Fiction Writing Workshop - "An American Monster ..."
Eric Shapiro - Final Draft for Short Fiction Piece - Steve Stern's Fiction Writing Workshop, Skidmore, Spring 2012
Samuel entered his room and commenced unpacking. His roommate had apparently moved in. Samuel briefly looked over the stranger’s possessions, hoping to glean whatever information he could on the kid he have would have to live with for the next year. The first sign that something might be amiss was a large poster of a half-naked Abercrombie & Fitch model hanging on his wall. Being a child of the late 20th century from a suburb in one of nation’s most liberal states, Samuel resolved not to pass premature judgment on his roommate based on the fact that he might be gay. Still, the prospect of living with a homosexual made him somewhat uncomfortable. He’d have to adjust to the idea.
Samuel had come across plenty of gay people growing up in Worcester, Massachusetts. He was used to seeing them in the clothing stores at the mall, jabbering away about fashion and gossiping in their singsong, feminine voices. But he’d never really known one well. He accepted them in the same way as he accepted every “group,” like the African American boys who monopolized the basketball hoops in his high school gym, or the Chinese kids who always seemed to get the best grades in his computer science classes. He never had an interaction with a gay person that made much an impression, positive or negative. Although, there was that time a gaggle of homosexuals catcalled him on his way back from soccer practice. He was a little embarrassed in the moment, but forgot about it soon after. Would his roommate be that kind of gay person? Or would he be like the one in his computer science class who dressed and spoke the same way as everyone else of his gender?
Spencer was a lanky, palefaced boy named Spencer with spiky hair so red that people usually assumed it was dyed. The roommates exchanged basic introductions and then proceeded to go about their business. Samuel never noticed Spencer do anything that he associated with homosexuality. He seemed like pretty much every other guy at Edison Polytechnic, a small, selective institution inNorthern Virginia. After a few weeks, Samuel no longer thought of Spencer as his “gay roommate.” He was just Spencer, the spiky-haired, pretentious computer science major who liked to read philosophy in his spare time.
Therefore, Samuel was surprised when he returned from the library one day Sunday to find Spencer 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, which reminded Samuel that he was Indian American by birth. Surrounded by Caucasians, Samuel would sometimes forget the fact that his skin was brown until he looked in the mirror. It was a sensitive issue for him. He could not simply shrug off his roommate calling him boss as the kind good-natured racial joke people made to their friends. To Samuel, it was a reminder that he stood out from the crowd, and that was something he always made a conscious effort to avoid.
“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. He ended up settling on the haggard, suspiciously stained couch in his dormitory’s common area. Just as he felt sleep encroaching, 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, a short, plump Asian girl who did not have any particularly notable characteristics besides her hefty, tumescent breasts. The two of them had bonded over making fun of their unfailingly awkward, Aspergerish professor and some geeky classmates.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I have,” Samuel responded.
“That sucks… Oh my God, wait, you’re living with that Magro kid, right?”
“Yup. Spencer Magro.”
“Oh… He’s in my biology class. Is he…?” Evelyn trailed off, waiting for Samuel to answer her question.
“Gay? Yup. He has pictures of male models hanging on his wall. And when I got back to my room today he was with some older guy.”
Evelyn looked sympathetic “My heart goes out to you, it really does. I mean, not that I have anything against gay people or anything. But living with one, it must be kind of awkward?”
“Well it hasn’t been that bad really, I mean, until today. I had planned on going to bed early. Now I probably won’t get any sleep at all.”
“Well, why don’t you hang out with me then,” Evelyn suggested. “We can watch youtube videos or something.” And so, just like that, Samuel made his first college friend.
At a party the next weekend, emboldened by shots of various hard liquors, Samuel stumbled over to a girl from his microeconomics class. He couldn’t recall much about her other than her name, Mary, but before long the two of them were back in his room tearing each other’s clothes off and clumsily groping stray body parts. Truth be told, Samuel was too drunk to enjoy the encounter, so he closed his eyes and let her go to work on him, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself by passing out before she was through. He did.
Samuel awoke the next morning to find his sheets drenched in blood. Horrified, he leapt out of bed, only to inadvertently plant his foot in a puddle of some chunky, half-congealed substance. Vomit. Either that, or oatmeal with chunks of carrot and celery thrown in to add some nutritional value. Momentarily paralyzed, Samuel stared down in horror at his foot. A condom rapper peaked out gingerly from between his pinky toe and the next one over. Spencer returned a short time later; straight from a night of no sleep on the suspiciously stained couch. Samuel went out to go buy some cleaning fluids, but not before making Spencer promise that he would not mention the events of last night to anyone.
As he was returning from work at the cafeteria one day the next week, some androgynous-looking guy he didn’t remember meeting before yelled out: “Hey there Samuel. Been about anymore deflowering lately?” Samuel ignored the guy and kept walking. A day or two later, he was eating lunch on a bench next to the computer science building when a group of girls walked by and pointed at him, giggling. Finally, when he was returning to his dorm room that same night, he ran into Steve, his roommate’s lover and soon-to-be boyfriend. “Hey boss, I heard you had a bloody good time the other night,” said the goateed man, flashing a thumbs up.
Samuel could not seem to go anywhere without someone making a crude comment about his drunken encounter. It was, after all, a small school. Spencer had let the word get out, maybe to just one person, or maybe to ten people, and now it would circulate until everyone got bored and moved on to the next bit of gossip. When Samuel confronted Spencer about the rumor, he denied it. “I didn’t say a thing, boss. You know me, always trustworthy.” There it was again. Boss. Samuel had to keep reminding himself that everyone would forget about what he had heard some girls on his floor refer to as the “bloody Mary incident,” but a week in college time seemed like forever. He had not felt so violated since the high school bully pantsed him during a heated game of dodgeball in gym class.
As was quickly becoming a habit, Samuel vented to Evelyn. He was careful not to specify his grievances, just in case she hadn’t heard about the bloody Mary incident, so he went with the next best option: some good, old-fashioned gay bashing. Evelyn listened patiently as Samuel went on to describe the downsides of living with a gay roommate, most of which were just random stereotypes cobbled together from pop culture. A few of them, however, applied to Steve. If that goateed horror were just like Spencer, perhaps Samuel could have learned to live with his presence.
Alas, Steve was a much different kind of gay. Whereas Spencer was fairly discreet about his sexuality, Steve liked to flaunt it wherever he went, dressing in tight, garish, feminine attire that pushed the boundaries of good taste. The music he listened to was unbearable. 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.
By the time Samuel left Evelyn’s room, he had worked himself up into a potent rage, and started shopping the recesses of his mind for a suitable revenge. Maybe he could plant some stinkbombs under Spencer’s pillow. Or perhaps he could hide Steve’s accursed Cyndi Lauper CDs for a while; that way he’d get revenge and a break from the popstar’s awful music in one fell swoop. Somehow, though, these pranks seemed woefully inadequate. He was about to cut his losses and go with the latte option when a far better idea popped into his head. Spencer had humiliated him by spreading an embarrassing, personal secret, so why not do something similar to even the score? Spencer had asked for the room later, and, lacking any other friends to speak of, that could only mean he wanted to have Steve over.
Without stopping to ponder the potential consequences of his actions, Samuel set up his webcam in the proper position. Then he texted his roommate: “hey spencer, im gonna go study at the library so the room’s all urs if u still want it.” An hour later, Samuel, Evelyn, and 16 random NYU freshmen sat in a cramped around a Hello Kitty laptop in the R.A.’s room. Evelyn rose to address the small crowd that had gathered for the auspicious occasion. “I’d like to take the time to give a very special thanks to, Samuel Gupta, for making this whole thing possible.”
Spencer and Steve did not get any further than necking, which was quite sufficient to elicit gales of giggles from their secret audience. When Steve switched off the light and the lovers started spooning, everyone knew that the spectacle was over.
It did not take long for word to spread about the video, which several attendees had posted on 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 subsided. He had evened the scales, answering humiliation with humiliation; he had shown his roommate that he could not spread rumors about him or call him boss and get away with it.
The next day, upon learning that one of his classes was cancelled, Samuel came back a few hours early to find Spencer in bed, pressing a pillow down on his face as if he was attempting to smother himself. Samuel recognized one of Steve’s Cyndi Lauper record playing in the background, swallowing the sound of Spencer’s sobs. Deciding that it was probably best clear out, Samuel headed over to Evelyn’s room to give a report on what he had seen. He would never again witness such an over display of emotion from his roommate.
Over the next few weeks, Samuel began suspect there might be cause for concern. Spencer would vanish, often for days at a time, only to return unwashed and unshaven, black circles ringing his bloodshot emerald eyes. A short time ago, Samuel would have relished the thought of such a perfect revenge. But with the benefit of hindsight, he was instead full of regret. It dawned on Samuel that his prank had been horrendously petty and immature. He was considering an apology when the door burst open and Spencer came stumbling in, drunk off his ass and with a cigarette in his mouth. Samuel quickly noticed that it was backwards, but before he could say anything Spencer inhaled a lungful of fiberglass. Samuel was shocked. The Spencer he knew, albeit only superficially, looked down on cigarette smokers for their “false fatalism and abdication of responsibility for their health.” The Spencer he knew could not take a bong hit without coughing up a lung.
Yet there he was, pathetically taking rips of a cigarette that he was too drunk to realize was backwards. As someone who generally considered himself a nice, compassionate guy, Samuel felt obligated to say something. And so, puffing out his chest and sucking up his pride, he resolved to offer a firm, manly apology. “Hey, you ok over there?” Samuel asked Spencer, receiving no reply.
“Uhhhh, Spencer? I’m a bit worried about you, man. I mean, I know we’re not friends, but…” he said, concern seeping into his tone. Again there was a long pause. Spencer had long since stopped sobbing and now lay in repose, deathly silent. Some unnamable impulse compelled Samuel to walk over to his roommate’s bed and tentatively place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Spencer sprang up, as if his roommate’s touch had sent a jolt of electricity through his lanky frame.
“I don’t need your pity, boss,” Spencer said remotely, a haunting calm belying his sudden reaction. “Look, I understand why you’re mad at me. I mean, I would be to if…” Samuel trailed off, deciding it best not to finish the sentence.
“If what? If someone filmed you in, you know. What kind of person are you? Is it like some first generation shit? Is that what you dotheads do for revenge in your country?” Samuel knew that Spencer was only lashing out in anger, but the words still stung.
“Look, I’ve grown up a lot since then. It was just, I don’t know, I was just an immature, stupid first semester freshman. Things are different now.” “Yeah, things are different. The love of my life ditched me because my fucking roommate filmed us having sex.” “But you weren’t having sex. You were just-”
“What the hell does it matter what we were doing. It’s like a fucking game of telephone on this campus. Everyone spices up the story to make it juicier. Last thing I heard, the two of were dressed in drag and Steve had a big wet vagina between his legs.” It was all Samuel could do to choke back a spurt of laughter. Tension tended to make him a little giddy.
“God, you are such an asshole,” said Spencer, apparently having noticed his roommate’s stillborn reaction. “Does it get you all hot and bothered? Watching other people have sex? I’ll tell you what, want me to forgive you? Let me film a video of you and that chubby little chink slut of yours. I hear she really knows what she’s doing in bed. I heard that every guy on the baseball team got a free sample of Evelyn Wei’s takeout express.” Spencer let out a cynical, black, cigarette stained chuckle. Samuel felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He was offended, even though he had no reason to be. It wasn’t like Evelyn was his girlfriend or anything.
“Evelyn and I are just… friends. Look, I know you’re hurting, man,” said Spencer. “But come on. I never talked about Steve that way.”
Spencer chuckled again. “No, of course not. You were always so friendly. So warm and welcoming,” said Spencer, his voice laced with acid sarcasm. “He really tried to be friendly with you. But you were never welcoming. He couldn’t stand being in here. He was always afraid you’d walk in and look at us with those beady little judgmental eyes of yours. Like we were fucking sin personified or something. Like how my parents used to look at me, back when they still gave a flying fuck.”
Samuel had never realized that he was looking at Spencer and Steve any differently than he looked at anyone else. Maybe it was subconscious? Or was Spencer just being oversensitive?
“I didn’t make him feel at home because it wasn’t his home!” Samuel yelled, sounding angrier than he had intended. “And if I seemed hostile, it was because you guys always tried to make me look stupid with your-your philosophical questions and shit.”
“Did ever occur to you that maybe we were trying to make you feel included in the conversation?” Samuel was fairly certain this was false. He could tell from their smug superior tones and condescending smiles that they were trying to make a fool out of him. And now Spencer was trying to pass off the whole thing as some friendly outreach that he rejected. If he had such good intentions, why did he go and tell everyone about Mary?
Samuel took a deep breath, trying his best to calm himself. “What is that, some Buddhist breathing exercise or something?” Apparently Spencer, for all his endless philosophical wisdom, did not know the difference between a Hindu and a Buddhist. They were both foreign, and therefore both appropriate as an all-purpose insult for the darker-skinned folk of the world. Never mind the fact that Samuel was an atheist.
“Look, Spencer, I’m trying to be- look, I know we’re never gonna be best friends. But since we’re sharing this room for the rest of the year, why don’t we at least try to act civil?” Spencer did not apply. Samuel was trying his best to be the bigger man here, and all it seemed to do was invite insults and now, silence.
Samuel was walking back to his bed when Spencer started talking again. “They should be sued to hell for what they did to him. Fascist fucking redneck homophobes.” “Him who? Steve?” Samuel asked.
“Who else? They got him when he was waiting for me to let him into the building. He cracked one of his dumb jokes, like always,” Spencer smiled remotely, lost in the memory of his first love. “But then the cop, some local guy, probably never read a book in his life, he punched him in the face.”
“Was he ok?” Samuel asked, mustering one last portion of sympathy.
“Yeah, the cop didn’t hit him hard or anything. But it was enough to get the message across. That he wasn’t welcome here. Enough to make him not want to come back ever again. Even to see me. He said it wasn’t worth it, that he couldn’t stand the atmosphere here and that he needed to head back North, where people are civilized.” Samuel contemplated these words.
“Well, he couldn’t have been very serious about what you guys had if he was so ready to just pick up and leave at the drop a dime. You deserve better than that.”
He said he was gonna head to New York probably,” said Spencer, ignoring Samuel’s words. “I wanted to go with him but my parents, they-they said they’d disown me. That they’d refuse to pay for my education and that I could never, ever come home, even to visit my little sister. What a fucking redneck stereotype. Maybe I’m just-” Spencer caught himself, snapping back into the moment as suddenly as he had left it. “I don’t know why I’m spilling my guts to you. This whole thing is your fucking fault.”
Obviously, Spencer had connected Steve’s abandonment with the video, perhaps because it was easier than just admitting that the relationship was never as serious as he’d thought. And who was he to shatter his roommate’s illusion? Accepting his outreach as a failure, Sam retreated to his bed and the room was silent for the rest of the night.
When Spencer did not return for three days after their conversation, Samuel sent him a text message that read: “hey Spencer, hope everything is ok,” it began. “i feel awful about the video. meant to apologies teh other day, but got sidetracked. if it’s not 2 late, i hope u will reconcider ur decision to move out. i know that i have not done much to earn your trust, but if u want 2 talk again let me no.”
Samuel was with Evelyn when he heard the news about Spencer. No one was sure exactly when he’d done it, but experts said that it was likely some time in last 48 hours. 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, it seemed almost inconsequential next to his 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. Even Evelyn testified against him, quoting word-for-word his homophobic rant and making it sound as if he said those kinds of things every day. Try as he might, Samuel could not really blame her. She was just doing what anyone would have done in her place. The people needed a clear villain to make sense of what had happened, and filming the video had been his idea.
Samuel did not much care what people thought of him. They only knew him as the sick, homophobic kid on the news. All the details were distorted. Spencer and Steve had been having sex, not just making out. His R.A. had told him not to play the video. He had posted it online. He knew that his situation was hopeless and oddly, he was fine with taking the fall. Yet, occasionally, Samuel could not help feeling a little sorry for himself. Spencer had started it. Spread a rumor about him, and made his first few weeks in school that much more awkward. Sure he had gone one step further, filming a retaliatory rumor rather than just speaking it. And he regretted that. But really, was he the first one to use a webcam for nefarious purposes. On those occasions when the guilt became too much to take, Samuel reassured himself that he was not a bad guy, not some American monster.
He had just been unlucky. Unlucky that the kid he had played a stupid joke on happened to be fragile. The public condemnation he would live with, but the bad luck, that was something else. People would forget about Spencer, and they would forget about him. It was only a matter of time before they moved on to the next big story, the next glorified rumor. And if anyone gave him shit, he would say what he was expected to say: that he’d made a bad decision, one that he would regret for the rest of his life. Not that he had been unlucky, and that as a consequence of that bad luck he’d spent years in jail for the crime of being an immature teenager.
Samuel entered his room and commenced unpacking. His roommate had apparently moved in. Samuel briefly looked over the stranger’s possessions, hoping to glean whatever information he could on the kid he have would have to live with for the next year. The first sign that something might be amiss was a large poster of a half-naked Abercrombie & Fitch model hanging on his wall. Being a child of the late 20th century from a suburb in one of nation’s most liberal states, Samuel resolved not to pass premature judgment on his roommate based on the fact that he might be gay. Still, the prospect of living with a homosexual made him somewhat uncomfortable. He’d have to adjust to the idea.
Samuel had come across plenty of gay people growing up in Worcester, Massachusetts. He was used to seeing them in the clothing stores at the mall, jabbering away about fashion and gossiping in their singsong, feminine voices. But he’d never really known one well. He accepted them in the same way as he accepted every “group,” like the African American boys who monopolized the basketball hoops in his high school gym, or the Chinese kids who always seemed to get the best grades in his computer science classes. He never had an interaction with a gay person that made much an impression, positive or negative. Although, there was that time a gaggle of homosexuals catcalled him on his way back from soccer practice. He was a little embarrassed in the moment, but forgot about it soon after. Would his roommate be that kind of gay person? Or would he be like the one in his computer science class who dressed and spoke the same way as everyone else of his gender?
Spencer was a lanky, palefaced boy named Spencer with spiky hair so red that people usually assumed it was dyed. The roommates exchanged basic introductions and then proceeded to go about their business. Samuel never noticed Spencer do anything that he associated with homosexuality. He seemed like pretty much every other guy at Edison Polytechnic, a small, selective institution inNorthern Virginia. After a few weeks, Samuel no longer thought of Spencer as his “gay roommate.” He was just Spencer, the spiky-haired, pretentious computer science major who liked to read philosophy in his spare time.
Therefore, Samuel was surprised when he returned from the library one day Sunday to find Spencer 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, which reminded Samuel that he was Indian American by birth. Surrounded by Caucasians, Samuel would sometimes forget the fact that his skin was brown until he looked in the mirror. It was a sensitive issue for him. He could not simply shrug off his roommate calling him boss as the kind good-natured racial joke people made to their friends. To Samuel, it was a reminder that he stood out from the crowd, and that was something he always made a conscious effort to avoid.
“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. He ended up settling on the haggard, suspiciously stained couch in his dormitory’s common area. Just as he felt sleep encroaching, 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, a short, plump Asian girl who did not have any particularly notable characteristics besides her hefty, tumescent breasts. The two of them had bonded over making fun of their unfailingly awkward, Aspergerish professor and some geeky classmates.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I have,” Samuel responded.
“That sucks… Oh my God, wait, you’re living with that Magro kid, right?”
“Yup. Spencer Magro.”
“Oh… He’s in my biology class. Is he…?” Evelyn trailed off, waiting for Samuel to answer her question.
“Gay? Yup. He has pictures of male models hanging on his wall. And when I got back to my room today he was with some older guy.”
Evelyn looked sympathetic “My heart goes out to you, it really does. I mean, not that I have anything against gay people or anything. But living with one, it must be kind of awkward?”
“Well it hasn’t been that bad really, I mean, until today. I had planned on going to bed early. Now I probably won’t get any sleep at all.”
“Well, why don’t you hang out with me then,” Evelyn suggested. “We can watch youtube videos or something.” And so, just like that, Samuel made his first college friend.
At a party the next weekend, emboldened by shots of various hard liquors, Samuel stumbled over to a girl from his microeconomics class. He couldn’t recall much about her other than her name, Mary, but before long the two of them were back in his room tearing each other’s clothes off and clumsily groping stray body parts. Truth be told, Samuel was too drunk to enjoy the encounter, so he closed his eyes and let her go to work on him, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself by passing out before she was through. He did.
Samuel awoke the next morning to find his sheets drenched in blood. Horrified, he leapt out of bed, only to inadvertently plant his foot in a puddle of some chunky, half-congealed substance. Vomit. Either that, or oatmeal with chunks of carrot and celery thrown in to add some nutritional value. Momentarily paralyzed, Samuel stared down in horror at his foot. A condom rapper peaked out gingerly from between his pinky toe and the next one over. Spencer returned a short time later; straight from a night of no sleep on the suspiciously stained couch. Samuel went out to go buy some cleaning fluids, but not before making Spencer promise that he would not mention the events of last night to anyone.
As he was returning from work at the cafeteria one day the next week, some androgynous-looking guy he didn’t remember meeting before yelled out: “Hey there Samuel. Been about anymore deflowering lately?” Samuel ignored the guy and kept walking. A day or two later, he was eating lunch on a bench next to the computer science building when a group of girls walked by and pointed at him, giggling. Finally, when he was returning to his dorm room that same night, he ran into Steve, his roommate’s lover and soon-to-be boyfriend. “Hey boss, I heard you had a bloody good time the other night,” said the goateed man, flashing a thumbs up.
Samuel could not seem to go anywhere without someone making a crude comment about his drunken encounter. It was, after all, a small school. Spencer had let the word get out, maybe to just one person, or maybe to ten people, and now it would circulate until everyone got bored and moved on to the next bit of gossip. When Samuel confronted Spencer about the rumor, he denied it. “I didn’t say a thing, boss. You know me, always trustworthy.” There it was again. Boss. Samuel had to keep reminding himself that everyone would forget about what he had heard some girls on his floor refer to as the “bloody Mary incident,” but a week in college time seemed like forever. He had not felt so violated since the high school bully pantsed him during a heated game of dodgeball in gym class.
As was quickly becoming a habit, Samuel vented to Evelyn. He was careful not to specify his grievances, just in case she hadn’t heard about the bloody Mary incident, so he went with the next best option: some good, old-fashioned gay bashing. Evelyn listened patiently as Samuel went on to describe the downsides of living with a gay roommate, most of which were just random stereotypes cobbled together from pop culture. A few of them, however, applied to Steve. If that goateed horror were just like Spencer, perhaps Samuel could have learned to live with his presence.
Alas, Steve was a much different kind of gay. Whereas Spencer was fairly discreet about his sexuality, Steve liked to flaunt it wherever he went, dressing in tight, garish, feminine attire that pushed the boundaries of good taste. The music he listened to was unbearable. 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.
By the time Samuel left Evelyn’s room, he had worked himself up into a potent rage, and started shopping the recesses of his mind for a suitable revenge. Maybe he could plant some stinkbombs under Spencer’s pillow. Or perhaps he could hide Steve’s accursed Cyndi Lauper CDs for a while; that way he’d get revenge and a break from the popstar’s awful music in one fell swoop. Somehow, though, these pranks seemed woefully inadequate. He was about to cut his losses and go with the latte option when a far better idea popped into his head. Spencer had humiliated him by spreading an embarrassing, personal secret, so why not do something similar to even the score? Spencer had asked for the room later, and, lacking any other friends to speak of, that could only mean he wanted to have Steve over.
Without stopping to ponder the potential consequences of his actions, Samuel set up his webcam in the proper position. Then he texted his roommate: “hey spencer, im gonna go study at the library so the room’s all urs if u still want it.” An hour later, Samuel, Evelyn, and 16 random NYU freshmen sat in a cramped around a Hello Kitty laptop in the R.A.’s room. Evelyn rose to address the small crowd that had gathered for the auspicious occasion. “I’d like to take the time to give a very special thanks to, Samuel Gupta, for making this whole thing possible.”
Spencer and Steve did not get any further than necking, which was quite sufficient to elicit gales of giggles from their secret audience. When Steve switched off the light and the lovers started spooning, everyone knew that the spectacle was over.
It did not take long for word to spread about the video, which several attendees had posted on 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 subsided. He had evened the scales, answering humiliation with humiliation; he had shown his roommate that he could not spread rumors about him or call him boss and get away with it.
The next day, upon learning that one of his classes was cancelled, Samuel came back a few hours early to find Spencer in bed, pressing a pillow down on his face as if he was attempting to smother himself. Samuel recognized one of Steve’s Cyndi Lauper record playing in the background, swallowing the sound of Spencer’s sobs. Deciding that it was probably best clear out, Samuel headed over to Evelyn’s room to give a report on what he had seen. He would never again witness such an over display of emotion from his roommate.
Over the next few weeks, Samuel began suspect there might be cause for concern. Spencer would vanish, often for days at a time, only to return unwashed and unshaven, black circles ringing his bloodshot emerald eyes. A short time ago, Samuel would have relished the thought of such a perfect revenge. But with the benefit of hindsight, he was instead full of regret. It dawned on Samuel that his prank had been horrendously petty and immature. He was considering an apology when the door burst open and Spencer came stumbling in, drunk off his ass and with a cigarette in his mouth. Samuel quickly noticed that it was backwards, but before he could say anything Spencer inhaled a lungful of fiberglass. Samuel was shocked. The Spencer he knew, albeit only superficially, looked down on cigarette smokers for their “false fatalism and abdication of responsibility for their health.” The Spencer he knew could not take a bong hit without coughing up a lung.
Yet there he was, pathetically taking rips of a cigarette that he was too drunk to realize was backwards. As someone who generally considered himself a nice, compassionate guy, Samuel felt obligated to say something. And so, puffing out his chest and sucking up his pride, he resolved to offer a firm, manly apology. “Hey, you ok over there?” Samuel asked Spencer, receiving no reply.
“Uhhhh, Spencer? I’m a bit worried about you, man. I mean, I know we’re not friends, but…” he said, concern seeping into his tone. Again there was a long pause. Spencer had long since stopped sobbing and now lay in repose, deathly silent. Some unnamable impulse compelled Samuel to walk over to his roommate’s bed and tentatively place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Spencer sprang up, as if his roommate’s touch had sent a jolt of electricity through his lanky frame.
“I don’t need your pity, boss,” Spencer said remotely, a haunting calm belying his sudden reaction. “Look, I understand why you’re mad at me. I mean, I would be to if…” Samuel trailed off, deciding it best not to finish the sentence.
“If what? If someone filmed you in, you know. What kind of person are you? Is it like some first generation shit? Is that what you dotheads do for revenge in your country?” Samuel knew that Spencer was only lashing out in anger, but the words still stung.
“Look, I’ve grown up a lot since then. It was just, I don’t know, I was just an immature, stupid first semester freshman. Things are different now.” “Yeah, things are different. The love of my life ditched me because my fucking roommate filmed us having sex.” “But you weren’t having sex. You were just-”
“What the hell does it matter what we were doing. It’s like a fucking game of telephone on this campus. Everyone spices up the story to make it juicier. Last thing I heard, the two of were dressed in drag and Steve had a big wet vagina between his legs.” It was all Samuel could do to choke back a spurt of laughter. Tension tended to make him a little giddy.
“God, you are such an asshole,” said Spencer, apparently having noticed his roommate’s stillborn reaction. “Does it get you all hot and bothered? Watching other people have sex? I’ll tell you what, want me to forgive you? Let me film a video of you and that chubby little chink slut of yours. I hear she really knows what she’s doing in bed. I heard that every guy on the baseball team got a free sample of Evelyn Wei’s takeout express.” Spencer let out a cynical, black, cigarette stained chuckle. Samuel felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He was offended, even though he had no reason to be. It wasn’t like Evelyn was his girlfriend or anything.
“Evelyn and I are just… friends. Look, I know you’re hurting, man,” said Spencer. “But come on. I never talked about Steve that way.”
Spencer chuckled again. “No, of course not. You were always so friendly. So warm and welcoming,” said Spencer, his voice laced with acid sarcasm. “He really tried to be friendly with you. But you were never welcoming. He couldn’t stand being in here. He was always afraid you’d walk in and look at us with those beady little judgmental eyes of yours. Like we were fucking sin personified or something. Like how my parents used to look at me, back when they still gave a flying fuck.”
Samuel had never realized that he was looking at Spencer and Steve any differently than he looked at anyone else. Maybe it was subconscious? Or was Spencer just being oversensitive?
“I didn’t make him feel at home because it wasn’t his home!” Samuel yelled, sounding angrier than he had intended. “And if I seemed hostile, it was because you guys always tried to make me look stupid with your-your philosophical questions and shit.”
“Did ever occur to you that maybe we were trying to make you feel included in the conversation?” Samuel was fairly certain this was false. He could tell from their smug superior tones and condescending smiles that they were trying to make a fool out of him. And now Spencer was trying to pass off the whole thing as some friendly outreach that he rejected. If he had such good intentions, why did he go and tell everyone about Mary?
Samuel took a deep breath, trying his best to calm himself. “What is that, some Buddhist breathing exercise or something?” Apparently Spencer, for all his endless philosophical wisdom, did not know the difference between a Hindu and a Buddhist. They were both foreign, and therefore both appropriate as an all-purpose insult for the darker-skinned folk of the world. Never mind the fact that Samuel was an atheist.
“Look, Spencer, I’m trying to be- look, I know we’re never gonna be best friends. But since we’re sharing this room for the rest of the year, why don’t we at least try to act civil?” Spencer did not apply. Samuel was trying his best to be the bigger man here, and all it seemed to do was invite insults and now, silence.
Samuel was walking back to his bed when Spencer started talking again. “They should be sued to hell for what they did to him. Fascist fucking redneck homophobes.” “Him who? Steve?” Samuel asked.
“Who else? They got him when he was waiting for me to let him into the building. He cracked one of his dumb jokes, like always,” Spencer smiled remotely, lost in the memory of his first love. “But then the cop, some local guy, probably never read a book in his life, he punched him in the face.”
“Was he ok?” Samuel asked, mustering one last portion of sympathy.
“Yeah, the cop didn’t hit him hard or anything. But it was enough to get the message across. That he wasn’t welcome here. Enough to make him not want to come back ever again. Even to see me. He said it wasn’t worth it, that he couldn’t stand the atmosphere here and that he needed to head back North, where people are civilized.” Samuel contemplated these words.
“Well, he couldn’t have been very serious about what you guys had if he was so ready to just pick up and leave at the drop a dime. You deserve better than that.”
He said he was gonna head to New York probably,” said Spencer, ignoring Samuel’s words. “I wanted to go with him but my parents, they-they said they’d disown me. That they’d refuse to pay for my education and that I could never, ever come home, even to visit my little sister. What a fucking redneck stereotype. Maybe I’m just-” Spencer caught himself, snapping back into the moment as suddenly as he had left it. “I don’t know why I’m spilling my guts to you. This whole thing is your fucking fault.”
Obviously, Spencer had connected Steve’s abandonment with the video, perhaps because it was easier than just admitting that the relationship was never as serious as he’d thought. And who was he to shatter his roommate’s illusion? Accepting his outreach as a failure, Sam retreated to his bed and the room was silent for the rest of the night.
When Spencer did not return for three days after their conversation, Samuel sent him a text message that read: “hey Spencer, hope everything is ok,” it began. “i feel awful about the video. meant to apologies teh other day, but got sidetracked. if it’s not 2 late, i hope u will reconcider ur decision to move out. i know that i have not done much to earn your trust, but if u want 2 talk again let me no.”
Samuel was with Evelyn when he heard the news about Spencer. No one was sure exactly when he’d done it, but experts said that it was likely some time in last 48 hours. 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, it seemed almost inconsequential next to his 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. Even Evelyn testified against him, quoting word-for-word his homophobic rant and making it sound as if he said those kinds of things every day. Try as he might, Samuel could not really blame her. She was just doing what anyone would have done in her place. The people needed a clear villain to make sense of what had happened, and filming the video had been his idea.
Samuel did not much care what people thought of him. They only knew him as the sick, homophobic kid on the news. All the details were distorted. Spencer and Steve had been having sex, not just making out. His R.A. had told him not to play the video. He had posted it online. He knew that his situation was hopeless and oddly, he was fine with taking the fall. Yet, occasionally, Samuel could not help feeling a little sorry for himself. Spencer had started it. Spread a rumor about him, and made his first few weeks in school that much more awkward. Sure he had gone one step further, filming a retaliatory rumor rather than just speaking it. And he regretted that. But really, was he the first one to use a webcam for nefarious purposes. On those occasions when the guilt became too much to take, Samuel reassured himself that he was not a bad guy, not some American monster.
He had just been unlucky. Unlucky that the kid he had played a stupid joke on happened to be fragile. The public condemnation he would live with, but the bad luck, that was something else. People would forget about Spencer, and they would forget about him. It was only a matter of time before they moved on to the next big story, the next glorified rumor. And if anyone gave him shit, he would say what he was expected to say: that he’d made a bad decision, one that he would regret for the rest of his life. Not that he had been unlucky, and that as a consequence of that bad luck he’d spent years in jail for the crime of being an immature teenager.