Sometimes it’s more than crying, like weeping; sometimes it’s just softly – only a gentle whimper.
Actually, the tears are usually only metaphorical – symbolic. But for the purposes of this column, let’s say they’re not – let’s say they are audible through the paper-thin walls of my house.
Once, my roommate heard me.
The next morning he said, “Wow. It sounded like you were gettin’ lucky last night – she a little bit vocal, was she?”
I said, “No. That was me crying.”
He said, “Oh. Well I got lucky last night.”
I held my head in my hands before walking away.
I’d cried myself to sleep the previous night, and several nights prior, and that morning. Despite all that, though, and after the aforementioned conversation, I was excited.
Do you want to know why? Because through an online service – I won’t name it; this column is not any online DVD service’s whore – I was receiving a film called IMAX: Beavers.
It’s an IMAX film about – you guessed it – beavers, and assumedly, their habits.
This is what my life has come to.
This line of thinking started when I had a moment of clarity. My other roommate started telling me a story by saying that, to her, it was “so scary.”
I asked, “Who did this to you?”
She said, “No. Not scary-scary.”
I said, “Then scary-how?”
She said, “I think (my boyfriend) might be the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”
I said, “Oh, that is scary.”
Then I said, “You know what else is scary?”
She said, “What?”
I said, “I cry at night because it’s been 17 months and 13 days since I’ve snuggled.”
I said, “Even longer since I’ve made ‘pillow talk.'”
She continued to laugh.
I said, “Thanks. I hope (your undying love) feels good.”
So here’s the roommate, on a grandiose leather chair, scared because her love life is going so well.
Not me. I’m on a beanbag chair of sorts, excited about beavers. And their big teeth and their dams – how do they build those dams? I’m going to find out.
It’s cold – oh-so cold – in my bed.
I asked my third roommate (don’t tell the city of Fort Collins), “What are you up to tomorrow night?”
He said, “My girlfriend is coming up from Denver. You?”
I said, “Watching a DVD about beavers.”
He said, “Oh.”
I said, “It’s an IMAX DVD.”
He said, “Oh.” And walked out of the room, answering his phone (saying Hey, boo! – like he always does when his girlfriend calls).
I heard they use their tails to communicate. Isn’t that fascinating?
Like I said, I cry at night.
It’s not like I haven’t been trying. Once, this semester, I asked a young woman out.
I said, “So. Can I buy you a drink? Some. Time?”
She said, “Oooh. I have a boyfriend.”
I said, “Oh.”
She said, “Sooorry?!”
And that was that.
And I was excited about beavers.
By the by, I did get that IMAX movie about beavers. It didn’t actually display them communicating with their paddle-like tails – slapping them on the water and such. But I still think they do that. And you can’t take that from me. I cry at night.
They squeak more than I’d thought they would – yes, beavers are quite vocal.
Geoff Johnson is a senior English major. It gets awful lonely in that basement room. He is starving for human contact. Comments and feedback can be sent to letters at email@example.com