Michael in the dark wood

Michael Sullivan looked at his calender and saw that it was the middle day of the middle week of the middle quarter of his first year at college, and he had still never gotten drunk, never had a group of friends and never kissed a girl.

He had seen all three of these things happening around him in the dorm he lived in at the University of California, Santa Zita. The day he and the other freshman had moved in, they had started drinking, partying, hanging out, but not with him. Somehow, by the way he looked and acted, they had seen he didn't fit in, and their new life had begun without him.

Michael attended classes, wrote papers, went to the dining hall, but except for occasional brief conversations with his floor-mates, he had no social life. Not that they were unfriendly to him. They just had a way of speaking and moving around him that told Michael he was not a part of their world.

Time had passed quickly. Already halfway through winter quarter. Halfway! And he was no closer to doing any of the things that his hallmates took for granted, that they had been doing since high school, or even before. And worse, he saw no way out of the rut he was in. None of the cheerful pamphlets the university administration had handed out to them mentioned how to be accepted, how to find out where the parties are and how to show up at them and be welcomed.

Michael looked again at his calendar, marking the day with a finger: Wednesday, the middle of the month, the middle of February, the middle of winter quarter-Valentine's Day, which on Michael's calendar was marked by a puffy red heart.

That morning, the two girls who lived down the hall that Michael thought were the prettiest and popular girls on his floor, Amy Mulligan and Sara Kestler, had both gotten baskets of flowers. After dinner, through some communications network that Michael was not plugged into, it had become known that the dorm was going to party that night. In his journey to and from the library that night, he had seen groups of freshmen roaming from floor to floor, carrying beers and laughing, with their arms around each other and holding hands. It was an eventful Valentine's Day, but not for him.

Standing and pushing the chair away with the backs of his knees, Michael looked out the window. Because it was dark out and the room light was on, he saw nothing but his own reflection. Two dark, serious eyes looked back at him, under dark brown mop-like hair that he had never figured out how to get cut.

Down the hall, Michael heard shouts and excited laughter. Music throbbed through the walls. One of the guys on the hall had a stereo so powerful that when he played it full blast, every wall on the floor vibrated, even all the way at the other end in Michael's room. Michael resented the noise because it made it difficult to study, but he didn't want it to sleep. He just wanted to be able to enjoy it like everyone else did. He would never call the night proctor and complain.

More laughter erupted. Doors slammed open. The music stopped. The noise of people increased for a moment, then started to move away. A minute later, all was quiet. Michael wondered why they had suddenly left.

Curious, he left his room and walked down the hall. He saw the wreckage left behind: bottles, cans and plastic cups of red, pink and green liquid lined against the wall. All the doors were shut. Michael wandered out of the hall into the space between his floor and the next, a space next to the stairwell open to the night air. He stopped when he saw a couple embracing in the shadows. Michael watched for a moment, seeing that it was Amy. He realized what he was doing and fled back in the hall.

When he returned to his room, Michael sniffed the air and decided that the room was too warm. He slid the window open and felt the outside air instantly, misty cold. Michael's room was on the side of the dorm facing the forest, away from the rest of the university.

Michael looked deep into the woods, at branches, needles and trunks going back until they merged into one indistinguishable mass of dark rumpled shapes. The trees grew close to one another, and clawed desperately towards the sky to gain the sunlight they need to nourish themselves. Michael looked down at the trees' offspring, tiny saplings which had little chance to become mature trees because their parents blocked the light and rain.

Michael leaned over the window sill and stared down at the hard, grey pavement five stories below. He wanted to meet someone, someone beautiful, attractive and accepted, someone who had better things to do than stand alone in a dorm room and study the trees. He had watched Amy Mulligan earlier in the year, and as much as he could, learned about her life-the music and movies she liked, the people who were her close friends and the ones she just hung out with, the classes she took. But beyond what he heard on her stereo, the things she put up on her door, and the things he overheard while he walked by, it was hard to learn much and doing it made Michael feel even worse. People who were accepted didn't skulk around the hall, trying to overhear conversations and peeping in rooms. It was just that Amy seemed so cool, so fun to be with. Michael had thought of her as the most attractive girl he had seen at UCSZ, until the start of winter quarter.

American literature, or just literature in general, was one of the majors he was considering. So Michael decided to take Intro. to American Lit. During the second lecture of the class, he had to choose which section he would be in. The professor wrote the TAs' names on the board. He chose Helen Zachary's because he liked the sound of her name, especially the 'Z' which the professor had written in big, bold strokes on the chalkboard, so that the rest of her name and the other section leaders' appeared to be a mass of indistinct squiggles around the three slashes.

His first section with Helen was on Friday of that week. To his surprise, Helen Zachary did not, like most of his TAs at UCSZ, seem much older than he was, and she wasn't: as she said during their first section, she was only a junior and still remembered what it was like to be taking lower division classes.

From that point, Helen had replaced Amy as the girl Michael dreamed that he would be with someday. She was intelligent, beautiful and sophisticated, and she had a sense of humor. Michael wanted to make Helen know about him; just talk to her. Although he loved her, he couldn't imagine asking her out on a date, or kissing her. He just wanted her to let him into her world so he could know what it was like.

Michael shivered. He slid the window to just a crack and went to lie on his bed. A glance at his digital clock showed that it was 12:01. His roommate, Andy, was still gone and might not be back all night. Andy was very involved with the dorm's social life, and even had a girlfriend, which was where Michael assumed he spent most of his nights. Michael couldn't imagine that kind of freedom-not having to study, being able to sleep with someone, partying all the time, no responsibilities. This was the only time of life you could live like that, and he was missing it.

Thinking about Andy being able to spend every night with his girlfriend aroused Michael. He thought about Helen. He reached into his underwear and felt his erection. He breathed deeply and withdrew his hand. He just wanted to sleep and forget.

Michael awoke, sore and woolly-headed, when his alarm beeped. Michael hit the snooze button after two tones. He couldn't get up yet. First he needed to shake the nightmare he had dreamed the night before. He had not gotten to sleep quickly, and when he did, he had woken up about every half hour. Finally, he dropped off to a deep sleep, which was when the nightmare started.

He didn't remember many specifics, only that there were three formless, evil shapes which, Michael knew in his dream, had the power of destroying everything they touched, including him. Not destroying, exactly, but annihilating-if they caught him, Michael would cease to exist so completely that it would be like he had never been. He had run from them, of course, except that the faster he pumped his legs the more he realized that he wasn't running on anything, that he was suspended in space and the shapes were gaining.

Just before the shapes consumed him, Michael suddenly knew that it was a dream and that he could wake himself up. Everything melted away and after a terrible moment of paralysis, Michael opened his eyes and he was in his dorm room, the clock reading 8:30 in the morning. It took about fifteen minutes before the world seemed normal again.

He felt like he hadn't slept at all. His knees and elbows ached. The clock beeped again, which meant it was now eight-forty. Michael switched the alarm off and swung his legs out of bed. He had just enough time to get the dining hall for breakfast.

For breakfast, Michael drank a cup of hot chocolate and ate a bowl of rice crispies. He returned to his room and prepared for his first class of the day, Latin, at ten. First, though, he needed to pee.

Inside the bathroom, he saw Philip Yau washing his face. Philip lived next door to Michael. Michael went into the left stall and unzipped his faded black jeans. Another thing he needed to do was buy new clothes. Since he had come to UCSZ he hadn't bought anything, and the jeans he wore were fraying in the knees. With a thud and a swoosh, Michael heard the bathroom door open.

—Hey, Philip, said a voice.

—Hey, Tim.

The person who had come in was Tim Page, a junior who lived in one of the floor's two single rooms. Michael had seen him talking to Amy a lot-they seemed to be pretty good friends. Tim was tall, extremely thin and wore large, oversized glasses with black frames.

—I don't usually see you this early, Philip continued.

—Yeah, well... I decided I really should attend lecture once this quarter, just to see what it's like.

—Yeah, yeah.

Michael finished peeing. His urine was yellow, and smelled strong, so he decided to violate the drought rules on toilet flushing. He pressed the silver handle and watched as clear water swirled in and washed the yellow away. Michael zipped his jeans and left the stall. He snuck a glance at Philip and Tim as he exited. Philip was brushing his teeth while Tim combed his brown, wavy hair. Michael went to the middle sink and rinsed his hands. With his left hand, Tim put his comb away and placed his right hand on the door.

—See you later, Philip.

—Yeah, have a good day.

Philip spat out the toothpaste foam and rinsed his mouth.

—How's your quarter going? Michael asked when he saw that Philip's mouth was clear.

—What?... Oh, all right.

Philip wiped his hands, wadded up his towel and walked out. Michael looked at the bathroom mirror, which ran the entire length of the wall above the sinks. He didn't look very good that morning, but then, lots of other UCSZ students weren't that good-looking, and they had friends. He must be missing something else.

Earlier that quarter, Thursday afternoons had been the high point of Michael's week because that was when he had his section with Helen. Unfortunately, ever since a section two weeks before, it had become yet another thing to dread. The reason was a certain upperclassman, who was known only as Peak. He was tall and very good-looking. That day, they had been discussing Raymond Carver. For the first time, Michael spoke up in section.

For some reason, though, what he said got misunderstood, or he didn't say it right-Michael had no idea-but the more he talked, the more he felt the mood of the section turn against him. When he finished, an awkward silence descended. Peak then filled the gap by explaining to everyone how Michael had completely missed the point. Everyone else agreed with him. Michael tried to break in and explain what he had really meant, but everyone ignored him.

To make it worse, Helen hadn't given him a chance to speak either. Apparently what he had said was so offensive that even she couldn't save him. Since then, Michael had hidden himself in section and never said anything. He only sat in back, against the wall and not around the four tables that were set up in a square, where most of the students sat. From there, he could stilll see Helen, but he didn't feel like he could ever say anything in section again. He just didn't know what he was supposed to say about the books, or how to say it without being mocked.

On this day, Michael sat behind several taller students, so that he had to peer around them to see Helen. As usual, Peak was talking. He was one of the most vocal of the students in the section. Helen stood before them, her fingers resting against her cheeks and her thumb supporting her chin, looking attentive.

Michael pretended to listen to Peak's words while he gazed at Helen. She was too beautiful. She took her fingers away from her chin and brushed them through her hair. Michael felt a shiver run down his back, turning into a tingle in the base of his scrotum. He looked down at his notes, trying to clear his head.

—Thank you, Peak, Helen said. That was very interesting. What do everybody else think? Helen asked the rest of the section.

No one said anything. Michael looked up again. Helen's eyes jumped from person to person. They briefly landed on Michael's, and he dropped his head.

—Okay, said Helen. Well, I guess I should tell you guys about your papers.

She turned around and picked up a piece of chalk. Michael resumed his study of Helen, watching her hair move as she started writing on the board.

Michael found himself walking out of his room that evening, not wanting to study but having nothing else to do. He wanted to know what was happening on the hall. Did Amy have a new boyfriend? There all these episodes and stories happening around him, Michael knew, from overheard conversations, messages left on notepads and glimpses of people going from room to room, and from he could in rooms when the doors were left briefly open.

As he walked down the hall, Michael glanced quickly at the notepads, but saw no new messages. At the other end of the hall, he saw Amy Mulligan, her strawberry blond hair unbraided and falling almost to her waist. She and Sara had the first room on the right. She was taping something on the wall to the left of her door. As he got closer, Michael tried to see what it was. They were color pictures on shiny paper; Michael guessed that they had been cut from a magazine. She was wearing her usual outfit: long, olive-green shorts over black tights, along with a gray UC Davis sweatshirt.

Not sure what he was doing, or what Amy would think he was doing, Michael approached and slowed his steps. Amy turned her head slightly and their eyes met. Michael stopped and tried to think of something to say, looking to his right at the maroon door of the bathroom.

—Putting stuff on the walls? Michael said.

—Yep.

Michael heard a toilet flush. He studied Amy's hands and heard someone pass. He looked to see who it was, but whoever it had been, went in the bathroom.

—Who is that? Michael asked.

He pointed at the magazine picture.

—Somebody lame, Amy replied.

She reached out and rubbed the picture flat against the wall, smoothing out the wrinkles. Michael wondered what he should do. He had nowhere to go, he didn't want to leave the hall, and if he went back to his room, Any would think he was weird for walking down just to talk to her about the pictures she was putting up. He looked again at the bathroom door. Even though he didn't need to go, he had to look like he was doing something. He took two steps and pressed the door open.

Inside, Michael saw Tim Page, hands on edge of the sink, bent forward and peering into his reflection in the mirror. He stiffened when he heard Michael come in, then stood straight.

—Hi, Tim said. His voice broke when he said this, and Tim cleared his throat when he finished.

—Hi.

Michael reached for his soap and started to wash his hands. He saw Tim pick up a comb from the shelf between the sinks and the mirror spotted with blue-white stains.

—How's your quarter going? Michael asked.

—Okay. Actually, it's been mostly bad.

Tim cleared his throat again. His voice sounded scratchy, as if he had just woken up or not spoken to anyone for a long time. Michael about to ask Tim why his quarter was bad, when Tim continued:

—In the beginning, I thought it was going to be great.

Holding his hand horizontal in front of his eyes, Tim began to lower it, past Michael's hair, eyes and finally, mouth.

—But then the inevitable decline set in. I thought I could keep things going the same way forever, but I was just being arrogant.

Tim slammed his hand downwards, to just in front of his crotch.

—I plunged into the abyss. And now-

Tim's hand rose slightly, fingers wiggling.

—Things are just okay.

—Oh, Michael said.

—What about you? You're Michael, right?

—Yeah.

—Andy mentioned you, once or twice. Where are you from?

—Alta Lara.

—Really? So am I. Which high school?

—Reifull.

—How strange. I went there too. I don't recognize you.

—I don't think I remember you, either.

—Oh, well.

Tim took his comb and ran it through his hair with swift strokes.

—I saw you talking to Amy, Tim said.

—Trying to. I don't think she likes me.

—No, it's not that. She's decided she doesn't like UCSZ-she's not having a good time here.

—Really? She seems really popular.

Tim opened the bathroom door and looked out. He pointed towards the bathroom stalls, still holding the door open.

—Well, Tim said. She was, and is. Popular with others-

As Tim said this, he left the bathroom. Michael followed, since Tim still seemed to be speaking to him.

—But people aren't popular with her. She's a strange girl.

Tim pushed the door to his room open and entered. Michael stood outside for a moment, then heard Tim say more, so he went in.

—I mean, Amy is really cool, but she doesn't know what she wants. She tried a lot of things here, and for a while, UCSZ was everything she wanted in the world. But suddenly, something inside her turned against it, and now she just wants to get out.

Tim's room was small and cold. Tim had left his window completely open and his stereo on. Tim leaned back on his desk and picked up a pencil.

—You must be pretty good friends with her.

—For a while, yeah, I was. I think she's really cool. So, what do you think of UCSZ? I haven't seen you around much.

—I think it's a great place to go, if you have friends.

Tim smiled and nodded his head.

—But it's hard to meet people.

—Yes, it is. It takes luck. Anyway, don't worry if Amy seems unfriendly. She's just dealing with her own problems.

Tim nodded his head again, turned to his desk and shuffled some papers. Michael listened to the music playing on his stereo, a combination of thudding drumbeats and guitars which alternated between heavy grinds and high-pitched squeals. Not knowing what else to talk about, Michael pointed to Tim's CD player and asked:

—Who is this?

—Dog Collision. They're awesome. I borrowed it from a friend. They're from Sealth, and I think they're going to be really huge, someday. They probably won't, of course, but they should be. This is they're new album. They have an EP, too.

—Oh, cool.

Tim turned and pulled a black leather jacket from the closet. He put it on and turned off his stereo.

—What's it like living with Andy? Tim asked.

—We don't have much in common... and he doesn't like me at all. Not too great.

—Actually, I like Andy, Tim said, but if I had to live with him, I'd go insane. I have to go the claimstake, to pick something up. Want to come along?

—Sure, I guess. I need to put something else on, though. It's cold tonight.

—It is. I'll come by your room in a minute, then we'll go.