sesquipedalien

Radiohead’s newest album strumming into my ears, my cereal bowl nearly empty, I am reading about the eviction of some Polish nuns who have occupied a church against the Holy See’s orders for the last two years. There is a tap on my shoulder and I swirl around.

Her face is exhausted. She has had a hard night. A hard previous day. There is a sheen over it, a glaze that tells me water has yet to touch it. I breathe in and want to cough out.

I smile. “Hey you!”

“Hey. Can I read Physio in here?”

I scramble up, trying to take off my headphones and turn the music off at the same time. “Yeah sure! Just let me make my bed.”

“Oh it’s OK.” She settles on the hard floor next to my refrigerator, her heavy bag de-shouldered, her high ponytail limply following her head swings. I step back from her. It’s so powerful. Every movement releases gusts. Aged sweat, old lunch, rotted sleep.

Of sweetness dead.

“Well, I am still gonna make my bed.”

She laughs a little and sits crossed leg with the book open on her lap.

I fix my sheets. Spread the covers straight. Hang my clean jeans.

And every time I pass her, I hold my breath.

I finish and resettle at the computer.

Three minutes.

Her head is lost in the book.

Five minutes.

I can’t stand this.

“Hey, why were you late this morning to class?”

She looks up. “Oh because I came with C. She had to ready the kids and all.”

“Did you have a chance to shower?”

“No… didn’t have time.”

“Would you like to take a shower?” In my mind, I am crossing my fingers.

Her face falls in that typical, ‘aw no… I don’t wanna bother ya’ mask. “No, I’ll just take one later.”

Damn my fingers! “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

I can’t help it…

“No really H, I think you should.”

She’s surprised. “Do I smell?”

I nod.

“Badly?”

“Very.”

“Really?”

“You’ve filled the room with it, to tell the absolute truth.”

She laughs self consciously. “OK.”

I hand her my extra towel, show her the soap and shampoo, tell her to lock the door, and open the window in my room.

15 minutes.

She’s in front of the mirror in a shirt I never wore cause it hung so loose. A comb is working through her hair.

“Much better.”

“Haha! Thanks for telling me I stank.”

“You did. Heh.”

“I hadn’t taken a shower for two days actually.”

I am shocked. “H!!! How could you not shower!?”

“Well, exams! And stuff.”

“Jeez. Little advice: take a shower ~everyday.~ Your stink is not very pleasurable. I don’t care if your rats don’t care.”

She smiles at me in the mirror for a second until a knot screws her face in pain.

“I hate doing this.”

I give her my sympathy face.

She winces again.

“I usually ask my mom to do this…” She looks at me timidly.

“What? You want me to untangle your hair?”

A relief passes over her expression. “Could you?”

I am amused. A little taken aback too.

I take the comb and run it through, starting at the ends, leading up. I feel older. Like a sister or an aunt.

“Don’t you ever do this yourself?”

“No… unless there is no one there.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“Jeez.”

I struggle through heavy twists and jumbles… does this girl never comb her hair!?

“I am assuming you don’t comb it at all with no one around.”

She smiles guiltily.

“There, done.”

She tied it up in her regular pony tail.

“Thank you for everything K. People need pals like you.”

I smile and busy myself with something else.

It’s sort of unsettling, combing through tangles.

Of a classmate.

23 years old.