On the Inside

Alex Thorn ’04

“History?”

“Is it time?”

“Is it?”

“Indeed, it is.”

Suspiciously vacant backpacks clinging, both boys left the one room suite with hats reversed and headphones clutching their necks. Having such a good friend as a roommate creates a likeness, a mirroring, where each becomes more like the other in a sort of inbred melding. When that door is closed, and the two boys walk side by side down the street, the wind reddening their cheeks, it’s real. There’s small talk, but not for lack of interest, but because only short words are necessary to articulate thoughts. Such a brotherhood, such bare-boned honesty, should last a lifetime as long as it’s never undermined. Alas, deceit can turn even the most stable of friendships into a wavering feather, so delicate that even the slightest breeze would cause it to vanish into oblivion.

“How’s Jess?”

“She’s fine.”

“That bitch is crazy. My advice is to drop that and find some sophomore to keep you busy.” Justin coughed.

Not out of sight of their own dorm, the two passed the Dean’s house. Rumor had it that in the front of the house sat a large, well furnished living room where suspect students were maligned in a faux family atmosphere. The curtains were always drawn and the lights were always off, for it went unused except for in its one aforementioned purpose.

“Hah! Thanks for the advice, but I think I’m cool.” Morgan started laughing. “Last night was crazy, dude. How late did you guys go after I left?”

“I don’t even know. The last I remember, Jake was telling that story… you know, the one about the witch on the mountain?”

“Yeah… now that bitch is crazy. I wouldn’t want to hear that story if I was fucked up. That would freak me out.”

When the two reached the intersection, the conversation paused as the boys did; the light was green, and, looking at his gold watch, Justin shrugged of their apparent tardiness.

“Hey, did you do the reading? I only got through like half of it.”

“Nah, man. I forgot about it until last night and by then it would have been worthless to try to read it.” Justin didn’t seem the slightest bit worried.

“What if he asks you if you did the reading?”

A beeping noise signaled their crossing.

“I’ll just lie. He’s a teacher; teachers lie all the time.”

By now, the two boys had nearly reached the steps of Academy Hall, and not even the realization that the paths of the campus had been empty for at least five minutes. When they passed through pillars from before their time, their conversation had ended, but their exchange had not. Morgan opened the giant oak door and held it as Justin passed through. The door shut slowly behind them as they headed down the empty halls to their history classroom.

However, when the two arrived, they were greeted not by the snickering of their fellow classmates or the frown of their displeased professor, but by an empty classroom and a quickly scribbled note pinned to the door.

Mr. Williams will not be in class today. Please read Chapters four and five and be prepared for a reading quiz tomorrow.

“Hell yeah, free cut! See, Morgan, sometimes not doing your homework is actually the smarter thing to do.” Justin punched Morgan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well now you have to read five chapters for tomorrow. Hah!” Morgan and Justin retraced their steps back out of the Hall. The door closed slowly behind them. “Hey, wanna go get lunch then?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head back to the dorm and edit my English paper.”

“Wow, double checking your work? That’s not the Justin Taylor that I know.”

“Well you know me; I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, Justin fit his headphones snugly over his head and turned back towards the dorm, leaving Morgan on his way to lunch.

“Yo, Morgan, where’s Justin at?” A dorm mate yelled as Morgan stepped out of the dining hall.

“I think he’s doing some work in the dorm.”

To the right of Morgan’s path lay a sentient old maple tree, so wearied from centuries of listening that steel cabling was necessary to keep it standing. Apparently someone thought that he could prevent the inevitable death of this old friend… but death’s fortitude proves greater than any of man’s obstructions in the end. She swayed as Morgan passed under her fragile limbs, and for just a moment, gazing up through her immortal leaves at the flashing sun, he walked in slow motion – free from the frenetic haste of the world around him…

Morgan arrived at the dorm keyless, forced to knock helplessly on the door until someone would open it. But, before he had knocked twice, the door swung open to reveal his house master, Mr. Molloy.

“Thanks for op---“

“Come with me, Morgan.” Mr. Molloy turned Morgan around and forced him down the stairs and back onto the road. “I take it you had a fun time last night?”

Morgan was certain he answered, but he could not even hear his own words. Malloy had found something – his study drugs, his porn perhaps – in the room. He remembered that it was always better to tell the truth in disciplinary situations, and he just hoped that Justin would remember too for his sake. By now, it became clear that Malloy was taking Morgan to the Dean’s house. As they approached, Malloy’s hand firmly prodding Morgan down the road, the house looked deserted, save for a deceptively kind glow melting through the curtains in the front room.

“Good afternoon, Morgan.” Sighed the Dean from her desk. There were three empty bottles of Jack Daniels sitting in front of her next to an open manila folder. Morgan’s heart sunk. They had caught Justin. He was done for.

“Are these yours?” She gestured to the bottles.

“Of course not.”

“Well, the fire inspector found these in your room.”

“Well, yeah, but-“ Morgan wouldn’t allow himself to aid in her efforts against Justin.

“Lying won’t help you. Justin already told us everything.” Morgan’s eyes were as large as ping pong balls by this point. The Dean glanced over the papers in the manila folder, most likely eying the one which told of Justin’s prior drinking offense. “Why don’t you go call your parents?”

Morgan put his hands on her desk. He didn’t want to tell his parents that he would have to find a new roommate.

“Where is Justin?” He demanded.

“Morgan...” the dean sighed. Morgan leaned forward – just far enough to see the name on the white label of the folder: MORGAN MABON 2005. “Don’t try to blame it on Justin. Alcoholism is a problem that you will have to deal with on your own – blaming others won’t make it go away.”

Morgan was no alcoholic, but the only one who would listen was centuries old and being held up by manmade wire fastenings. Justin was his friend, but it turned out that Trust was a son of a bitch.