LAUREN I see the jerk first in the post office where he’s throwing away letters without looking at them. Then he comes up to me while I’m sitting at lunch with Roxanne. Reading Artforum, wearing sunglasses. Sharing a bottle of beer someone self-dubbed The Party Pig left. Roxanne probably slept with him. Roxanne’s wearing T-shirt and pearls, her hair heavily gelled. I’m drinking tea and a glass of Tab, unhungry. Roxanne looks at him suspiciously as he sits down. He takes off his sunglasses. I look him over. I had sex with this person?
“Hi, Roxanne,” he says.
“Hi, Sean.” She gets up. “FU talk to you later,” she tells me, picks up a book, leaves, comes back for the beer. I nod, turn a page. He takes a sip from my Tab. I light a cigarette.
“I tried to kill myself this morning,” he says, offhand.
“Did you? Did you really?” I ask, taking a long satisfying drag from the cigarette.
“Yeah,” he says. He’s nervous, looking constantly around the room.
“Uh-huh. Right,” I skeptically mutter.
“I did. I tried to hang myself.”
“My my.” Yawn. Turn a page. “Really?”
He looks at me like he wants me to take my sunglasses off but I can’t bear to look at him without the bluish tint. He finally says, “No.”
“If you did try,” I ask him, “Why did you do it? Guilt?”
“I think we should talk,” he says.
“There’s nothing to say,” I warn him and what’s sort of surprising is that there really isn’t. He’s still looking nervously around the big open room, probably on the lookout for Judy, who after breaking down and telling me left for New York with Franklin for the Halloween party at Area. He looks sad, like there is something on his mind, and I cannot understand why he doesn’t comprehend that I want him to leave me alone, that I don’t care about him. How can he still think I really like him? That I ever liked him?
“We’ve got to talk,” he says.
“But I’m telling you there’s nothing to say,” I smile and sip the tea. “What do you want to talk about?”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Listen. You f**ked Judy. That’s what.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Did you or didn’t you?” I ask, bored silly.
“I don’t remember,” he says after a while.
“You don’t remember?”
“Listen, you’re making too much out of this. I realize you’re hurt and upset but you’ve got to know that it didn’t mean anything. You want me to admit I feel shitty about doing it?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Fine. I admit it. I feel shitty.”
“I feel humiliated,” I say, half-sarcastic, but he’s too dumb to catch on.
“Humiliated? Why?” he asks.
“You went to bed with my best friend,” I say, trying to act angry, clutching at my teacup, spilling a little, trying to elicit some feeling.
He finally says, “She’s not your best friend.”
“Yes, she is. Sean.”
“Well,” he says. “I didn’t know that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say loudly.
“What doesn’t?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I stand up. He grabs my wrist as I reach for the magazine.
“Why did you still sleep with me if you knew?” he asks.
“Because I didn’t care,” I say.
“I know you do, Lauren,” he says.
“You’re pathetic and confused,” I tell him.
“Wait a minute,” he says. “Why should it matter how many I f**ked? Or who I f**ked? Since, like, when does having sex with someone else mean, like, I’m not faithful to you?”
I think about that one until he lets go of my wrist and I start laughing. I look around the dining hall for another table to sit at. Maybe I’ll go to class. What day is it?
“You’re right, I guess,” I say, trying to make some kind of exit.
Before I walk away from him wondering about Victor still (not wondering anything in particular, just vague nothing wondering) he asks, “Why don’t you love me, Lauren?”
“Just get out of here,” I tell him.
SEAN The rest of my day.
Me and Norris are in Norris’s red Saab driving into town. Norris is tired and hungover (too much MDA, too much sex with various Freshmen). He’s driving too fast and I don’t say anything about it; only stare out the window at the gray clouds forming above red and green and orange hills, “Monster Mash” blaring on the radio bringing this morning back.
