both.

“No, seriously, just get over there,” she waved in the vague direction of away from her. Stopping Horatio long enough to hand him her cigarette. “Hold this.”

They dutifully reported to their post.

Throwing off her blanket she began the mad dash around her space. First priority was a less hideous pair of underpants. Chucking the green ones toward the future-problems pile, before pulling on a decidedly less embarrassing pair of white ones with a miniature, useless bow on the front.

Eric tried not to notice the mirror hovering in his periphery. Failing once, but he contended it was no easy feat, and it was only the—twice… damn.

Butt literally covered, she sifted through her rainbow of cleanish laundry to identify the bra least likely to give her boob-itch. Pulling it through her shirt sleeve to perform Houdini contortion fastening herself in. Pants were required in polite society, she reminded herself when her arms reappeared. Oo! Even better, she grabbed the overalls from her stereo. Oversized, comfortable, and perfect for camping. In a jingle of straps and clasps she deemed herself fit for company.

Jaunting over, she recovered her cigarette from Horatio’s awaiting hand. “You can look now, pervs.”

Eric flinched, afraid she was referring to him in specific.

Phase two began with a duffle bag. Grabbing it from the floor she emptied the previous contents in a pile by her bureau. And launched into a complicated dance, fetching clothing from drawers and furniture. Checking each item off her mental checklist: handful or panties, handful of socks, another bra, three T-shirts, that sweatshirt from the bed, her poncho, two pairs of jeans – one of which might be shorts – and a pair of sweatpants.

Landing back at the bureau, she rifled through for toiletries. Applying a quick pass of deodorant under her arms before throwing the stick in with the clothes. It wasn’t the shower she needed, but it’d have to do. Lastly she grabbed her bowl, bag and cigarettes and slid them into oversized pockets. Smokes last as she stopped to deposit the burned roach in the soft pack. Pausing she assessed her readiness, everything else was in the bathroom, which her bladder reminded her was a necessary stop.

Slowly Horatio began clapping. Eric joined in, genuinely impressed.

“I’m going to need to stop for smokes,” it wasn’t a question.

“Can it wait until the Last Gas Station on Earth?”

Meg did some quick math: how many cigarettes she had, versus how many she’d smoke between here and there, factoring in she would smoke less in Horatio’s car. “Totally.”

“Excellent. What else do you need?” her friend prompted.

“I am brushing my teeth!” she announced as if someone was arguing with her.

“I’m sure we’ll appreciate that,” Horatio nodded allowingly.

Meg pushed open the bathroom door.

***

Next Chapter: Prologue