The One That Got Away

“Don’t listen to him,” Sandra said sweetly, and Oliver closed his eyes and tried to imagine having someone else in here with him, having to share his story. Tim and Sandra were lucky; their relationship was so easy. Oliver wasn’t sure if they were still together, fu*k buddies or just former lovers but they seemed to have it handled in a way he couldn’t imagine being with Monique. Even thinking about her name produced feelings of anger and betrayal he knew sooner or later, he would have to deal with. He pushed the thought away for now though, going back to the conversation.

“Listen, high school was rough sh*t, okay?” she continued. “But the only one who can do something about it is you. You’ve gotta put yourself out there–step out of your comfort zone. Take a chance.”

“She means stop being a pu*sy,” Tim interjected.

“No,” Sandra objected, long and drawn-out, but Oliver couldn’t help but think that yeah, it was a little bit what she meant. Still, he got the point.

He chewed thoughtfully on his pen and didn’t really say anything else, just opened up his web browser and started looking up housing ads.

There weren’t a lot, since they were in the middle of the semester, but there were a few. Taking a deep breath, Oliver started jotting down phone numbers. After ten minutes he had got a short list of five potential places to check out, and Oliver logged off the game feeling accomplished; he would call tomorrow.

Unfortunately, it turned out that finding the ads and gathering the phone numbers was the easy part. When Oliver called the next day from one of the benches outside of the campus library, he quickly learned that the only people who need new housing accommodations after the semester had already started were the people who need them fast, and when the fifth person told him, “Sorry dude, the room got taken like that,” Oliver felt like banging his head against the closet brick wall. He could wait until next semester, but quite honestly the loneliness was already getting to him. He felt like he needed to do something now, before he lost his courage, became a lonely, old hermit, and quite possibly died alone.

Hanging up the phone, Oliver gave himself a solid mental beat down for being so overdramatic, even if it was only in his own brain, and headed into the library to get some studying done. As he reached the door, he heard music growing louder, and he stopped with his hand on the handle, turning to see a car coming down the road. Two girls were in the front seat, with a guy and a girl in the back seat, heads bopping to the music as they laughed about something. Oliver’s chest clenched painfully.

That’s what he wanted; that’s what he thought college would be like. Driving to some unknown destination with his friends, laughing and having a good time. Not a care in the world. He was so caught up in his own wallowing that when the door opened from the inside, it hit him square in the face. He stumbled back with a groan of pain, and a few students chuckled as he fell flat on his ass.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” a voice said from above him, and Oliver rubbed his chin and squinted up in the sunlight. A tall guy stood over him, sunglasses perched on his nose, one hand holding a few flyers and the other reaching out for Oliver. “I really should be watching where I’m going–are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Oliver said dumbly, taking the guy’s offered hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Really.”

“You sure, man?” the guy asked, placing his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and now that Oliver was standing up he noticed that he was actually a little bit taller than door guy. Damn twelfth grade growth spurt. “You don’t have like a concussion or anything? Any spots? Dizziness? Maybe twirly cartoon birds?” His brows furrow in concern above his sunglasses.

“Cartoon bird free,” Oliver confirmed, and only then noticed the flyers in the guy’s hand.

Roommate wanted ASAP, they say. Call Ty.

“Hey,” Oliver said, tapping a flyer, and he tried to not show his eagerness. “Hey, are these yours?”

“Yeah,” door guy said, holding out his hand to shake Oliver’s properly. “I’m Ty.”

“I’m Oliver. Are you still looking for a roommate?” Oliver said, then hurried to explain, “I’m trying to find a new place to stay.”

“I am,” Ty confirmed. “Though I’m a little bit surprised you’d be interested after I damn near killed you with the library door. Some might hold a grudge, you know.”

“I only hold a grudge towards people who try to kill me with hacksaws,” Oliver responded, with a shy grin. He liked this Ty guy. He was cool.

Ty didn’t seem to care about his lame jokes, just grinned and Oliver thought he could see a hint of squinting eyes behind the dark sunglasses. “Cool, man,” he said, slapping Oliver’s shoulder. “You should come by and see the place, and if you’re interested it’s yours. I kinda couldn’t afford to pay the rent alone, so gotta get someone moved in as soon as possible.”

“I have class soon, and need to get some studying done before then, but I’m free this afternoon,” Oliver offered.

“That’s cool,” Ty said with a shrug. “It’s over on 4th Street, number 57. It’s a white house with a green door. And hey, I promise I won’t try to kill you with it.”

Oliver chuckled a little, a fast and dry sound that surprised him a little. Ty just kept smiling at him, relaxed and easy, and it was infectious. Ty was easy to be around; Oliver could feel the tension running out of his shoulders, and he already knew he’d be interested in the room.

They exchange numbers, and when Oliver walked away his stomach was twisting in a way that was not completely uncomfortable.

Number 57 on 4th Street was a two-story house with a green door, just like Ty had said. There was a run-down black truck sitting in the driveway, and a dirty couch on the front porch which actually frightened Oliver a little; its cushions were worn and dirty, and he briefly suspected that if he ever were to attempt to sit on it, he’d get scabies, or maybe a VD of some sort.

As he stepped up to the front door, he could saw a note attached to the door frame above the mail box that said “Ty Baker, Chris Brown, Harry Palmer,” but the third name had been crossed out with a thick black marker, and someone had drawn a pe*is next to Chris Brown. When he rang the doorbell, he didn’t hear it chime inside the house, and when there was no movement from within for a little while, he eventually raised his hand and knocked instead. Almost immediately he could hear the faint shuffling of feet from inside the house, and then the door opened–inward, thankfully–and Ty was standing there.

“Hey, Oliver right? Glad you found the place alright.”

“Only three blocks from campus,” Oliver mumbled a little awkwardly as he stepped inside. Ty wasn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, and Oliver saw green eyes looking brightly at him, twinkling as Ty smiled.

“If you tried to ring the doorbell, you probably figured out that it’s not working. Sorry about that; it broke last week, and the landlord hasn’t gotten anyone to fix it yet. So anyway, let me give you the tour,” Ty said, and headed up the stairs. Oliver followed behind, looking around as they went.

All the walls were painted a dull yellow, and a couple of the steps creak faintly, but not in a way that made Oliver afraid they’re going to crash through them or anything–just a slight sound that said a lot of people had used these stairs, for a lot of years.

Ty led him down a very short hallway. One side had two doors, the other side had one at the end of the hallway, and that was the door Ty went through. “This is the room,” he said. “It’s the biggest of the two rooms upstairs, and I know it looked like a big pile of sh*t right now, but my old roommate hasn’t quite moved all his sh*t out yet.”