2006-02-01
campus visit
We trudged across the campus. Thayer said he used to skate there before the guards caught on. So far, he'd pointed out a lot of skatboarding settings, including the fountains (not a good idea) and the Metrorail parking lot (a worse idea).
The dorms looked like dorms--except for the hard-nosed security people. At the front desk, they made me sign my name on the dotted line. We marched inside like prisoners in a police lineup, moving through one glass door and out another. Kids sat on steps, smoking cigarettes and laughing too loud. We scooted past them, up a curvy carpeted staircase. Bass leaked behind a door. Thayer ducked down and tiptoed around the corner, looking like a sneaky cartoon character up to no good.
Toad spotted us before we could surprise DJ. The room was devoid of decoration--just the same generic green couches with fake wood trim. The boys hunkered over the mix table and twiddled a few knobs. Toad dropped a needle on the record, wiggled it back and forth, and stood back to survey his handiwork. He never stopped smiling.
I sunk my foot through a balloon until it stretched and squeaked and finally popped. Everyone spun around. Most of them didn't look old enough to drive, much less consume gallons of free booze--chugging, puffing, and dancing.
"Who are all these people?" I asked Thayer.
He was sipping a pink drink that seemed to produce its own light. "Beats me." He grinned. He gave me a sip. It tasted as tart as it looked.
"Yuck," I said.
"That's all they have left," he drawled in extra-slow syllables.
A short, compact girl tugged Thayer's sleeve. For some reason, she wore a T-shirt dappled with damp blotches. He bent down to hear what she shouted. I watched them struggle to converse. After a while, I left.
Toad snuck up behind me. He glanced at the girl who was talking to Thayer and said, "Is this a wet t-shirt contest?"
I snooped around in search of food--finding the crumbled remains of what appeared to be pretzels. Spotting a basket of chips on the windowsill, I drifted in that direction. A ghetto blaster perched beside it. Someone (probably DJ) had taped an index card to it with this hand-printed message:
"Feel free 2 use. Tape deck don't work."
Thayer found me and smooched my nose. "There you are!" he said.
DJ beckoned him to the mix table. After he left, I decided to investigate. I clomped down the stairs, passing numbered doors, most of which were closed, though some were spread wide open, revealing a college-sized mess.
Outside, the cool air startled me. A group of chatty girls were passing around a cigarette that nobody seemeed capable of lighting. I flicked my Super Lighter, inciting a round of shrieks.
I stared up at the warm, buttery windows and wondered what it was like to live there. Then someone hugged me from behind. Thayer stroked my hair.
"I missed you," he said, as though we had been parted in a world war.
"Ready to leave?" I asked.
He nodded.
We headed back up the stairs. "Here's DJ's room," he said. The door opened. On the other side was Toad, slumped on a narrow bed beneath a Brittany Spears poster, slowly rolling a joint. It seemed to take a lot of effort. Thayer left to say his goodbyes. I sat in a green upholstered chair and watched Toad sprinkle his weed. Earlier, Thayer had told me that Toad used to have a little business on UM's campus. This was surprising--not the business, but Toad's involvement. He made an unlikely drug dealer.
A wide-eyed Indian girl poked her head into the room. She seemed incapable of speaking. Her male buddy provided the translation:
"She would like a hit."
"It's not ready yet," Toad said, sounding like he was baking a cake.
They left without shutting the door. I kicked it closed.
"Thanks," said Toad. "So...has anything surprised you about UM?"
"No." I shrugged. "Not really."
f-i-n at 11:42 a.m.