I had a roommate my senior year of college who is perhaps the only person with a lyrical lunacy a bit more extreme than mine.
We had a goodnight song which we sang in harmony, every night before bed, to one another. We were an odd pairing, but we got on, as my mother would say, “famously.” The greatest debt I owe to Nick stems from when he rescued me from a homeless woman.
I was intrigued by a ratty fur coat, bug-eye glasses garnished woman who was roving the Fordham campus. I initiated a dialogue with her and soon discovered she was recently homeless and searching campus to poach up a student who would write her manifesto. I had nothing to do with the early part of the day so I offered my services. Together, in my moleskine, we spent hours drafting notes on the exorbitant real estate prices in her home: the Upper West Side. We sat out on Fordham’s front plaza. Many of my friends passed and later would confess that they thought the woman was my grandmother. She smelled, weakly. It was spring and there was no need for a fur coat. She, like a few other people I’ve encountered, closely resembled the Penguin villain from Batman.
When it came time for class, I told her I would type up the document and print it for her – and that we should meet in the future. I was quite vague. As foul as it sounds, I had what I wanted – a story with the headline “I Wrote a Homeless Woman’s Manifesto!”
After my class ended, I received a phone call – from the woman. While I was in class she walked around the front patio asking anyone and everyone if they knew me. When she found someone who did, she took their cell phone and called. At this point, I realized our relationship had become strained. I met her out front once more. She was in an addled state, manic. She asked me if I had typed up her document. I told her that I was in class and wasn’t able to. It was no more than an hour and fifteen minutes later and I had expressly informed her before I left, where I was going. She impressed upon me the urgency for that document. Papers would publish it and we both would be famous.
I didn’t know how to get out of it.
I offered this woman a glimmer of hope. I texted Nick, “help. i’m out front of Fordham. quickly.” He responded that he would be there immediately.
I tried to calm the woman. I knew I couldn’t let her into the building. I told her I just needed time. She wasn’t hearing it. She began telling me observations she had made about myself:
“The girls that ogle you as we sat and made work, you glanced back at them. They are devils and will ruin your career.”
“Your attention is drawn everywhere. We must focus on the task at hand.”
“You understood me (and I did, I knew exactly the heart of her manifesto. She was right about certain things) and together we can change the status quo.”
Then I saw Nick. I felt tremendous relief. He walked toward me and grinned broadly and then walked right past. My heart sank and I was trapped once more. Then I received another text message: “i can’t man. i’ll laugh. what have you gotten yourself into?!” I responded, “please.”
The woman went on a tirade about technology distracting me from the human interaction we were having. Then Nick arrived once more.
“David, you are needed inside. You’ve been busted for plagiarism!” were his words. He later explained that the only way he could think to loose me from this was to portray me as an embarrassment to this woman. I explained to her that I had to leave. It was urgent. She dug deeper. Said cruel things. And when I gave up no ground she asked for my writing. “It was your hand, but they are my words.”
I have a hang up about ripping pages from my journals. I almost considered staying, making an arrangement – offering any other alternative. Instead, I ripped out 8 pages, handed them over and walked off with Nick. He found it all very funny. That was our relationship.
Yesterday, I was scouring all the shifted files in my desktop and discovered this anecdote that I typed up when he woke me from my sleep in the middle of the night. This offers insight on Nick the individual, as opposed to Nick my friend. These are his words exactly:
“I was asleep in my dorm and Oscar Wilde showed up and I said “Hey aren’t you dead?” And he said no man I am alive and well. And the next thing I knew I had a snowcone and let me tell you it was melting fast! And that is why I can’t read the Importance of Being Earnest without cringing.”
I’m really not sure what this means. I am also positive Nick has no idea what it means. However, he is capable of doing something that many others cannot: earnestly offend and entertain without controversy. He was a good roommate and remains a good friend. And I do still owe him for saving me that day
“Your attention is drawn everywhere. We must focus on the task at hand.”
This is true.