The Big U has two new roommates. I guess the bedbugs drove everyone out. He's never had them in his room and couldn't manage a move with grad school and work. He moved to the room on the end last time people moved around. This room has blinds and the lightbulb is covered. It's a fitting shade of blue, like all of his sweaters and button-down shirts.

The roommates are girls and I will never meet them. Why should I meet them? I should never see him again, right?

But I'm comfortable in that room. On Sunday night we entered it like royals retiring from the throne room, all the pressures of the public left behind somewhere. I always check for new things, as I do when I go home to El Victoir. I was so tired from my train ride, so annoyed with myself for being there, so hugely in need of any kind of reassurance that I didn't have time to take it all in. I attacked him with a kiss. He countered.

So I didn't notice the little sign above his computer desk. Rather, the computer he uses for email, internet, all those things - not the one he uses specifically for gaming (ugh!). Lying in bed, squirmy with latent energy, he babbled about things while I somehow got my lips to form words in a smushy way through the pillow. One of the things he said... I was sure it was a joke.

"See that there?"
"My eyes are closed."
"Well open them. Look."

I followed his pointing finger to the sign on the wall. I'm nearsighted at the best of times, so you can imagine how useless this excercise was. The thing was just a rectangular piece of paper on the wall.

"What's it say?" I mumbled.
"It says, 'Sleeping with Jo is very bad.'"
"It does not."
"It does, too."
"Why would it... Why would you... It doesn't. You're trying to get me out of bed."
"It does!"
"Well I'm not getting up."
"I don't want you to."
"Why did you..."
"Because it IS bad, isn't it? I mean, it's not BAD, it's just not a good idea."
"Hmph. It doesn't say that."
"It does."
"Hmph."

Monday morning came early after a sleepless night. Sleepless, I say, not because of any extra doses of reassurance, but because I kept finding myself staring at that damn sign, wondering if it really said what he said it saidy said. And then I'd look at him, the way his face goes all babyish when he sleeps on his side. Why would you do that, Mr. Man? Mr. Boy, really. Men don't do things like this, even suggest things like this. Doesn't matter, I told myself. He didn't really make a sign. He's teasing.

It was easy enough to check on my way to the shower. I didn't. Back in the room I still didn't look. He rolled over under the covers and mumbled something. I stared at the rug for a moment and then finally turned around.


Sleeping with Jo

is VERY BAD.


Except he underlined "very bad."

What should I have done then? Screamed at him? Punched him in the neck? Fallen down in a prolonged fit of sobs?

"Wow. It DOES say that."
"Told you it did."

I dressed and went over to the bed. I used to shake my head so he'd get a cold shower from my hair.

"If you hang out for, like, ten minutes, I'll walk you to the door."
"Lucky me."
"Hang out."
"Kay. Move over."

He wiggled under the covers, sliding to the cool side of the bed. I lay down on top of the comforter, my wet hair soaking the pillowcase, his body warmth seeping up through the blankets. His eyes were closed, and I closed mine for while, measuring my breaths.

Those lines from James slipped into my head uninvited.

"These wounds are all self-imposed.
Life's no disaster."