Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

The hall is empty. Either I’ve developed schizophrenia and hearing loud, continuously ringing fire bells is a part of my new condition, or I have quicker-than-average reflexes.

I begin to hear a faint rustling in the rooms.

“Make it stop!” someone yells.

I patrol the hallway to see if anyone other than me has deemed it necessary to vacate his or her room.

Nick is standing in his boxers, topless, looking skeletal and confused. “What’s going on?”

“Not sure.” I sprint down the stairs to see if I can find anyone who knows why this annoying bell is still ringing. I’m both surprised and impressed with my middle-of-the-night energy and agility.

The people from the second floor are exiting the building. I spot Lauren with an opened coat over red flannel pajamas. Maybe the carbon monoxide has spread throughout the third floor, and for some reason everyone except me is unconscious.

I decide to check on Layla and Kimmy, hero that I am.

I hike back up the stairs, my energy waning, and am poised to knock on Layla’s door when she flings it open. She’s fully dressed in khakis, a green turtleneck and a long wool coat. She’s toting a fishbowl above her head with one hand, her laptop with the other.

She is so cute. “It’s a fire alarm, not a flood alarm,” I say, and take the fishbowl from her.

“Thanks. I forgot to back up my documents last night. If this computer melts, I’m a dead woman. Are we supposed to go downstairs?”

“I think that would be the best option. I’ll just check on Kimmy.”

“Jamie to the rescue.” She makes a kissing noise and disappears down the stairs.

Funny, she doesn’t notice that I rescued her first. She’s possessed with the notion that I’m in love with Kimmy. I wish I could tell Layla that it’s her I can’t get out of my head, but it’s obvious she’s not interested in me. If I told her, I’d end up being another class joke, the way I did with Kimmy.

“Hello, Martha,” I say to the bowl. Then I knock on Kimmy’s door. “Darlin’? That alarm blaring? It normally signals fire. It’s best to leave the building so you won’t burn.”

I hear swearing from inside. Male swearing. There is a male swearing in Kimmy’s room. Must be Russ, I figure (not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out). Three pj-clad people pass me, and I’m standing by myself in the hall. “You two can come out now. Coast is clear.” No sound. “Russ, I know you’re in there.”

The door opens slowly. Russ is sitting on the desk, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, looking extremely pale. Maybe the carbon monoxide has gotten to him. Or not.

“Studying late, are we?” I ask.

He ignores me and peers into the hallway. “Do we really have to go out?”

I tug on my ear. “The bell does seem to indicate that.”

“Isn’t it a false alarm?”

“I assume so,” I say. “I don’t smell smoke, but I’m leaving the building, just in case. You two do what you want.” Like you’re doing already. I turn and leave them, disappointment overwhelming me. He should know better. She should know better.

Of course, it’s snowing. I find Layla through the flakes, clasping her laptop to her chest. She takes the fishbowl from me and puts it beside her on the ground. Nick and Lauren join us, and a few minutes later Russ approaches us, Kimmy following a few discreet feet behind. There are no fire trucks, no sirens blaring, no flashing lights washing the campus in red, so either this is a false alarm or the firefighters need to work on their game.

Russ is looking around, probably for Rena, the woman I’ve seen him talk to, the woman who knows his girlfriend. He spots her and waves. She waves back.

Layla’s teeth are chattering. I put my arm around her waist to warm her, but then I realize she might get the wrong idea, or the right idea, so I put my other arm around Kimmy and bring them both into a group hug, Layla’s laptop elbowing me in the stomach.

“You know,” I say, “an orgy would really warm us up.”

“Does your mind ever come out of the gutter?” Layla scolds me.

“What about a massage train?” I ask. Now that was fun. Being touched by Layla and touching Kimmy. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I certainly wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.

The fire alarm stops.

We wait a few seconds, holding our breath, then collectively exhale.

Russ pats Kimmy on the ass as they go through the door. I wish I could pull that move on Layla, but I think she would assault me with her laptop.

Monday, December 15, 1:00 p.m.

One eye is open. One eye is closed. Don’t think I can study and nap at the same time. Too bad these notes don’t come on tape. Then I could let them suggestively enter my consciousness.

Ten-minute nap. I deserve it. I wrote the Economics exam at the ungodly hour of nine this morning. I deserve a ten-minute nap.

I poke Kimmy in the shoulder. She’s sitting in the cubicle next to mine at the library. “Wake me in ten minutes,” I say.

She glances at her watch. “Okay. Ten minutes.”

Mmm. Sharon. Mmm. Kimmy. In my dream they’re both giving me an excellent rubdown.

“Wake up,” Kimmy says, patting my shoulder.

“Ten more minutes.”

“Russ, I let you sleep for an hour.”

An hour? I open my eyes and lean back. “I think I need a coffee.”

“You’ve already had three today.”

Thanks, Mom.

Over the course of the next several hours and countless cups of coffee I attempt to stick to my study schedule.

“My back is killing me,” Kimmy whines at seven.

Jamie pops up and starts massaging her shoulders. He must be doing it to piss me off. He knows I can’t really touch her in public. Ever since Jamie saw Kimmy and me together, he’s been giving me attitude. I’d like to punch him in the face, but I can’t have him spilling split lips to the entire school, can I? Why is he touching her, anyway? He doesn’t still think he has a chance with her, does he?

His fingers continue to dig into her shoulders. Maybe he does think he’s still in the running. Maybe Kimmy’s sleeping with him, too.

Nah.

“Time for a dinner break,” I say, attempting to clear my head. I have enough issues to worry about, most prominently my own dual-dating, without having to worry about Kimmy’s extracurricular activities.

We go to the caf for some food and then back to the library. At eleven Nick starts making toking motions. I know smoking a joint the night before an exam isn’t a brilliant plan, but after all that coffee, I don’t think I’ll fall asleep if I don’t come down a bit. Also dulls the jagged blade of the I’m-an-asshole guilt that now pierces into my stomach lining on a daily basis.

I follow him back to his room, where we smoke a short, quick one. Then I go back to my room to call Sharon.

She decides that tonight is a good time to ask me, “Do you ever think about getting married?”

I’m lying on my bed, still dressed. I wonder if she means to her, or in general, but I don’t want to talk too much in case she realizes I’m stoned. She’d kill me for smoking during exams.

“Do you?” I ask.

Often the best way to avoid a question is to deflect the question with another question. I should have tried that on today’s exam. As identified by the Federal Reserve Bank, what are the three different components of the overall money supply? I could have gone with, What do you think the three components are, eh? Right.

Sharon laughs. “I asked you first.”

Guess it doesn’t work on her, either. “I’ll get married when I’m settled,” I say.

“When you’re settled, or we’re settled?”