Owned By The Freshman (The Brazen Boys) by Banner Daryl

Author:Banner, Daryl [Banner, Daryl]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-05-03T16:00:00+00:00

[ 6 ]

I’m home five hours earlier than usual.

I clean off the coffee table and shove everything into the top drawer of my desk, figuring I’ll go through it another time—as in, never.

I throw the dirty dishes into the dishwasher even though it doesn’t work, just to get them out of sight.

I make my bed and pull clothes off the floor, thrusting them into my hamper without checking to see which are clean or worn.

I’m in full-blown sweat by the time I pull out the vacuum and give it a good run across the living room and down the hall. I should invest in hardwood floors, I tell myself.

Out of breath, I pull dust rags over every countertop and tabletop. I wipe my forehead and absently leave a huge clump of dust there, which I discover half an hour later when I clean the bathroom and catch sight of myself in the mirror.

“What the fuck’re you doing?” I ask the sweaty man in the mirror.

Then I clean more. Washing the toilet on my knees, I consider what sort of lesson I can give him when he comes over. I can’t do anything he’ll be doing in class anyway. I doubt he’ll have a new piece, so we’ll probably have to work with his made-up, abominable “Swag” piece. Or maybe we can pick something from my selection and he can just do it on-book.

I take a shower and give myself a pep talk afterwards. I’m experiencing all these strange emotions, worrying on what to do with my hair, or what to wear, and it reminds me of my time in college, which suddenly doesn’t feel like all that long ago. I try to fix my hair in that way where it looks like I don’t care; it takes a lot of care to make it look like I don’t care.

I put on a t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, then check myself in the mirror. I want to look exactly enough don’t-give-a-shit, as if I’d cared so little that I forgot he was coming over. I want to be pleasantly surprised at 8 PM when he shows up. Maybe I ought to be baking something. No, that would require me learning how to bake.

Is it so crazy that, even for teaching for years and having so much experience in college with expressing my art and regurgitating words and technique, that the thought of some private in-home acting lesson freaks me out? I wonder if I’d feel this way with any other student.

Or is it just the idea of Justin Brady in my house that makes me lose sanity?

An hour later, I’m cleaned up, dressed and sitting on my couch watching TV. Well, I suppose it’s more accurate to say there is something on TV, but what I’m really watching is the clock hanging on the wall near it, a clock that reads 7:29 PM. I watch it with the intensity of a hunter, every minute dropping from the wall like another innocent bird that did nothing wrong, falling into the endless green below.

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