She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be by J D Barker

Author:J D Barker [Barker, J D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781734210415
Publisher: Hampton Creek Press
Published: 2020-03-30T22:00:00+00:00

PART 4

“We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me.”

― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

March 12, 1994

Eighteen Years Old

Log 03/12/1994—

Subject “D” —

Audio/video recording.

DISABLED

—Charter Observation Team – 309

1

Matteo rented us an apartment a few blocks from campus, on Mifflin Road. A two-bedroom walkup in a converted three-story Victorian. My allowance from the trust was deposited on the first of each month into an account with Brentwood Federal Savings and Loan. I accessed the funds with an ATM card from anywhere for a small fee. That first month, Matteo deposited an extra two thousand dollars, more than enough to furnish the apartment, purchase dishes, a microwave, and the other essentials of college life. I tried to find a recliner as comfortable as Auntie Jo’s, but that search proved to be fruitless. I settled for a beanbag chair.

Classes began on January 14.

Ten days later, I turned eighteen.

The winter of 1993-1994 proved to be one of the worst in Pennsylvania history. At one point, the drifts along Mifflin Road were nearly seven feet tall. Because most classes were within walking distance (and I quickly grew tired of scraping ice from the windows), my Honda sat unused in front of the apartment, nearly vanishing beneath a blanket of white. When spring finally arrived, I had to buy a new battery to get the car started. A new bloom of rust sprouted on the trunk, a few inches from the lock. I’d watch that spot grow over the coming years.

There were parties, but I didn’t touch a single drink. Keggers, frats, sorority socials. The alcohol flowed, pot was readily available, ludes, shrooms. I even saw coke at one party, but it was college coke, no doubt cut with baby aspirin, flour, and God knew what else. I didn’t touch any of it. Instead, I was the guy in the corner with a can of Pepsi, sometimes a twelve-pack of Pepsi. I smiled and tried not to look too creepy as everyone else got wasted around me.

I wanted to drink, no doubt about that, but in watching the other students at all those parties, particularly the early ones, a realization came to me—they drank to enhance the social experience. It opened them up, took away inhibitions, it was a release. I only drank to forget, to numb, to hide. Alcohol helped to bring them out, alcohol turned me in. They drank to be together, I drank to be alone.

As I watched them all drink, as the laughter and shouting and dancing grew louder and slurred, I felt this gap growing—them and me, they and I, and I found a new way to be alone.

At Penn, everything was celebrated. Tonight we were celebrating what we hoped was the final snow melt of the season. It was the twelfth of March. Someone actually found it, a small mound of brown slush, on the west corner of Spruce Cottage across from the telecom building.

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