The Mirror Doesn't Lie - 2. Chapter 2

The blinking cursor on my screen is so irritating.

One more paragraph, why’s that so hard? Stupid English class. Like my professor gives a damn about what I think of “Paradise Lost.” These papers are so lame. That’s why I wait until the night before they are due to write them -- because they are so lame. Really.

Only I didn’t finish it last night (stupid!) and I decided I’d just wake up early today (fucking stupid!) to finish the thing before class, only I forgot that I’m incapable of rational thought at eight freaking thirty in the AM., which is an ungodly hour for anybody to be doing anything anywhere, especially when you’ve had like five hours sleep, tops.

God, I’m hungry. Can’t eat yet, though, I have to finish. Let’s see…. Paradise Lost is the best thing ever created in the entire history of mankind, literally changing the world with its total fucking brilliance, because Milton was a superhuman genius with powers beyond that of mortal comprehension, and this class changed my life I‘ll never be the same again, and here let me regurgitate all the half-baked theories my professor is working on for his next publication because I’m a worthless student and he’s a brilliant academician and he’s a god among men and his dick is so huge.

Whatever. Just give me an A.

There, done. I stand up and stretch and catch myself in a yawn. I just want to go back to bed!

The door slams. Did Lewis leave? It’s too much to hope. I peek out of my room to see if he’s out there. For a second there’s nothing, and I let out a deep sigh. But then I hear the shuffle of feet and Lewis walks around the corner wearing nothing but a towel. His hair is wet. His body is fucking perfect, he’s even got those little lines under his stomach. God, I hate him. How many hours does he spend at the gym? It’s just obscene! I could waste half my life away pumping iron and probably doing steroids too if I wanted, but I’d actually like to do something worthwhile, thank you very much.

“Good morning, Carl,” he says. Crap, I didn’t even notice he was looking right back at me. I’m, like, peeking out the crack of my slightly opened door and it totally looks like I was checking him out or something. He’s so arrogant he probably thinks everybody wants him. So pathetic.

“Oh, hey,” I say, “I… um…. I heard the door?”

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his towel without a shred of modesty. Prick. “That was Alice. She spent the night.”

“Oh.” Like I care he got lucky? What, he has to brag about it all the time? So insecure. And its Alice -- his, like, personal slut -- so what’s big deal? “Ok, cool.”

I start to head back into my room.

“Wait a second,” he says, pushing my door open and leaning on it casually. I roll my eyes in annoyance. Do I walk into his bedroom practically naked, with the slit of my towel wide open and exposing my inner thigh to the whole bloody world? No, I do not. “Whose turn is it to cook tonight?”

Oh dammit. “Mine, I think,” I say, but I’m kicking myself. Why did I agree to this? None of the other guys in our hall take turns cooking “family style” meals, its totally juvenile. What, are we from Utah now? But Lewis was nuts about the idea and I went along with it, like a total dope. It’s alright sometimes, I guess, but I don’t like having to be constantly planning out a freaking meal for the two of us - its not like we’re a couple. It’s not like we even like each other. I hate him. I’m sure he hates me too. Who wouldn’t?

“We don’t have to do it anymore if you don’t want,” he says.

“No, its fine.” Like I’m going to be the bad guy who shoots this one down.

“Ok. Hey, can I use your computer to print something real quick?”

If you put some clothes on. “Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

I head to the bathroom, bringing my towel and some clothes with me. The hot water feels good, really good, but its not helping me wake up. Just makes me want to sleep some more. No time for that now. One last look through the paper, then its off to class.

Lewis’ shampoo and body wash and his, like, man-poof thing take up all the room on the edges of the tub. I barely have any space for my stuff. Everybody thinks he’s so fucking macho, but he’s got more hair care product and facial cleaners than a girl. I pick up his body wash and smell it. Yup, that’s him alright. I take another deep inhalation. Smells like… pine trees and cool breezes. It’s a good smell. A happy smell.

Too bad it’s wasted on that miserable jerk.

I squeeze some of it onto my hands and begin washing. He’ll never know. Besides, I bet I’ll wear it better.

I pick up his man-poof and wash my ass with it. Take that, Lewis. I start laughing, I can’t help it. Then I start to feel bad. I wash the poof as best as I can. Does it smell like my ass? No. Thank God -- he’d kill me.

I towel myself off and dress quickly. See, I leave the bathroom fully dressed, because I’m a civilized human being and not a barbarian who can only eat, work out, and sleep with trashy girls. God, I hate him.

I comb my hair in the mirror. Stupid mirrors. Why is my face so pudgy? Who decided that Carl should get the pudgy face that makes him look like a kid, like a boy, while Lewis walks out of the womb with a face like Indiana Jones and a perfect stubbly beard that makes the girls all go nuts? It’s a fucked up world.

“Hey,” I say, in my best Lewis voice. “Whose turn is it to cook tonight? Look at my naked body, Carl. Don’t you think I’m a fucking perfect specimen of masculinity? I spend my whole life at the gym because I have no brain. Oh by the way, Alice spent the night. I don‘t know if you know that but I think you should know that. Do you like my towel?”

It’s not working. I don’t sound like him. I don’t look like him. I’ll always just be Carl.

“Go away,” I say to my image. He looks pretty pissed about it. “Fuck you too!” he seems to say.

It’s time to go. No more stalling. I head back to my room.

“Hey,” says Lewis, sitting at my desk in his flimsy towel. Is he allergic to clothing now or something?

“Hey,” I say. I start to pack my bag.

“Um, buddy?” he says. I hate it when he calls me that. What the hell? A pet name? How condescending! “You didn’t need that other file that was open, did you?”

I stop. My heart freezes. “Why?” I ask. Oh God, no. Please.

“Well, I closed it,” he says, “It asked me if I wanted to save it and….”

Oh God. Oh God.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I said no. That’s ok, right, buddy?”

I want to shout a whole torrent of obscenities. I want to punch Lewis right in his fucking face.

“That was my English paper.”

“Oh. Sorry?” he says. What a clueless idiot.

“That was my English paper that’s due in less than a hour!” I say. Don’t cry, Carl. Don’t let him see you cry.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I don’t really know a lot about computers….”

Don’t know about computers?? We live in the FUCKING TWENTY FIRST CENTURY, LEWIS. Come on!!

“It’s my fault,” I say. God, I hate him. “I should have saved it myself.”

“You mean its all gone? The whole thing?”

“Well, everything I wrote this morning.” Which was most of it. I really need an A in that class. Shit! Maybe my professor will understand?

Not likely. “Sorry, my roommate deleted my paper” sounds an awful lot like “my dog ate my homework.”

“Look,” I say. I can’t even look at him. “I’ll just have to turn it in late, write the whole thing over again tonight. Its no big deal.”

“Hey, I feel really bad, buddy,” he says. I bet he does.

“No, whatever, I just… I just have to go to class. I can’t deal with it right now.” I got to get out of here. Its all tense and awkward now. I want to kill him, but I hate confrontation. It’s just… pointless. He doesn’t care he ruined my assignment. Why should he? What a jerk.

“Hey, let me make it up to you,” he says. God, what now? “How about this, I’ll cook tonight -- even though its your turn.”

And that fixes my grade in English Literature how, exactly? “Oh, um… ok, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he continues, “and I’ll buy some chicken and vegetables and stuff at the store and some of that curry sauce you like, and make it a special one. Just for you, buddy. How about that?”

Well. That… that would be pretty nice, actually. Usually we make really quick stuff like mac and cheese or something. And he looks… well, maybe he does look a little guilty. He’s standing quite close to me, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot all anxiously. He’s looking at me, he wants me to tell him its all ok and that I forgive his stupidity. What am I supposed to say to him, to a guy with dark wet hair and flawless smooth skin who smells like pine trees and cool breezes -- dammit, what am I supposed to say? I fucking hate him!

“Ok, that sounds fair.” I guess. Whatever.

“Great,” he says, “I’ll see you tonight. And Carl, I’m really sorry about that, buddy.”

I walk out of the apartment totally confused. Why is Lewis being nice all of the sudden? Acting like, maybe, a human being or something? It must be too good to be true.

It’s a long, uncomfortable walk to Lit class, on the other side of campus. On the way I pass so many pathetic people, I lose track of them all. Look, there’s the jocks talking in extremely simple sentences and laughing at jokes a five year old would find stupid. And now we’re passing by the fine arts building -- and predictably, the arts crowd sitting around acting pretentious and expressing uninformed and completely clichéd opinions to one another as if they haven’t already said the exact same thing a million times to the same people. I keep walking so they can’t notice my scowl of contempt. Here’s the nerds with their poor hygiene and dragon shirts, dreaming of running off to a Renaissance Faire and rescuing non-existent maidens in distress, and of course the gaggle of rich white kids laughing and playing around as if they haven’t a care in the world, because they probably don’t. Fuck those guys.

Everybody has a group -- even Lewis is going to join that stupid ass fraternity. What’s up with this insecure need everybody has to belong? I don’t need a group. I prefer to be original. It’s not like I don’t have friends. I have lots of friends. Just not many I get to see very often. That’s all.

For instance, there’s Sarah. She’s sitting in her usual seat in the back of Lit class when I come in, and waves to me. I wave back and take the seat next to her. Sarah’s my friend, sort of, even though she gets on my nerves sometimes. She’s smart and funny and not lame at all like most people around here, but sometimes she’s just a… well, a girl. And because of that she just doesn’t get me at all.

“You look tired,” she says, smirking, “Have any fun last night?”

“Right,” I reply, rolling my eyes, “I had a blast.”

“Anybody I know?” she asks coyly, then laughs when I blush.

“I was writing the stupid paper all night. You know that.”

“Well, at least it’s over, right?” She pulls her own essay from a folder.

“Not for me. Lewis deleted half my paper this morning.”

“That blows, Carl,” she says, “Did he even apologize?”

“Yeah, I guess. He said he’s going to cook dinner for me tonight.”

“Awwww,” Sarah says, her head dropping into her hands, “That’s so cute.”

“No, its not. It’s completely lame, is what it is.”

“I think its great how close you two are.”

I blink, and peer at her with confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Yeah, most people I know don’t get along with their roommates at all, or they just, like, tolerate each other. You guys are lucky.”

“Sarah!” I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Is she nuts?

“Carl!” she replies, mocking my tone.

“I hate Lewis.”

“Really? Everybody says you guys get along so well.”

“We don’t at all. We--” I stop in mid sentence, then scratch my forehead, “We don’t at all. Who’s everybody?”

“Well, my roommate is dating Travis, from your hall? And he’s over at our place all the time, and so I asked him if he knew you and Lewis, and he said that you guys are like best friends.”

“That’s crazy. We can‘t stand each other!” I say, pounding my hand on the desk. “And Travis from my hall is hardly everybody.”

“Whatever you say, Carl,” she says, in a tone that suggests she doesn’t believe me.

Now I’m pissed. I want to tell her that Lewis has been ruining my life and making me miserable since the day I met him, and how he is so pathetic and annoying that I can hardly stand to be around him, and also how he just uses me all the time to get whatever he wants, and he doesn’t care about me at all which is OK because I don’t even want him to because I hate him so much! I want to say all of that, but I can’t because our professor just walked in and now class is starting, so I just give her my best glare. She giggles back at me.

Girls just don’t get it.

After class, I talk to my professor about my paper, and he is not sympathetic to my plight. I’m not surprised, but it still pisses me off.

“I don’t care what happened to your computer. You can turn it in tomorrow,” he says, barely looking at me, “but I’ll deduct a letter grade.”

I walk away fuming. A full letter grade? When its not even my fault? This is bullshit! What a stupid, petty man. To think I spent all morning trying to kiss his ass in my paper too. I bet his dick is actually really tiny. That makes me laugh to myself, but then I stop. Mine is kind of small. I mean, its not too small. I’m happy with it. It would be nice if it were bigger, sure, but I don’t let superficial stuff like that bother me. At all.

I’m so mad I can’t pay attention in the rest of my classes. Instead, I let my mind drift to somewhere else, someplace pleasant away from the shithole that is this campus. Not back home, no way. Someplace warm.

Panama. I want to see the canal, where the two lonely giants, the Atlantic and the Pacific, are so close they can almost touch. They reach out to each other there, hoping maybe that they can mix and mingle but always there’s something in between them. So somebody built a connection, and now the boats can come and go from one to the other with ease, and I want to see it. In my mind I’m there already, and I’m so carried away I don’t even notice all the losers I pass on my walk home. I don’t even notice the gaggle of pretty girls whispering and pointing at me until its too late, and they have stepped into my path determined, it seems, to talk to me.

“Hi, aren’t you Carl?” one of them says. She is smacking on chewing gum -- the perfect stupid girl cliché.

“Um… yeah?” I say. Smooth, Carl.

“We have a question for you,” one of the other girls says, twirling her hair. A few of them giggle.

Me? What could they possibly want with me? “I have an answer for you,” I respond. Gag me, what a terrible line. Why should I try to impress them? Why should I care if they think I’m cool?

“You’re Lewis’ roommate, right?” Oh, groan. Not this again.

“Yeah. So?”

“What kind of underwear does he wear?” one girl spits out, and the girls burst into laughter and try to shush her up.

“No, no, like what we really wanted to know is…” she pauses dramatically, “Is he, like, single?”

I’ve had just about enough of this. I can’t go through a single moment of my day that doesn’t have something to do with Lewis? Yes, girls, Lewis is single. If you want to join the list of slut bags he takes to bed on a routine basis, I’m sure he can accommodate you -- but if you’re looking for some kind of exclusive commitment, then keep on shopping. From the looks of your outfits, however, I’m guessing you’re interested in the slut bag option.

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just say, “I don’t know. We aren’t that close. Excuse me.”
I hurry past them without another word.

When I walk in to our apartment, there’s no sign of Lewis. I do find a note, though, near our little kitchenette thing.

Carl - Stuff for dinner is in the fridge. Had to run for a few minutes, back soon. -- L

I sigh and crumple up the paper. He better be soon, I’m hungry. But the minutes tick by. I try to work on my paper, but its tedious to work out paragraphs for the second time that day and I can’t concentrate. My stomach rumbles. Screw this, I want to eat!

I pull out my cell phone and call Lewis, fuming.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lewis--” I begin, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“Hey, buddy, I’m kinda in the middle of something right now, can I call you back?”

What the hell? “I was wondering about dinner?” I manage to say.

“Oh right, yeah. Hey, I’ll be back soon… so, if you don’t mind could you, like, maybe defrost the chicken and get it started maybe? I’ll finish the rest.”

“I don’t really--”

“Great, thanks buddy! See ya in a few.” He hangs up.

What. An. Asshole! Now I’m supposed to cook my own apology dinner? I can’t believe this! I pace back and forth around the apartment in an impotent rage. I can’t believe he expects me to do this, and worst of all, I can’t believe that I’m going to do it. I get out a frying pan, making as much noise as possible.

I make a mess all over while cooking because I’m so pissed. This is the final straw. I’m moving out of this damn room. I’m requesting a new roommate. My life would be so much better if I didn’t have Lewis around ruining everything.

The chicken is ready and there’s no sign of Lewis. What the hell, I’ll just keep going. Then he’ll get home and see I made the whole thing and feel really terrible, if he has a soul at all.

I really am going to RA. I’m going to do it first thing tomorrow. And tonight when he gets home I’m going to tell him what I really think of him. He has to know he can’t treat people this way. He can’t treat ME this way. It’s not fair and it’s not right.

Dinner is finished. There’s no sign of Lewis. I sit and eat my meal and barely taste it. I’m literally shaking with rage. I slam the plate into the sink so hard it breaks but I don’t even care because that’s how mad I am. I’m high on the power of it, of knowing that I’m in the right, of knowing that I’ve been wronged. It’s righteous anger, and Lewis is going to feel it.

It’s a few hours before Lewis even comes home, but the intensity of my wrath hasn't softened much. I’m still pretty pissed, and the sight of him riles me up even more, so when he stumbles in I let him have it.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I say, surprised by the strength in my voice. That didn’t sound like Carl at all.

He’s clearly drunk. He went out partying?? Unbelievable!

He blinks back at me in surprise. “Sorry, I… something happened and…”

“I don’t care,” I say, cutting him off. Carl never cuts anybody off! What is happening? “We had plans, buddy.”

What did I just call him? Did my voice just choke up with emotion?

“I know, I know,” he says apologetically, “But something really important happened and….”

“There’s always something,” I say. I’m not in control, words are just falling out of me. “You think it doesn’t matter to me? That you can just use me as your little toy that you only play with when you feel like it but can drop whenever it suits you? Do I matter to you at all?”

Lewis is staring at the floor.

“Are you even listening to me?” I shout. No response. “Sometimes I really hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!”

He looks up at meets my gaze, and for the first time I can see he’s crying.

“She dumped me, Carl,” he says, “Alice, she… she dumped me. She doesn‘t want to see me anymore. Ever.”

My torrent of words dries up. I stare at him blankly. "You weren't even dating," I say.

“I know! She was really special, Carl,” he says, “and I had a chance with her, I really did, but I blew it. I’m a terrible person, I know I am. I’m selfish and stupid and I push everybody away and nobody likes me. Nobody likes me.” He starts to cry again, and all I can do is stare at him awkwardly. He’s just standing there weeping, without shame. He doesn’t care that I’m watching him like this.

With a long sigh my anger slips away from me. How can I yell at somebody who is crying? Is that what he wants? Is it all a trick to manipulate me further? Or are those tears…real?

“I like you,” I tell him, because it seems like the thing I’m supposed to say.

With a sob he crosses to me and pulls me into an extremely awkward man hug, squeezing me until it hurts. I stand there in shock, my arms at my sides, my face pressed against a rock-hard shoulder, drowning in the smell of pine trees and cool breezes until I grow so dizzy I think I might faint. I don’t know how long we embrace, but every second feels like forever.

“You’re my best friend, Carl,” he says drunkenly, “You want to know a secret?“

“What?” I whisper hoarsely.

“Sometimes,” he says, so softly I can barely make out the words, “Sometimes, I wish I was you.”

And then he’s gone, weaving his way into his room and collapsing onto his bed, leaving me standing in utter shock, trying to process what just happened, what was just said. I stand in the same spot for at least ten minutes, unable to move.

I walk to the kitchen to do the dishes. No, screw ‘em, there’ll be plenty of time in the morning. I walk to my bedroom to finish my paper. Fuck it! It’s just a stupid grade after all. I pace around the living room. I peek into Lewis’ room and watch him snoring face down on his bed.

Finally, I go into the bathroom and study my reflection in the mirror. There he is, same as usual, except his eyes are red and puffy and his face is wet. He looks a mess, and yet… Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I almost can bring myself to believe he looks… different.

Better.

I reach out to touch the glassy surface. He reaches back at me, and our fingers touch.