The Consequences of Dissonance - Chapter Seven
The rest of that first weekend was a flurry of, I thought, useless and overwrought activity. There were two more tours of the campus, to add to the two I had already taken. There was a series of games we had to play in one of the large grassy areas to the west of the student center that were probably intended to get us to relax but were almost universally greeted with sarcasm. All the new freshmen packed together so that our sweating bodies spelled out ‘CSU’ while a photographer on the roof of the recreation center took our picture. I had a bit to do for marching band, but other than that, the first weekend of school had very little to actually do with school.
Eric, Joseph, Jamen, and I all hung out together for most of the weekend, sampling the food at a few of the other dorms around the campus and finding a few places that actually served food worth eating. Mark and I headed to a coffee shop north of campus and ran into Kris there, where we watched a woman who looked rather a lot like Kris only taller cook omelets and waffles, drinking our pricey espresso drinks and feeling out of place.
My roommate didn’t show up until Sunday night at about ten. I was just heading to bed, but since he needed to unpack all his stuff, I figured I’d stay up a bit longer and talk with him while he did so.
Thomas was a short, fit looking kid with a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, colored red, brown, and gray. He moved in a dazed sort of way, though he didn’t seem particularly confused. When he talked, I could tell he was a little stoned.
“So,” I ventured. “How were you able to get out of this weekend’s madness?”
“I’m a sophomore, just chillin’ in the dorms for another year,” he drawled. “Didn’t get my act together last year. Heh. ’Sides, I ain’t payin’ for this place, m’ dad’s got that covered.”
I smirked and nodded, lounging back in my desk chair. The thing was something of a mockery of a rocking chair: it had two rails along the bottom like a rocking chair, but they were straight and shaped so that it only had three positions: forward middle and back. “Good thing. Bunch of bull this weekend, I thought.”
Thomas chuckled in that stoner rumble of his, “Yeah, I ’member that shit. All team building and ‘go rams’ and hype. Fuckin’ gay.”
I hid my wince behind my travel mug of water.
“Anyway, ’nough of that. I’m in for journalism, how ’bout you?” he continued blithely.
“Oh, teacher, cool. I respect that. Whatcha play?”
“Trumpet,” I replied, gesturing to the narrow case by my bed with my foot.
“Awesome,” he said, nodding. He nodded for about thirty seconds, hands absent mindedly arranging books again and again on his desk. I got the feeling he was a little eccentric, like he was hearing music in his head that he was nodding to. Maybe he really was just stoned. “Hey, uh… Cory. You… y’know… smokeup at all?”
“Er… no,” I shook my head. That answered that, then. “Not against it or anything, just never had the chance.”
“Oh, cool, cool,” Thomas mumbled, getting his stuff all put away and sprawling back on his ratty covers. “I, y’know, I’m kinda into it a bit. Heh heh. A lot, really. Just let me know if it bothers you, and I won’t do it in her or anythin’.”
My stomach turned a little in my nervousness. I hadn’t screwed around with drugs at all in highschool, though I’d read plenty: I knew all the good sites. My parents had both talked about it some and discouraged me, each in their own way. Didn’t stop me from being curious, though. “I really… well, I guess I don’t care. Never been around it. I’ll let you know if it bugs me.”
“Mm.” Thomas had pulled out his MP3 player and started fiddling with it. I sat for a bit before getting up to turn off the light, leaving my roommate with his desk lamp and music. College was a bit of a let down so far. The dorms were only passable, my roommate was questionable, and here I was already thinking about drugs, and I hadn’t even had my first class. It all made me feel rather pensive about myself and my situation.