Fiction Piece - Alternative Reality ...
Eric Shapiro - Spring 2012 - Fiction Writing Workshop with Steve Stern - Draft Story ...
From an early age, Samuel had struggled to balance his father’s conflicting directives of conforming to the American norm and protecting himself from the many dangers lurking behind every manicured lawn and under the hood of every gas-guzzling SUV. In dealing with his father, Samuel maintained a delicate balance, heeding his authoritarian dictates when necessary and discreetly circumventing them when they proved unrealistic in the context of his modern American childhood. On the rare occasions when Samuel reflected on his father’s endless string of dire warnings about such perils as premarital sex and crossing one-way streets without looking both ways, he saw them for what they were: the well-meaning concerns of a widower whose life experience rendered him averse to even the most minor risk-taking. Still, Samuel’s blossoming adolescent ego occasionally brought him into conflict with his overbearing father.
Case in point, when his father insisted on shipping his son’s possessions off to college in New York City weeks in advance. “But I don’t want to live in an empty room for a month!” Samuel had protested when his father instructed him to pack all of his things into a series of suitcases.
“Don’t argue with me, Samuel. It’s best to take care of these kinds of things well ahead of time,” he had said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “You never know what could go wrong.”
In a rare display of dissent, Samuel stormed out of the room, leaving his father alone to deal with his ensuing heart palpitations. He returned home later, a bulging McDonald’s bag in tow, and proceeded to lay its greasy, artery-clogging contents on the Gupta’s prized mahogany coffee table. His father could only watch helplessly as his son, normally so attentive to his health, gorged himself on the unhealthiest possible foods.
“Promise me you will stay away from fast food,” he told Samuel in a tone that suggested he considered his words more than reasonable, “and we will send your things two weeks early instead of four weeks.” Samuel was tempted to turn down the compromise just to spoil his father’s self-satisfaction, but he knew that this was the best offer he was going to get. And so, exactly two weeks before his journey east to attend college in the gleaming metropolis of New York, Samuel lugged his suitcases down the stairs, out the door and onto the curb, leaving them at the mercy of Heavylifter Shipping, Inc.
As it turned out, Dr. Gupta’s concerns were justified. When Samuel arrived at his NYU dormitory on Washington Square Park, he discovered that his bags had been lost en route. Being a naturally superstitious young man, Samuel feared that this unfortunate turn of events did not bode well for his college experience. His living situation only served to confirm his misgivings. The university, having accepted a record number of applicants that year, lacked sufficient accommodations, so Samuel and a handful of other unlucky souls were forced to take up residence in the basement level, which had not housed students since the 1980s. The hallway leading to his room smelled of sweat and had a cramped, industrial feel. The floor was littered with a combination of trash and compact little brown pellets that most likely exited from the posteriors of some native rodents.
Entering his room, inconveniently located at the very end of the hallway, he quickly noticed a lack of cell phone reception. Upon consulting his designated R.A., a bulbous second-semester senior with a high forehead and disinterested demeanor, he learned that he would have to go upstairs in order to make phone calls. The only unknown at this point was his roommate, who would not arrive from his home state of Georgia for several days. Returning from an extended shopping trip the next evening, Samuel found that his roommate had moved in. Samuel hoped against hope that the complete stranger he was to spend the next nine or so months with would break the trend of misfortunes that had greeted him on his arrival.
The first sign that something might be amiss with the Georgian was a large poster of a half-naked Abercrombie & Fitch model hanging on his wall. A male model. Was the guy gay, or something? Being a child of the late 20th century from a progressive suburb in one of the nation’s most liberal states, Samuel resolved not to pass premature judgment on his roommate. Still, the prospect of living with a homosexual was unsettling. Before Samuel had time to contemplate his situation further, he felt his phone vibrating against his leg. Setting his knapsack down, he dashed up the stairs to receive the call.
After predictably blaming Samuel for losing his luggage, (“If only we’d sent them out when I wanted to, this never would have happened!”), Dr. Gupta asked the obligatory question: “Is everything else O.K.?”
“Yes, father,” Samuel lied. “I got my class assignments and placed orders for my textbooks. They should arrive soon. Oh, and my roommate just got in today. I haven’t met him yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s a homosexual.” Samuel knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he had made a big mistake, as evidenced by the long, pregnant silence that followed.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Have you requested a room change?”
“Well, I didn’t think-”
“Didn’t think it would be a problem? Do you want some flaming hijra looking at you when you undress? I did not pay $40,000 for you to deal with this kind of distraction.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Well I suppose there’s no other option but for me to phone the administration and give them a piece of my mind”
“No!” Samuel yelled. “I mean, don’t worry, you’re busy. I’ll handle it myself.”
To Samuel’s surprise, Dr. Gupta contemplated his suggestion. “Well, you are a college boy now, I suppose. And you do have to start dealing with these responsibilities yourself. Just don’t put it off.”
Samuel had never really known a gay person. Sure, he’d seen them from afar, jabbering away about clothes and gossiping in their singsong, feminine voices. One time, a gaggle of homosexuals had catcalled him as he was returning from school with some friends; this was about the extent of his interaction with them. But if the little he had read on the subject was accurate, sexual orientation was to a greater or lesser extent genetic. How could he in good conscience judge his roommate for being born a certain way?
Samuel had been sitting on his bed contemplating the matter for some time before he heard the jingling of keys out in the hallway. The door opened to reveal a tall, lanky young man with pasty white skin. “Hello!” Samuel blurted out, with perhaps too much enthusiasm. “My name is Samuel.”
The Georgian eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before offering his hand. “Hi there. Name’s Spencer. Spencer Magro. Pleased to meet you.”
Samuel quickly learned that his roommate was not very social. He’d often spend the entire evening poring over obscure philosophy tomes. When, every so often, Spencer asked his roommate’s opinion on some deep question of human existence, Samuel got the distinct impression that he was being tested.
Returning from the library one Sunday, he discovered his roommate making out with another man, a much older one from the looks of it. “Oh, hey Boss,” said Spencer. This was the first of many times he would use the insulting nickname. “So, uh, you mind letting me have the room for tonight?” Samuel did not even have a chance to politely agree before Spencer preempted him: “Thanks a lot, Boss, I appreciate it.” With that, Spencer and his new lover picked up where they left off. Samuel was so eager to escape the room that he neglected to consider the inconvenient fact that he had nowhere else to sleep.
Lacking any other options, Samuel settled on the haggard, suspiciously stained couch in his dormitory’s common area. Just as he felt sleep approaching, a familiar voice caused him to bolt upright. “Hey there, Gupta. You get sexiled or something?” It was Evelyn Wei from his computer science class. The two of them had bonded over making fun of their unfailingly awkward, Aspergerish professor.
“Hi, Evelyn. Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”
“That sucks… Oh my God, wait, you’re the one who’s living with that gay guy, right?”
“That’s me.”
“My heart goes out to you, it really does. It must be so awkward.”
“Well it hasn’t been that bad, really, I mean, until today. I had planned on going to bed early.”
Evelyn smiled and tapped Samuel playfully on the shoulder. “Well, now you get to hang out with me instead. Congratulations.”
Samuel and Evelyn talked on the couch for a while, mostly gossiping about the weirdos and social misfits in their computer science class. The conversation devolved into an awkward silence after they had run through the whole checklist of pimpled, bespectacled faces. “So, um, do you want to head back to my room or something?” Evelyn asked, breaking the silence. “My roommate’s gone for the weekend and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you crashed in her bed. I mean, seeing as there’s probably some serious gay sex going on in your room at the moment.”
“Yeah, sure,” Samuel replied eagerly. “Lead the way.”
Samuel and Evelyn spent the night chatting and watching Youtube videos, many of which contained cats performing all manner of improbable feats. As they watched a particularly daring tabby steal some food from the bowl of an astounded German shepherd, Samuel shifted over, allowing his arm to rub gently against Evelyn’s side. When he received no response, Samuel went in for a kiss. Evelyn turned her head away at the last second, so that he only managed to catch cheek. That was as far as they got.
The rest of the week passed without incident. Samuel had nearly forgotten about his roommate’s goateed lover when, returning from the library the following Sunday, he detected the unmistakable scent of marijuana wafting up from under his door. Hearing his roommate’s voice mingling with a stranger’s, he hesitated before inserting his key into the lock. He knew that it was rude to eavesdrop, but his curiosity got the better of him.
“So what’s the deal with your roommate?” asked the goateed man. “He seems like a bit of a weirdo.”
“Yeah, I guess he is a bit… different. Very first generation. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to have any real personality. I mean, it’s like he’s trying to be a composite of all the traits that a foreigner would associate with America.”
“Well, obviously I didn’t talk to him at all, so it’s hard for me to judge. But I can totally see it. He’s a nice guy though, right?”
“I don’t know, sometimes I feel like he’s not cool with the fact that I’m gay. You saw how he looked at us last time, didn’t you? I mean, it’s not like we were having sex or anything.”
“You should come live with me. Fuck that curry muncher.”
“You know, I wish I could. But I told you, my parents would disown me.”
“Which is why you don’t tell them.”
“They’d find out. When they came to visit, if not before. You’ll just have to have me in small doses for now.”
Any sympathy Samuel would have felt for Spencer’s parental difficulties was eclipsed by outrage. He had told his roommate that he was a second-generation American. Had he forgotten? Or did the distinction not matter to that ignorant fucking redneck? Samuel felt like his head was going to explode. In high school, he would have gone straight to his father to complain, but the prospect of a livid Dr. Gupta calling up the administration to request a room change for his 18-year-old son was an affront to Samuel’s growing sense of independence.
Evelyn was already in bed when he tapped gently on her door. But evidently, Samuel’s company was enough to rouse her from her near-slumber. “Hey there, Sammy,” she greeted him, visibly casting aside her drowsiness like a wet dog shaking the water from its fur. “Here to watch some more videos?” Receiving only an apathetic shrug in response, Evelyn intuited that her late night visitor was in no mood for the comic exploits of adorable felines. “Come sit down,” Evelyn said, beckoning Samuel to join her on the bed, where she patiently listened to his rant. Samuel could not help but notice that Evelyn seemed oddly aroused by his anger.
“You shouldn’t care what that idiot thinks of you. You’re ten times the man that he is.”
“Ten times? More like twenty.” Arrogance did not come naturally to Samuel, but he felt that it was appropriate in the present circumstances. In any case, his companion certainly seemed to like it.
“Alright, twenty times,” she conceded, stroking his leg awkwardly. The feel of Evelyn’s hand brushing against his skin went a long way towards quelling his rage. “I know what will take your mind off of things,” Evelyn said, rising from her bed to get her pink laptop from her desk.
“Not more Youtube videos, I hope,” Samuel replied. Evelyn let loose a burst of giggles. “No I think you’ll like this better.”
Samuel had of course experienced internet porn before. But its glaring artificiality usually turned him off far more than it turned him on. The exaggerated moaning and ridiculous exclamations of its participants were like nails on a chalkboard to Samuel. Yet, watching porn with a living, breathing girl next to him felt a lot different. Observing human sexuality, even in its least genuine form, stripped away the film of awkwardness that he usually associated with his own sexuality. This time, Evelyn did not turn Samuel down when he made his move, although, much to his chagrin, she refused to allow him below the waist.
Samuel and Evelyn’s relations persisted in this fashion for several weeks. While Samuel quickly expressed his willingness to forego the pornographic viewings that preceded each of their encounters, Evelyn seemed unwilling to give them up. Samuel did not want to risk alienating his partner by refusing to go along with her preferred method of foreplay, but after a while the porn videos became insufferably boring. The race and physical attributes of the actors notwithstanding, every video followed the same predictable routine, giving the impression of a sterile medical procedure.
After the final of three abortive encounters with Evelyn in one week, Samuel slunk back to his room in defeat. What the hell was wrong with him? There he was, in bed with a beautiful girl, watching porn videos, and he couldn’t even get it up. Ruminating on his woeful inadequacy, a disturbing thought occurred to Samuel: what if his roommate’s gayness had somehow rubbed off on him? He recognized on a rational level that this was an absurd notion, but the past few weeks had awakened in him a whirlwind of feelings that were anything but rational.
For the next week, Samuel could not return to his room without experiencing a rush of potent rage. Spencer, by default, was the focal point of this rage. Spencer and his goateed flamer of a friend, who he learned was named Steve. Samuel did his best to stay away when the two of them were together, to avoid their perpetual condescension. But as the semester wore on, Steve was around so often that this became impossible. Often, he would return from class to find Steve curled up in bed smoking a joint, with Spencer nowhere to be found.
If Steve was just like Spencer, perhaps Samuel could have learned to live with his presence. Alas, Steve was a much different kind of gay than Spencer, who talked normally and was interested in gender-appropriate topics. The latter was very discreet about his sexuality, for the most part dressing like a man and talking in a normal, masculine voice, whereas the former was flamboyant to the extreme. Samuel had never heard of the horror known as Cyndi Lauper before arriving at NYU, but thanks to Steve, he knew exactly the kind of music Satan must have played in hell to torture the souls of the damned. Although, he supposed that if all homosexuals went to hell, they might well have enjoyed such a soundtrack.
Samuel found himself so consumed by the duel stresses of Evelyn and his roommates that he could not focus on his work. He could hear his father’s voice berating him for each exam on which he scored below a B, which was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. Samuel’s response to his less-than-respectable grades was to go back to his room and pass out for several hours. On one such occasion, after receiving a C on his computer science midterm, he immediately resolved to take a nap that would put all of his other naps to shame. But fate, or rather goatee Steve and Spencer, had other plans. Plans that involved smoking copious quantities of marijuana and then watching the American version of “Skins” at an unnecessarily loud volume. For the first time since the beginning of the semester, however, Samuel decided to politely request that they watch the show somewhere else so he could get some work done. His two roommates were initially less than accommodating.
“Come on Boss, we planned this a whole week ago,” said Steve, who had recently adopted Spencer’s obnoxious nickname.
“Yes, I understand that. But I have an exam later this week and I really need to study. That is why we’re in school, right? Not just to smoke marijuana and talk philosophy.” Samuel did not mean to sound so aggressive, but he couldn’t help it. He was fed up with being treated like an ignorant foreigner. No, scratch that, he was fed up with everything. His father, his classes, his roommates, Evelyn (whatever the hell she was). All he wanted to do was retreat into a deep slumber and, hopefully, wake up feeling less shitty about his life.
“Alright, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss.” This time Steve spoke with a fake (and quite inaccurate) Indian accent. Spencer laughed obligingly, and then assured Samuel that they were “only joking.”
Samuel briefly entertained dropping out of school and moving back to L.A., but the idea of living under his father’s rule again seemed even more intolerable than his current predicament. “Maybe you need to stop being such a pussy and take control of your life,” a voice inside his head told him. But how? He could request a room change, but who was to say his new roommate would be any better? Maybe what he really needed was to get revenge, to show those arrogant fags that he could make a joke out of them, as well. Until then, he had almost always ignored their insults, hoping that if he pretended not to care they would shut their big gay mouths. But it was clear to him now that it was necessary to prove that they could not treat him like a lesser life form and get away with it. First, he considered planting stink bombs under their pillow. Or perhaps he could hide Steve’s accursed Cyndi Lauper CDs for a while; that way he’d get revenge and get a break from the pop star’s awful music in one fell swoop. Somehow, though, these pranks seemed woefully inadequate. They did not insult his rommates on a personal level, as they had him and his Indian heritage. Besides, even if he got even with them, he’d still have Evelyn to stress over.
The idea popped into his head suddenly; if he was a cartoon character, a light bulb would have gone on above his head. Without stopping to ponder the potential consequences of his little joke, Samuel set up his webcam in the proper position. Then he texted his roommate: “hey spencer, im actually gonna go study at the library so the room’s all yours if you want it.” Samuel stalked over to Evelyn’s room.
“So, what’s this ingenious idea you mentioned earlier?” she asked.
“Well actually,” said Samuel, “it’s probably not a very good idea at all.”
Evelyn deflated. “Oh, darn it, I was all excited. You at least have to tell me what you had planned.”
Supposing that this was a fair request, Samuel obliged.
“Oh my God, that would be absolutely hilarious. Sammy, we have to do it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t you want to pay them back for treating you so awful this whole semester?”
“Well, yet, but-”
“Good, so it’s decided.”
Eyes fluttering back and forth between Evelyn’s face and her very-much-on-display breasts, Samuel felt his counterargument slide back into his throat. “Fine. But let’s get on with it before I change my mind.” Evelyn smiled suggestively and Samuel made a beeline for her bed. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked Evelyn, who remained standing, a look of profound contemplation on her face.
“Hold on,” she said. “Let me just text a few people first,” she said. “Give others a chance to enjoy the spectacle.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, Sammy. How are you getting revenge if only we watch?”
Once again, Samuel’s mounting lust quashed all desire for debate. “Alright, alright. But not too many people.”
Ten minutes later, 16 NYU freshmen sat in a cramped, sweaty cluster around Evelyn’s pink, Hello Kitty laptop. Samuel had never met any of them before, but apparently they all knew Spencer and his mustachioed lover. “It’s too bad we can’t watch on a bigger screen,” said an innocuous-looking Asian girl who could not have been more than five feet tall.
“Shut up Cathy,” Evelyn snapped. “Be happy you’re getting a chance to watch at all.”
Cathy looked down at the ground and muttered an apology.
“Can we got on with this?” said a roly-poly African American boy.
“Just a minute, Jerome. First, I’d like to take the time to give a very special thanks to my boyfriend, Samuel Gupta, for making this whole thing possible.” Samuel did a conspicuous double take at Evelyn’s words. If they were boyfriend and girlfriend, this was the first that he’d heard of it. “Is there anything you’d like to say, Sammy?” she asked.
“Nope. Start it up.”
Fortunately, Spencer and Steve did not get any further than making out, and this was quite sufficient to elicit gales of giggles from their secret audience. When Steve switched off the light and the two lovers lay down to sleep, everyone knew that the spectacle was over. Once everyone else left, Evelyn dragged Samuel over to her bed with the force of an unprecedented desire. Spencer and Steve had only made out that night. Samuel and Evelyn had sex for the first time.
It did not take long for word to spread about the video, which all those in attendance besides Samuel had posted on various social media websites. Much to the pranksters’ surprise, however, Spencer did not at first seem particularly phased. One night, he approached Samuel and asked for a word, as calmly as if he wanted to discuss an upcoming assignment. “I know what you did,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Good,” Samuel answered provocatively, prepared for a heated encounter. Truthfully, though, Samuel’s anger had long since subsided. He had evened the scales, answering humiliation with humiliation; he had shown his roommate that he could not bully Samuel with impunity. But he anticipated that at least some kind of confrontation was inevitable.
“Why did you do it?” asked Spencer.
“It was extreme,” Samuel responded, ducking the question. “It won’t happen again. I think I’ve made my point.”
“Yes,” Spencer replied. “You’ve certainly made things very clear. Look, Samuel, I can tell that you’re not a bad guy. I’m sure you feel shitty about what you did. But you should know that I requested a room change. I’m not mad. At this point in my life, I’m way past the point of being mad about anything. But I don’t think Steve or I can feel comfortable living with you. Not after what happened.”
“If that is your decision,” is all Samuel could think to say in reply.
The next few weeks were awkward, but not inordinately so. Spencer and Steve went about their business, not speaking a word to the boy who had filmed their intimate encounter. Things were going very well between Samuel and Evelyn. The two of them had decided to make their relationship “official,” and to forego the pornographic preludes when they hooked up. So immersed was Samuel in his first serious relationship that he did not at first notice that Steve was spending progressively less time in his room. When he stopped appearing altogether, it occurred to Samuel that perhaps the pair that seemed so inseparable over the course of the semester had called it quits. His suspicions were confirmed when he returned from class one day to find all of Steve’s possessions gone from the room.
Around a week later, Samuel, who had learned that one of his classes was cancelled, came back to his room a few hours earlier than usual to find Spencer’s head buried in his pillow, a Cyndi Lauper song drowning out his sobs. Samuel was tempted to comfort his roommate, but he doubted Spencer wanted to hear from the guy who had pulled such a cruel prank on him earlier in the semester. Samuel never again witnessed such an overt display of sadness from Spencer, but he could not help but pick up on the silent melancholy wafting over from the other side of the room. Spencer spent even more time than he ever had before with his nose buried in philosophy tomes, and would often vanish for days at a time. Disturbed by his roommate’s deterioration, Samuel began to consider whether his actions had played some role in Steve’s departure. With the benefit of hindsight, Samuel began to see his prank, once a source of pride, as horrendously petty and immature.
When Spencer did not return for three days, Samuel decided that a text message apology would have to do. “hey Spencer, hope everything is ok,” it began. “i feel awful about the video. im sure u have forgot about it by now, but it was fucked up and i owe u an apology. if it’s not 2 late, i hope u will reconsider ur decision to move out. i know that i have not done much to earn your trust, but if u need some1 2 talk 2 id be happy 2 listen.” No sooner had he hit send, that Samuel felt a major wave of relief wash over him. Maybe it was not too late to make things right.
Samuel was with Evelyn when he heard the news about Spencer. No one was sure exactly when he had committed suicide, but experts said that it was likely some time in the last few days. Although he knew it was probably irrelevant, Samuel could not help but wonder whether Spencer had received his text message before choosing to take his own life. More than any of the public condemnation, this unanswerable question would continue to haunt him, buzzing around in his head like a sadistic fly. When he learned that he was to be tried for invasion of privacy (he supposed one of the many spectators in Evelyn’s room that night had ratted him out after learning of Spencer’s death), it seemed inconsequential next to his all-consuming guilt.
The next few months were a big blur. A blur punctuated by the flash of paparazzi cameras and the jeers of the selectively self-righteous. His relationship with Evelyn did not survive the media spotlight. In fact, she chose to testify against him, no doubt to avoid prosecution herself. Try as he might, Samuel could not really blame her. She was just doing what anyone would have done in her place. It’s not like they had been married or anything. No, Samuel knew that the responsibility for Spencer’s death lay with him and him alone. Any suggestion to the contrary (and there were many, especially from his father) was enough to make him livid with rage.
Dr. Gupta insisted that his son plead innocent. He insisted that the fault lay with the NYU administration, with Spencer, with Evelyn; anywhere but with his own son. Samuel did not care much what happened to him. His life was already over. He pled innocent for his father’s sake; he knew Dr. Gupta could not live with an admission of guilt. But truly, he hoped that he would be sentenced. Such crimes as the one he had committed did not deserve to go unpunished. Yet, in his most contemplative moments, Samuel could not help but ponder whether, if he had committed suicide and his former roommate’s racist comments were brought to light, Spencer would have been the one in court to answer for the terrible crime of being an immature teenager.
From an early age, Samuel had struggled to balance his father’s conflicting directives of conforming to the American norm and protecting himself from the many dangers lurking behind every manicured lawn and under the hood of every gas-guzzling SUV. In dealing with his father, Samuel maintained a delicate balance, heeding his authoritarian dictates when necessary and discreetly circumventing them when they proved unrealistic in the context of his modern American childhood. On the rare occasions when Samuel reflected on his father’s endless string of dire warnings about such perils as premarital sex and crossing one-way streets without looking both ways, he saw them for what they were: the well-meaning concerns of a widower whose life experience rendered him averse to even the most minor risk-taking. Still, Samuel’s blossoming adolescent ego occasionally brought him into conflict with his overbearing father.
Case in point, when his father insisted on shipping his son’s possessions off to college in New York City weeks in advance. “But I don’t want to live in an empty room for a month!” Samuel had protested when his father instructed him to pack all of his things into a series of suitcases.
“Don’t argue with me, Samuel. It’s best to take care of these kinds of things well ahead of time,” he had said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “You never know what could go wrong.”
In a rare display of dissent, Samuel stormed out of the room, leaving his father alone to deal with his ensuing heart palpitations. He returned home later, a bulging McDonald’s bag in tow, and proceeded to lay its greasy, artery-clogging contents on the Gupta’s prized mahogany coffee table. His father could only watch helplessly as his son, normally so attentive to his health, gorged himself on the unhealthiest possible foods.
“Promise me you will stay away from fast food,” he told Samuel in a tone that suggested he considered his words more than reasonable, “and we will send your things two weeks early instead of four weeks.” Samuel was tempted to turn down the compromise just to spoil his father’s self-satisfaction, but he knew that this was the best offer he was going to get. And so, exactly two weeks before his journey east to attend college in the gleaming metropolis of New York, Samuel lugged his suitcases down the stairs, out the door and onto the curb, leaving them at the mercy of Heavylifter Shipping, Inc.
As it turned out, Dr. Gupta’s concerns were justified. When Samuel arrived at his NYU dormitory on Washington Square Park, he discovered that his bags had been lost en route. Being a naturally superstitious young man, Samuel feared that this unfortunate turn of events did not bode well for his college experience. His living situation only served to confirm his misgivings. The university, having accepted a record number of applicants that year, lacked sufficient accommodations, so Samuel and a handful of other unlucky souls were forced to take up residence in the basement level, which had not housed students since the 1980s. The hallway leading to his room smelled of sweat and had a cramped, industrial feel. The floor was littered with a combination of trash and compact little brown pellets that most likely exited from the posteriors of some native rodents.
Entering his room, inconveniently located at the very end of the hallway, he quickly noticed a lack of cell phone reception. Upon consulting his designated R.A., a bulbous second-semester senior with a high forehead and disinterested demeanor, he learned that he would have to go upstairs in order to make phone calls. The only unknown at this point was his roommate, who would not arrive from his home state of Georgia for several days. Returning from an extended shopping trip the next evening, Samuel found that his roommate had moved in. Samuel hoped against hope that the complete stranger he was to spend the next nine or so months with would break the trend of misfortunes that had greeted him on his arrival.
The first sign that something might be amiss with the Georgian was a large poster of a half-naked Abercrombie & Fitch model hanging on his wall. A male model. Was the guy gay, or something? Being a child of the late 20th century from a progressive suburb in one of the nation’s most liberal states, Samuel resolved not to pass premature judgment on his roommate. Still, the prospect of living with a homosexual was unsettling. Before Samuel had time to contemplate his situation further, he felt his phone vibrating against his leg. Setting his knapsack down, he dashed up the stairs to receive the call.
After predictably blaming Samuel for losing his luggage, (“If only we’d sent them out when I wanted to, this never would have happened!”), Dr. Gupta asked the obligatory question: “Is everything else O.K.?”
“Yes, father,” Samuel lied. “I got my class assignments and placed orders for my textbooks. They should arrive soon. Oh, and my roommate just got in today. I haven’t met him yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s a homosexual.” Samuel knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he had made a big mistake, as evidenced by the long, pregnant silence that followed.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Have you requested a room change?”
“Well, I didn’t think-”
“Didn’t think it would be a problem? Do you want some flaming hijra looking at you when you undress? I did not pay $40,000 for you to deal with this kind of distraction.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Well I suppose there’s no other option but for me to phone the administration and give them a piece of my mind”
“No!” Samuel yelled. “I mean, don’t worry, you’re busy. I’ll handle it myself.”
To Samuel’s surprise, Dr. Gupta contemplated his suggestion. “Well, you are a college boy now, I suppose. And you do have to start dealing with these responsibilities yourself. Just don’t put it off.”
Samuel had never really known a gay person. Sure, he’d seen them from afar, jabbering away about clothes and gossiping in their singsong, feminine voices. One time, a gaggle of homosexuals had catcalled him as he was returning from school with some friends; this was about the extent of his interaction with them. But if the little he had read on the subject was accurate, sexual orientation was to a greater or lesser extent genetic. How could he in good conscience judge his roommate for being born a certain way?
Samuel had been sitting on his bed contemplating the matter for some time before he heard the jingling of keys out in the hallway. The door opened to reveal a tall, lanky young man with pasty white skin. “Hello!” Samuel blurted out, with perhaps too much enthusiasm. “My name is Samuel.”
The Georgian eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before offering his hand. “Hi there. Name’s Spencer. Spencer Magro. Pleased to meet you.”
Samuel quickly learned that his roommate was not very social. He’d often spend the entire evening poring over obscure philosophy tomes. When, every so often, Spencer asked his roommate’s opinion on some deep question of human existence, Samuel got the distinct impression that he was being tested.
Returning from the library one Sunday, he discovered his roommate making out with another man, a much older one from the looks of it. “Oh, hey Boss,” said Spencer. This was the first of many times he would use the insulting nickname. “So, uh, you mind letting me have the room for tonight?” Samuel did not even have a chance to politely agree before Spencer preempted him: “Thanks a lot, Boss, I appreciate it.” With that, Spencer and his new lover picked up where they left off. Samuel was so eager to escape the room that he neglected to consider the inconvenient fact that he had nowhere else to sleep.
Lacking any other options, Samuel settled on the haggard, suspiciously stained couch in his dormitory’s common area. Just as he felt sleep approaching, a familiar voice caused him to bolt upright. “Hey there, Gupta. You get sexiled or something?” It was Evelyn Wei from his computer science class. The two of them had bonded over making fun of their unfailingly awkward, Aspergerish professor.
“Hi, Evelyn. Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”
“That sucks… Oh my God, wait, you’re the one who’s living with that gay guy, right?”
“That’s me.”
“My heart goes out to you, it really does. It must be so awkward.”
“Well it hasn’t been that bad, really, I mean, until today. I had planned on going to bed early.”
Evelyn smiled and tapped Samuel playfully on the shoulder. “Well, now you get to hang out with me instead. Congratulations.”
Samuel and Evelyn talked on the couch for a while, mostly gossiping about the weirdos and social misfits in their computer science class. The conversation devolved into an awkward silence after they had run through the whole checklist of pimpled, bespectacled faces. “So, um, do you want to head back to my room or something?” Evelyn asked, breaking the silence. “My roommate’s gone for the weekend and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you crashed in her bed. I mean, seeing as there’s probably some serious gay sex going on in your room at the moment.”
“Yeah, sure,” Samuel replied eagerly. “Lead the way.”
Samuel and Evelyn spent the night chatting and watching Youtube videos, many of which contained cats performing all manner of improbable feats. As they watched a particularly daring tabby steal some food from the bowl of an astounded German shepherd, Samuel shifted over, allowing his arm to rub gently against Evelyn’s side. When he received no response, Samuel went in for a kiss. Evelyn turned her head away at the last second, so that he only managed to catch cheek. That was as far as they got.
The rest of the week passed without incident. Samuel had nearly forgotten about his roommate’s goateed lover when, returning from the library the following Sunday, he detected the unmistakable scent of marijuana wafting up from under his door. Hearing his roommate’s voice mingling with a stranger’s, he hesitated before inserting his key into the lock. He knew that it was rude to eavesdrop, but his curiosity got the better of him.
“So what’s the deal with your roommate?” asked the goateed man. “He seems like a bit of a weirdo.”
“Yeah, I guess he is a bit… different. Very first generation. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to have any real personality. I mean, it’s like he’s trying to be a composite of all the traits that a foreigner would associate with America.”
“Well, obviously I didn’t talk to him at all, so it’s hard for me to judge. But I can totally see it. He’s a nice guy though, right?”
“I don’t know, sometimes I feel like he’s not cool with the fact that I’m gay. You saw how he looked at us last time, didn’t you? I mean, it’s not like we were having sex or anything.”
“You should come live with me. Fuck that curry muncher.”
“You know, I wish I could. But I told you, my parents would disown me.”
“Which is why you don’t tell them.”
“They’d find out. When they came to visit, if not before. You’ll just have to have me in small doses for now.”
Any sympathy Samuel would have felt for Spencer’s parental difficulties was eclipsed by outrage. He had told his roommate that he was a second-generation American. Had he forgotten? Or did the distinction not matter to that ignorant fucking redneck? Samuel felt like his head was going to explode. In high school, he would have gone straight to his father to complain, but the prospect of a livid Dr. Gupta calling up the administration to request a room change for his 18-year-old son was an affront to Samuel’s growing sense of independence.
Evelyn was already in bed when he tapped gently on her door. But evidently, Samuel’s company was enough to rouse her from her near-slumber. “Hey there, Sammy,” she greeted him, visibly casting aside her drowsiness like a wet dog shaking the water from its fur. “Here to watch some more videos?” Receiving only an apathetic shrug in response, Evelyn intuited that her late night visitor was in no mood for the comic exploits of adorable felines. “Come sit down,” Evelyn said, beckoning Samuel to join her on the bed, where she patiently listened to his rant. Samuel could not help but notice that Evelyn seemed oddly aroused by his anger.
“You shouldn’t care what that idiot thinks of you. You’re ten times the man that he is.”
“Ten times? More like twenty.” Arrogance did not come naturally to Samuel, but he felt that it was appropriate in the present circumstances. In any case, his companion certainly seemed to like it.
“Alright, twenty times,” she conceded, stroking his leg awkwardly. The feel of Evelyn’s hand brushing against his skin went a long way towards quelling his rage. “I know what will take your mind off of things,” Evelyn said, rising from her bed to get her pink laptop from her desk.
“Not more Youtube videos, I hope,” Samuel replied. Evelyn let loose a burst of giggles. “No I think you’ll like this better.”
Samuel had of course experienced internet porn before. But its glaring artificiality usually turned him off far more than it turned him on. The exaggerated moaning and ridiculous exclamations of its participants were like nails on a chalkboard to Samuel. Yet, watching porn with a living, breathing girl next to him felt a lot different. Observing human sexuality, even in its least genuine form, stripped away the film of awkwardness that he usually associated with his own sexuality. This time, Evelyn did not turn Samuel down when he made his move, although, much to his chagrin, she refused to allow him below the waist.
Samuel and Evelyn’s relations persisted in this fashion for several weeks. While Samuel quickly expressed his willingness to forego the pornographic viewings that preceded each of their encounters, Evelyn seemed unwilling to give them up. Samuel did not want to risk alienating his partner by refusing to go along with her preferred method of foreplay, but after a while the porn videos became insufferably boring. The race and physical attributes of the actors notwithstanding, every video followed the same predictable routine, giving the impression of a sterile medical procedure.
After the final of three abortive encounters with Evelyn in one week, Samuel slunk back to his room in defeat. What the hell was wrong with him? There he was, in bed with a beautiful girl, watching porn videos, and he couldn’t even get it up. Ruminating on his woeful inadequacy, a disturbing thought occurred to Samuel: what if his roommate’s gayness had somehow rubbed off on him? He recognized on a rational level that this was an absurd notion, but the past few weeks had awakened in him a whirlwind of feelings that were anything but rational.
For the next week, Samuel could not return to his room without experiencing a rush of potent rage. Spencer, by default, was the focal point of this rage. Spencer and his goateed flamer of a friend, who he learned was named Steve. Samuel did his best to stay away when the two of them were together, to avoid their perpetual condescension. But as the semester wore on, Steve was around so often that this became impossible. Often, he would return from class to find Steve curled up in bed smoking a joint, with Spencer nowhere to be found.
If Steve was just like Spencer, perhaps Samuel could have learned to live with his presence. Alas, Steve was a much different kind of gay than Spencer, who talked normally and was interested in gender-appropriate topics. The latter was very discreet about his sexuality, for the most part dressing like a man and talking in a normal, masculine voice, whereas the former was flamboyant to the extreme. Samuel had never heard of the horror known as Cyndi Lauper before arriving at NYU, but thanks to Steve, he knew exactly the kind of music Satan must have played in hell to torture the souls of the damned. Although, he supposed that if all homosexuals went to hell, they might well have enjoyed such a soundtrack.
Samuel found himself so consumed by the duel stresses of Evelyn and his roommates that he could not focus on his work. He could hear his father’s voice berating him for each exam on which he scored below a B, which was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. Samuel’s response to his less-than-respectable grades was to go back to his room and pass out for several hours. On one such occasion, after receiving a C on his computer science midterm, he immediately resolved to take a nap that would put all of his other naps to shame. But fate, or rather goatee Steve and Spencer, had other plans. Plans that involved smoking copious quantities of marijuana and then watching the American version of “Skins” at an unnecessarily loud volume. For the first time since the beginning of the semester, however, Samuel decided to politely request that they watch the show somewhere else so he could get some work done. His two roommates were initially less than accommodating.
“Come on Boss, we planned this a whole week ago,” said Steve, who had recently adopted Spencer’s obnoxious nickname.
“Yes, I understand that. But I have an exam later this week and I really need to study. That is why we’re in school, right? Not just to smoke marijuana and talk philosophy.” Samuel did not mean to sound so aggressive, but he couldn’t help it. He was fed up with being treated like an ignorant foreigner. No, scratch that, he was fed up with everything. His father, his classes, his roommates, Evelyn (whatever the hell she was). All he wanted to do was retreat into a deep slumber and, hopefully, wake up feeling less shitty about his life.
“Alright, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss.” This time Steve spoke with a fake (and quite inaccurate) Indian accent. Spencer laughed obligingly, and then assured Samuel that they were “only joking.”
Samuel briefly entertained dropping out of school and moving back to L.A., but the idea of living under his father’s rule again seemed even more intolerable than his current predicament. “Maybe you need to stop being such a pussy and take control of your life,” a voice inside his head told him. But how? He could request a room change, but who was to say his new roommate would be any better? Maybe what he really needed was to get revenge, to show those arrogant fags that he could make a joke out of them, as well. Until then, he had almost always ignored their insults, hoping that if he pretended not to care they would shut their big gay mouths. But it was clear to him now that it was necessary to prove that they could not treat him like a lesser life form and get away with it. First, he considered planting stink bombs under their pillow. Or perhaps he could hide Steve’s accursed Cyndi Lauper CDs for a while; that way he’d get revenge and get a break from the pop star’s awful music in one fell swoop. Somehow, though, these pranks seemed woefully inadequate. They did not insult his rommates on a personal level, as they had him and his Indian heritage. Besides, even if he got even with them, he’d still have Evelyn to stress over.
The idea popped into his head suddenly; if he was a cartoon character, a light bulb would have gone on above his head. Without stopping to ponder the potential consequences of his little joke, Samuel set up his webcam in the proper position. Then he texted his roommate: “hey spencer, im actually gonna go study at the library so the room’s all yours if you want it.” Samuel stalked over to Evelyn’s room.
“So, what’s this ingenious idea you mentioned earlier?” she asked.
“Well actually,” said Samuel, “it’s probably not a very good idea at all.”
Evelyn deflated. “Oh, darn it, I was all excited. You at least have to tell me what you had planned.”
Supposing that this was a fair request, Samuel obliged.
“Oh my God, that would be absolutely hilarious. Sammy, we have to do it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t you want to pay them back for treating you so awful this whole semester?”
“Well, yet, but-”
“Good, so it’s decided.”
Eyes fluttering back and forth between Evelyn’s face and her very-much-on-display breasts, Samuel felt his counterargument slide back into his throat. “Fine. But let’s get on with it before I change my mind.” Evelyn smiled suggestively and Samuel made a beeline for her bed. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked Evelyn, who remained standing, a look of profound contemplation on her face.
“Hold on,” she said. “Let me just text a few people first,” she said. “Give others a chance to enjoy the spectacle.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, Sammy. How are you getting revenge if only we watch?”
Once again, Samuel’s mounting lust quashed all desire for debate. “Alright, alright. But not too many people.”
Ten minutes later, 16 NYU freshmen sat in a cramped, sweaty cluster around Evelyn’s pink, Hello Kitty laptop. Samuel had never met any of them before, but apparently they all knew Spencer and his mustachioed lover. “It’s too bad we can’t watch on a bigger screen,” said an innocuous-looking Asian girl who could not have been more than five feet tall.
“Shut up Cathy,” Evelyn snapped. “Be happy you’re getting a chance to watch at all.”
Cathy looked down at the ground and muttered an apology.
“Can we got on with this?” said a roly-poly African American boy.
“Just a minute, Jerome. First, I’d like to take the time to give a very special thanks to my boyfriend, Samuel Gupta, for making this whole thing possible.” Samuel did a conspicuous double take at Evelyn’s words. If they were boyfriend and girlfriend, this was the first that he’d heard of it. “Is there anything you’d like to say, Sammy?” she asked.
“Nope. Start it up.”
Fortunately, Spencer and Steve did not get any further than making out, and this was quite sufficient to elicit gales of giggles from their secret audience. When Steve switched off the light and the two lovers lay down to sleep, everyone knew that the spectacle was over. Once everyone else left, Evelyn dragged Samuel over to her bed with the force of an unprecedented desire. Spencer and Steve had only made out that night. Samuel and Evelyn had sex for the first time.
It did not take long for word to spread about the video, which all those in attendance besides Samuel had posted on various social media websites. Much to the pranksters’ surprise, however, Spencer did not at first seem particularly phased. One night, he approached Samuel and asked for a word, as calmly as if he wanted to discuss an upcoming assignment. “I know what you did,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Good,” Samuel answered provocatively, prepared for a heated encounter. Truthfully, though, Samuel’s anger had long since subsided. He had evened the scales, answering humiliation with humiliation; he had shown his roommate that he could not bully Samuel with impunity. But he anticipated that at least some kind of confrontation was inevitable.
“Why did you do it?” asked Spencer.
“It was extreme,” Samuel responded, ducking the question. “It won’t happen again. I think I’ve made my point.”
“Yes,” Spencer replied. “You’ve certainly made things very clear. Look, Samuel, I can tell that you’re not a bad guy. I’m sure you feel shitty about what you did. But you should know that I requested a room change. I’m not mad. At this point in my life, I’m way past the point of being mad about anything. But I don’t think Steve or I can feel comfortable living with you. Not after what happened.”
“If that is your decision,” is all Samuel could think to say in reply.
The next few weeks were awkward, but not inordinately so. Spencer and Steve went about their business, not speaking a word to the boy who had filmed their intimate encounter. Things were going very well between Samuel and Evelyn. The two of them had decided to make their relationship “official,” and to forego the pornographic preludes when they hooked up. So immersed was Samuel in his first serious relationship that he did not at first notice that Steve was spending progressively less time in his room. When he stopped appearing altogether, it occurred to Samuel that perhaps the pair that seemed so inseparable over the course of the semester had called it quits. His suspicions were confirmed when he returned from class one day to find all of Steve’s possessions gone from the room.
Around a week later, Samuel, who had learned that one of his classes was cancelled, came back to his room a few hours earlier than usual to find Spencer’s head buried in his pillow, a Cyndi Lauper song drowning out his sobs. Samuel was tempted to comfort his roommate, but he doubted Spencer wanted to hear from the guy who had pulled such a cruel prank on him earlier in the semester. Samuel never again witnessed such an overt display of sadness from Spencer, but he could not help but pick up on the silent melancholy wafting over from the other side of the room. Spencer spent even more time than he ever had before with his nose buried in philosophy tomes, and would often vanish for days at a time. Disturbed by his roommate’s deterioration, Samuel began to consider whether his actions had played some role in Steve’s departure. With the benefit of hindsight, Samuel began to see his prank, once a source of pride, as horrendously petty and immature.
When Spencer did not return for three days, Samuel decided that a text message apology would have to do. “hey Spencer, hope everything is ok,” it began. “i feel awful about the video. im sure u have forgot about it by now, but it was fucked up and i owe u an apology. if it’s not 2 late, i hope u will reconsider ur decision to move out. i know that i have not done much to earn your trust, but if u need some1 2 talk 2 id be happy 2 listen.” No sooner had he hit send, that Samuel felt a major wave of relief wash over him. Maybe it was not too late to make things right.
Samuel was with Evelyn when he heard the news about Spencer. No one was sure exactly when he had committed suicide, but experts said that it was likely some time in the last few days. Although he knew it was probably irrelevant, Samuel could not help but wonder whether Spencer had received his text message before choosing to take his own life. More than any of the public condemnation, this unanswerable question would continue to haunt him, buzzing around in his head like a sadistic fly. When he learned that he was to be tried for invasion of privacy (he supposed one of the many spectators in Evelyn’s room that night had ratted him out after learning of Spencer’s death), it seemed inconsequential next to his all-consuming guilt.
The next few months were a big blur. A blur punctuated by the flash of paparazzi cameras and the jeers of the selectively self-righteous. His relationship with Evelyn did not survive the media spotlight. In fact, she chose to testify against him, no doubt to avoid prosecution herself. Try as he might, Samuel could not really blame her. She was just doing what anyone would have done in her place. It’s not like they had been married or anything. No, Samuel knew that the responsibility for Spencer’s death lay with him and him alone. Any suggestion to the contrary (and there were many, especially from his father) was enough to make him livid with rage.
Dr. Gupta insisted that his son plead innocent. He insisted that the fault lay with the NYU administration, with Spencer, with Evelyn; anywhere but with his own son. Samuel did not care much what happened to him. His life was already over. He pled innocent for his father’s sake; he knew Dr. Gupta could not live with an admission of guilt. But truly, he hoped that he would be sentenced. Such crimes as the one he had committed did not deserve to go unpunished. Yet, in his most contemplative moments, Samuel could not help but ponder whether, if he had committed suicide and his former roommate’s racist comments were brought to light, Spencer would have been the one in court to answer for the terrible crime of being an immature teenager.