Frankly, it was difficult to yack…
I tried pushing my back against the door. At first, lightly, and then very aggressively as if the door was going to bend at my will. I wanted to be a mature college student in that instance, so I prioritized. I knew I needed to get back into my room at some point, but right then, I could feel myself needing to yack.
I crawled to the bathroom not caring who saw me (thankfully, no one did) with my head hanging inside the bowl of the handicapped toilet. I’m usually opposed to gun violence, but in this instance, I pulled the trigger. Frankly, it was difficult to yack because of my weak gag reflex.
I closed my eyes, but by the time I opened them, two hours had passed. There was also a giant red mark imprinted on my face from the toilet seat. My put-together self remembered that the RA lived on the other side of the hall. (I saw her moving in earlier that day). I cleaned myself up and propped my body rag-doll fashion against my RA’s door — and knocked.
When the door opened, her immediate facial expression read, “I didn’t sign up for this.” I smiled as widely as I could and said, “Hi, Gina! Funny thing, I locked myself out of my room and my roommate isn’t home.” Luckily, she had a key (“for tonight only,” according to Gina). She opened the door for me and wished me a good night. I just smiled because my stomach hurt every time I spoke.
I collapsed on my bed, face planted into my phone, and promptly fell asleep. I awoke the next morning and, as I pulled away to allow my vision to come into focus, I found a text message on my phone: “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU DID THAT.”
Next week: The return
Written by: Terry Hudson — arts@theaggie.org
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by Terry Hudson are completely fictional and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie. The story is fictionalized, as is Terry Hudson.
