It's Not Friday

The woman all clad in spidery webbed blackness marched down the hallway of dorm rooms and boringly white white walls. She stopped right at the one of the doors, which had a Fuchsia name in large foam letters hanging from her door.

The impertinent knocking continued even as the other college woman opened the door.

“You don’t need to knock so hard. I’m right there.” She jammed a thumb back towards her desk with her laptop open, its mouth as wide as her surprise now when the other woman strutted into her dorm room.

“What’s all this stuff?” She looked around, and then eyed a stacked pile of papers. Taking it in both hands, she then pulled her hands apart as the stack received a huge gash and then were two separate pieces altogether. “Here.” She shrugged, handing the torn stack to the woman. Her eyes filled with tears, she stared at the ripped up manuscript and watched the woman in blackness just walk out and walk away.

The woman closely the door unusually quietly and smiled icily, going to her computer. She cranked out a chapter or two, and then printed the whole thing out at the library after hiking over there. Then she went over to the woman in blackness and showed her the new manuscript, and handed the other one back to her. The woman in blackness looked blankly at her and then slammed her door. But not before the other college woman nodded jerkily with her foot in the doorway.

“Excuse me.”

She shoved the door open, looked around her and frowned and looked, confused, at all the spider webs glistening in the sunlight. Whether they were silver or made silver by the sun was a mystery. Anyway, the spiders were weird—all of them in white bowties around their necks and one with a top hat on—was he the leader? “Weird…” She muttered, turning around and walking out of the dorm room. The other woman was knitting her eyebrows and frowning at her like she didn’t understand why she didn’t like her—

“Stuff!” She muttered, smiling cheekily to herself. Calling to the other woman that she never would visit her in a million years, the college woman slammed her door but not before adding that should she ever enter her dorm room again, she would find herself back in her own dorm room free of all those dumb spider webs. And freak spiders.

“So watch out—I have a broom and a dustpan. Don’t want me to leave with those things in my hands, do you? Oh—and I also have Wiggles, my Golden-Retriever German Shepherd mix!”

She described him, and the other woman made a face like she was imagining a playful, childish dog jumping up onto her and licking her face. And then looking deep into his mistress’s eyes, wise words of sage wisdom gushing forth from those pleading eyes.

And then barking loud when you disagreed, making you do what you did not want to.

Wiggles barked from within.

“Whatever!” A slam of the door.

Another slam.

The woman jumped onto her bed and grabbed her cup of water that was sitting on the nightstand table in between her roommate’s bed and that of her own. Sipping from it, she thought about why.

Why are we so against each other? Why do we hate? What’s with the stupidity and outright ignorance of it all? Why do we do what we do?

The college girl walked out of her dorm room and stood in the hallway, and the other girl stood in the hallway, nearly all the way at the end of the hallway. She stood there, looking at the other girl, and then she moved them so that they were probably staring at the Fuchia pink letters on her dorm room door.

“What—can’t get some joy in your life? How about you wipe all the spider webs off your walls?”

“No.” She pursed her lips and then walked back inside, slamming the door. Indistinct talking made the girl cock her head and mutter, “Did she just say ‘Jax’ and ‘Spirits’? Who is she talking to?” She marched right down to her college dorm room, and grabbed the handle. Twisting it with selfish intentions, the girl shoved the door open.

“Oh—by the way, my manuscript’s about to get published.”

That was not true.

“Liar.” The other woman sat on her bed, watching coal-black spiders crawl along the webs, the girl looking all around. Scrunching her face, she grabbed a broom from somewhere, and started wiping all the spider webs away. Suddenly, hands came out from nowhere, and yanked it and chucked it in between the wall to the right of the door and a dresser.

Everything froze. Then thawed. The two girls glowered at each other, and the woman in blackness looked around herself, sighing in relief that she’d seen the webs all indestructible. The spiders were okay!

“Villain.” The woman shook her head. “I just want friendship. I’m lonely, unlike the spiders. They’re harmless. And so am I.”

“Whatever you say. After slamming me, you expect me to just shake hands and leave with a bright smile on my face?”

The woman wrapped her arms around the girl and nearly threw her out of the place. Skidding to a halt right before hitting the wall, the girl jerked her head back and spoke nastily to the woman. Then she stormed away, almost breaking her door.

Tears formed in her eyes later that night. When her roommate burst in and expressed she was going to a party, the girl’s monotone droned on about that woman down the hallway. Cutting her off, the roommate flung her purse onto her and then skipped out to the hallway and then the sound of the stairway door opened and then shut.  

“My life in a nutshell.” The girl blinked. “Always being shut out. Why can’t I?” She got up off her bed and hiked over to the other woman’s door. Opening it, she looked around, studying the spiders. They were perfectly unharmed. One of the white bowtie collared spiders even waved to her, showing off its ability to weave such magically threaded homes. The girl blinked and muttered to herself.

“What?” The woman in blackness narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

She jerked her eyes up at her, narrowing them. “Just observing. Besides, you don’t deserve to be in the same hallway, same college or same planet!” She whipped around and grabbed the doorknob, almost breaking the door in her slam. Grabbing those two torn manuscripts, she hurled them in the woman’s face, and then slammed the door again.

“There!” She hurried back to her room, slammed the door and hurled onto her bed. “There—that’s final!”

Wiggles barked and then jumped up, his tongue licking the woman’s cheek. She grabbed his fluffy copper neck and played with him, her eyes shining like a rainbow. Then she beckoned Wiggles over when he had jumped down, and he danced around in circles before curling up in his own little plushy bed.

The woman in blackness got off her bed, too, and walked calmly over to the other woman’s room. She opened it and then closed it softly.

Then left, hoping that woman would never enter her room again.

Maybe she’ll drop out. Who knows? With that fire blast of an attitude, I highly doubt she’ll make any friends. Then she stopped. Maybe we could be friends. I’m sorry, college girl. Maybe we could start over. We don’t need to slam and ram and ham each other into an unbeatable end.

She stopped walking to her dorm and turned around, opening the door. “Hey,” she called, “let’s go to that party. Your roommate was so excited!”

“Why would I go with you?”

“Because,” she ordered, “we’re supposed to! It’s college.”

“No!”

The slam of the door, and then slow motion happened while the woman in blackness walked back to her dorm. Then she stopped. “That wasn’t very nice. I needed to be kind.” She looked back, hope trying to shine in her eyes. She had it, but hope wasn’t there anymore. She just wanted to be a normal college dorm room-living student. She was, but she wanted a peaceful pact with this other woman. At least she was kind to the spiders. But they could be kind to each other, and were. It was the dorm room look, wasn’t it? Or…I think it’s my spiders. Or webs. They’re shiny and silver. And harmless. But she’s scarier than the black spiders in my room. My spiders—they crawl onto my hands, wave happily and smile beautifully. I even see that, and get joy out of it.

Then, she shot the other woman’s door a venomous glance. “But how can I? It’s not what I’m wearing. It’s not the spiders. The spiders and I get along fine. We’re best friends. But I can’t befriend spiders. They’re just bugs. I’m not a bug.”

She sighed heavily. “So I should stop bugging others. We should stop bugging each other.” Hope lit up in her eyes, she felt, and walked quietly back to her dorm room. Shutting the door, the spiders all looked at her, curiosity lighting their eyes up.

“Hey.” She sat down and curled up. “She’s always copying everyone around me. I’m always copying everyone around me.” She looked back at her dorm room. “Can we mend this ripped strain in our lives?”

The girl looked up at her closed door, hope gone from her eyes. “I just don’t understand. How? Kindness should be had. We’re in college! Let’s go to the party and enjoy it.” She got out of bed and went to the other woman’s dorm room. The other woman left her dorm room. When they got halfway to each other, both girls looked at each other like they were sorry. Then the one with the Fuschia pink letters on her door spat at her. Then the other one glowered, and then strutted back to her dorm room. Both locked themselves inside.

“I’ll have a party of my own in here!” She fixed herself some dinner in their miniscule kitchen and turned on her roommate’s TV. The other woman fixed herself some dinner in her miniscule kitchen and sat down to watch some TV. Grabbing her roommate’s remote, she switched it on, eager to watch something fun. Munching away on spaghetti and meatballs, the college woman chewed and swallowed, giggled and slapped her knee whenever the hysterics were on.

The other woman kept flipping through channels until she came up on a movie starting. Over an hour had passed, but she had not touched her food. Some voice over at the door—her roommate had come back from the party—told her that her food was getting cold.

She could not be torn away.

Even when Wiggles barked and whined and pawed at her, his tongue out of his happily panting mouth, she could not look away.

The roommate waved her face in front of her, shook her, slapped her shoulder and shut the TV off. The woman looked up at her and said, “Oh, you’re back!” in a voice annoyingly dull. The roommate left in a huff, and the other woman knocked on the door. Or at least that’s what the woman thought. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the doorknob when she was over there and said, “Yeah?” hard.

“Oh—did you watch Yeah Yeah Let’s Go to the Beach?”

“No.” The girl shut the door. Shaking her head, the girl walked back over to the bed and continued watching TV. Then she started eating her food, and told herself it was too cold. Then she heated it and continued her tiny little feast of macaroni and cheese and broccoli. Dumping the uneaten bits of food, she cleaned the dishes and put them away. Then she went to her bed, rolled over and turned off the lights and closed her curtains. “Good-night, neighbor!”

Some whining and then eventually barking tore the girl from sleep. Turning over, she flipped on the light. “Yes, Wiggles?”

The bright-eyed dog got up with his two forepaws and wagged that fluffy tail of his very hard, and panted right in her face, and then licked her face. Smiling, the girl grabbed him into a hug. And then told him he was going to have to go to bed.

But before she could get the light out, he nudged her with his nose and stared at her long and hard. Then she spat out a laugh, and the panting stopped. He closed his mouth, and stared at her continuously.

Pushing him away, she shook her head. Pawing at her and then getting her attention again, Wiggles wagged his tail, looking ever so joyful. His eyes sparkled and his tongue was out, like it was a beautiful hot summer’s day, and…why don’t they go play fetch?

Again, he looked into her eyes, and stopped panting. That look of Why? shone bright and long. Then he curled up in his own bed, looking at her with that intense stare. Do it! He seemed to order. She shook her head, as if understanding him. He looked away. Fine! Don’t listen to me. He seemed to say. Don’t be happy—be mad!

The next morning, the woman woke up, and was gasped at Wiggles standing above her, panting happily and wagging his tail furiously. He got down and when she started complaining about her inability to stand that woman down there, he barked. And barked. Until she gave up and went silent.

She looked at him. That’s right! He seemed to say with his eyes. But she rolled hers. When he wouldn’t stop barking at her, she whipped around, fists balled. “Shut it, dog!” Snapping her fingers, she ordered him to go to bed. He mournfully hung his head, whining and dragging his feet, it seemed. Laying down, he put his head down, having whined once last time.   

His tail lay there, not wagging fluffily. It lay still, as if dead.

Later that night, her pajamas lay untouched in her drawer. Her toothpaste and toothbrush lay untouched in the bathroom. And her floss lay there, like—   

“That woman’s going to in her own bed, thinking about why she ripped up my manuscript!”

The girl looked at Wiggles. He suddenly shot his head up, perking his ears.

“No squirrels around now, buddy!”

He panted happily, his tail wagging furiously. Come on—go over there and tell her why you’re mad. Don’t just be hating.

“But we can’t stand each other. I don’t really know why.”

Wiggles looked at her, all happy. His tail thumped hard against the wooden floor. Go. He seemed to demand.

“No.”

Fine. The dog closed its mouth. All hope seemed to be sucked out of those bright eyes. Fun-sucker!

At the other end of the hallway, the woman was lying there, her legs hanging off the bed at the knees and her hands limp as her elbows pressed down onto the comforter and bed itself. Watching all the spiders crawl around and jest and joke around with each other, she smirked and then crossed her legs.

“You guys are so fun! I wish that woman would be half as great as you guys.”      

Then she looked over to her dorm room door. “Yeah—if she were, she’d be here, playing with you guys. But no, she has to be mad. About what exactly, I have no idea. But she’s ticked.”

One of the spiders said that she was mad at her destroying her first copy of a manuscript she worked so hard to finish. Or write. The woman shook her head, sighing. “No—that’s not true. And it’s also not true that she’s about to become an author. It’s true that she’s mad about something. I don’t know what it is, but she mad. Mad, so mad as to slam that door! I don’t slam doors, and I never have. I just close them.”

The spider muttered something. The woman sat up. “Huh?” She urged the spider to say it again.

“Uh…” The spider wrung his legs and looked over, then narrowing his eyes. “You close doors softly. You’ve always done that. But she’s mad. How about you help her?”

“I can’t!” the woman rejected the other woman’s way of expressing herself through the slamming of wood against plastic. “I can’t. She’ll have to come to me.”

“She won’t. How about you just try? And she’ll go to you.”

“No.”

“Okay.” The spider crawled over to the other spiders and joined them in a little gathering. Their heads together, they laughed and jested. Then, apart, they all headed the woman’s way. “Come on—go over there!”

“No.” The woman flat out refused.

“Fine.” The main spider tipped his grey and dark red ribboned top hat towards her, and said, “Yeah… okay.”