I am excited when I get on the Bus. I am beaming. I
put up my hood on my official YC ’93 jacket and officially Smurf it up. I join
in a rousing chorus of the smurf’s theme song with fellow members of the BIG
TEN chorus. I am benevolently bi-polar. I make sure Daisy is looking when I
point out the window and say that it looks like we are passing by an ADULT
BOOKSTORE to our left. When Spencer looks out I nail him in the nads as hard as
if humanly possible. I even forgive Jim for being a penis the entire trip. I am
cursing. I am in London. I am a disgusting fifteen year old male.
Josh is now the responsible one. He mispronounces and
tells us all to quit being so smurfmoric.
The Big Ten as a whole applauds Chris as he pulls into
the Gloucester. We are the Big Ten. We are one.
There is no Harmony anymore. There is no vying to be
with the creature I held so close at the dance only three nights ago—a creature
from bumfuck Washington state where all the serial killers vacation. A creature
whose emotions seem to vacillate every two minutes, as if she is entering
menarche for the first time. I am through with trying to find Harmony. Now
there is Rita. Rita with the long stream of Macassar Ebony hair that looks velvet when
tied back. Rita whose smile looks like parchment Jane Austen would employ to
write a frist draft of Sense and Sensibility on. Rita who is from Wisconsin and who lives maybe
four hours away, and not something like 20 hours by car like Harmony. Rita who is athletic and claimed to be a ghost at breakfast this morning. Rita whose smile looks like classical sheet music. It is Rita
now. I am calling her tonight. Maybe I will speak with her until the flaring
orb of the Nerf ball sun rises over the bridge of the Gloucester. Maybe I will
confess things to her. Maybe I will tell her about how many times I tried to
win this trip and how many times I failed.
Somehow there is Rita. Somehow I should have
recognized our rapport earlier. Somehow it is only her smile magnetically
welded to the refrigerator of my chest. I am calling her tonight. I am hearing her voice. The
neon lights of London are cascading against the feeble tint of the bus windows.
I am calling her tonight, I am going to say something and feel her smile splash
against the coastline of my cheeks.It is all about Rita. Fuck the Big Ten. Fuck Harmony for always leading me on. Fuck her bovine hormonally-accelerated roommate who probably has udders in lieu of nipples.
I am in London.
I have her
number.
It is all about
Rita.
Because of parking restriction Chris lets us out on Brompton road five blocks away from the hotel. We are rowdy. We are smurfing it up. Dandelion-Grace passes us upon exiting the bus and I take a jab at the blonde-ingenue stating that the reason she kept writing so many run-on sentences in English was because she could never locate her period. There is laughter. I am accepted. I have officially boarded the Dandelion train. We are smurfing it up. We form our conga line and la-la-la through London. We are three blocks from the hotel. All of a sudden I feel push and I lunged into the ground. It is Jim Baker, jumping on top of me. He is on my back creating a Quasimodo shadow. I turn around several times, disconcerted. Baker is saying that he loves this guy. He buckles his legs around my waist. I cannot support his weight. I am spinning around like a carousel. I tell him to get off. Jim kisses my cheek. I am giving my Big Ten nemesis a piggyback ride one second and the next the two of us have toppled. I am on my knees.
Because of parking restriction Chris lets us out on Brompton road five blocks away from the hotel. We are rowdy. We are smurfing it up. Dandelion-Grace passes us upon exiting the bus and I take a jab at the blonde-ingenue stating that the reason she kept writing so many run-on sentences in English was because she could never locate her period. There is laughter. I am accepted. I have officially boarded the Dandelion train. We are smurfing it up. We form our conga line and la-la-la through London. We are three blocks from the hotel. All of a sudden I feel push and I lunged into the ground. It is Jim Baker, jumping on top of me. He is on my back creating a Quasimodo shadow. I turn around several times, disconcerted. Baker is saying that he loves this guy. He buckles his legs around my waist. I cannot support his weight. I am spinning around like a carousel. I tell him to get off. Jim kisses my cheek. I am giving my Big Ten nemesis a piggyback ride one second and the next the two of us have toppled. I am on my knees.
My glasses fall out
of my pocket.
I stand up. I can’t find my glasses. From behind me I hear a
chorus of la’s and Jim apologizing to Sir Charles stating the he was just
joshing with me,
“Here,” It is Justin. He picked up my glasses. I place them
on and head inside the hotel
It is London in spring.
We walk two more blocks. As we enter the Gloucester I see Zeke holding hands with his
girlfriend. I walk straight towards at them and bump into him on purpose. Zeke scowls at me. He tells me to watch it. He
says twice in one night, really. He tells me that I am inept, as if he just learned that word for a weekly vocab quiz. He rhetorically
asks if I could be more clumsy.
“Excuse you, asswipe!” I say, with an emphasis on the last
vowel. With an emphasis on ass-wipe.
Zeke is looking at me like he doesn’t know what to say.
His eyes are stuttering.The moment he begins to speak I turn around and snap.
“Farmboy shut the hell up!” I say, looking back at
him, giving him the same scowl he has given to me ever since we met at the
Peoria airport five days ago. I want to tell him that he is a fucking
ungrateful conceited prick. I tell him to hit on something he is more
familiar with like a fecund sow at the Tazewell county 4-H fair. Zeke is speechless. I’m not putting up with his
condescending shit anymore. Fuck him for treating me like shit the entire trip
for no reason.
Fuck him for not wanting to forge a friendship.
Fuck Ezekiel Bosh-Midden. .
In the elevator I hit three unobstructed OPEN JEWELS,
a waded nest of limp gavels. When Kenny tries coming at me from behind I tell
them not to fuck with me. I elbow him in the lower abdomen. I say bring it on.
I tell them that the night is young. It is all about Rita.
As we get off the elevator I tell Spencer that if he
mentions his swan song about Being a Mormon once again and everyone in his
goddamn school being a virgin I will personally shove my foot so far up his ass
he will have a Nike imprint on the papillae of his tongue. I tell him that I am on to his pity
party schtick. Rita is doing something
to my chest which Harmony never did. Perhaps it is kismet. Perhaps it was always
Rita. Perhaps it was always somehow meant to be her.
Someone from the back of the room yells out Harry you
are crazy.
I tell them I don’t give a shit anymore.
Josh says remember guys, we are all meeting in Trevor’s
and Charles room in fifteen minutes.
I am feeling like I am part of the Big Ten. I kick
Josh in the nads. Everyone laughs.
“Harry,”
“Josh man I love you to death but its that girl yer
with who is always wearing all the blush Every time
I see her it looks like she
just went down on a tomato.”
I speak not knowing exactly what I am saying.
The entire Big Ten explodes in laughter. I am evil. Josh is looking demure. I don’t give a fuck about
him. I don’t give a fuck about the Big Ten. Finally I am calling a beautiful
girl who I have some sort of connection with tonight.
Finally London will be mine.
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