Eli A. Susman

Eli A. Susman Writer of coming-of-age fiction in short story and novel form. Balancing between Young Adult and Adult fiction (big fan of New Adult as a catagory) Free Falling With Ryan Ramsey-A Novel-First 10 pages CHAPTER 1-A STRAIGHT ARROW Ryan Ramsey walked into the first class of our freshman year English seminar five minutes late. As she passed me towards the back of the class a combination of stale cigarettes, dried sweat, and a faint whiff of weed flew into my nose. I tried listening to the middle-aged professor, but I don’t remember a word of what he said. I only remember Ryan, with her long curly red hair and double sided arrow tattoo on her chest. Immediately I noticed the thorned vines of green, red, and purple that circled her wrists and fingers, as if to say: don’t get too close, I bite. Everybody warned me New England would be cold when I decided to move across the country for college, but even with six fans scattered throughout the classroom, it was the heat getting on my nerves. I wiped sweat from my brow and watched this strange girl aimlessly plop a piece of gum into her mouth. I couldn’t decide whether her enigmatic looks, her lack of a backpack, or the fact that she had headphones in and was bobbing her head to music took more of my attention. I could tell she was hardly on top of her shit, unlike me. Then again, Ryan sat in the same college classroom as me. I figured she had to be a musician, or an artist, or a poet. Something creative. That’s what my parents always said about people with tattoos. And they didn’t mean it as a positive. I imagined her playing the bass, and singing in some indie band on campus. I imagined her with a pencil behind her ear, as she smudged some charcoal onto her canvas, drawing the nude person posing in front of her. I saw her lying on her stomach in the dirt to get the perfect picture of the forest around her. I had plenty of time to dream like this. Despite sharing a classroom with Ryan twice a week, and constantly being on the verge of attempting a conversation with her, I didn’t have a true chance to speak to her till a few weeks into the semester. At that point my freshman year had dragged along as I expected: plainly. I’d hoped to have some intellectual friends, but I still spent all my time secluded in my dorm room doing my class assignments. The high levels of dork in my personality created a dilemma where I started to find the seclusion satisfying, almost peaceful. I’d hoped to have funny moments with random students in the dining hall and in my classes, even hoped to find a girlfriend for the first time. But in coming up on the one-month mark, I had nothing but daydreams. My perfect standardized test scores from my time being homeschooled translated quite nicely to the college grading system. I thought I was so smart, so ready to follow the computer science, to Google job, to six-figure salary pipeline. Not once did I stop to think whether I actually enjoyed what kept me busy. My parents taught me only one way: Study Hard Do Well. I felt awkward everywhere I went, and there was never any chance of me starting a conversation with someone. Still though, I was tall, fit looking, and despite the Jewish stereotypes, I had wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. I looked more like the “cool-guy-party-animal” type than the “too nervous to talk to anybody” type. I think that’s why out of the blue during my Psychology class a beefy boy asked me if I wanted to come out to a party at his fraternity. I panicked and faked a cough. “I think I’m coming down with something.” I said, even though I was well aware of how good a chance this was to make friends. I knew I should say yes, but I didn’t know how. And the idea of sitting in my room and getting ahead on my assignments sounded more appropriate than going to a party where I didn’t know anyone. Besides, last time I let loose, I let too loose. I could still feel the cool air rushing past my body as I ran through the night. The hands on my shoulders pushing me to do it, do it. And the camera lights, I’ll never forget the camera lights. I hated myself for letting their fake words eat at my pride. A night meant to bring friendship brought me nothing but torment. I don’t know what was worse, my own embarrassment, or the wrath my parents unleashed upon me. “If you’ve done this, what’s next Max?” Mom had said. “There are going to be some serious changes around here.” And serious changes there were. “You’re sick?” another guy from his posse leaned in and said. We sat dead center of the lecture hall with some old Professor droning on. “Okay whatever, bro.” They leaned back in their chairs as a way of showing me the conversation was over. Immediately I wished I had said something different. I cursed myself silently, knowing I’d let a good opportunity to socialize slip away from me. I hated how talking to people, such a simple and seemingly natural human mechanism, could be so difficult for me. I pressed my tongue against the top of my mouth and allowed the satisfying tap-tap of my note-taking fingers on my laptop keyboard distract me from my frustration. *** By the time Friday came around, my curiosity started to get the best of me. I kept imagining what the party would be like. I had an idea of what happened at frat parties, I’d seen movies and read about them online when applying to college. Even if I did only apply to my parents’ alma mater. My dad warned me about the party culture immediately upon submitting the application. “Just a bunch of beer drinking, drug doing idiots if you ask me.” He would say, his skinny shoulders trying their best to look tough. I knew the look because my shoulders did the same thing. I had no strong urge to drink beer or do drugs, but I still found myself lying in bed, computer science homework open on my computer, thinking about what it would be like to go to the party. I went over to my mirror to see if I looked party ready. My navy-blue cargo shorts, white high socks, and brown t-shirt with a golden retriever on it said I wasn’t. I cursed under my breath and put on a pair of jeans instead. Another look in the mirror confirmed that I at least looked nicer than before. I took that as a win and went into my closet to put extra deodorant on. I wasn’t going to the party, but I convinced myself that I could at least dress up as if I was, to experiment with the idea. That’s when a loud voice erupted from the other side of my door. “Dermot! Dermot! Let’s gooooo!” I dropped my deodorant as my door shook beside me. In my time at school, nobody had knocked on my door, so this guy definitely had the wrong room. Dermot lived next door to me. I only knew him by name and face. And that he was lucky to get a single room, like me. But much more than that I didn’t know in concrete. I did infer a lot though. He must have spoken Spanish, because I heard him screaming along to music in Spanish all the time—usually while I tried to focus on the various problem sets in front of me. And he smoked a lot of weed, because I smelled it in the hallway constantly throughout the day. As for the guy banging on my door, I had no clue who he was. I figured he was huge, because his voice was loud, and I assumed he was drunk, because my door had my name on it, and no sober person would make that kind of mistake. I opened the door and looked down upon a short guy. “You’re not Dermot.” He said right away. He had dark brown skin and ear-length curls. His stubby body gave him the innocent look of someone that you couldn’t help but get along with. “Who are you?” He asked. “I’m Max, who are you?” “I’m Josiah, isn’t this Dermot’s room?” “Obviously not,” I said. “Uhhhhh, not so obvious,” he slapped his hand against my door. A sticker with the name Dermot stuck to my door in the spot that usually said Max. “What the hell?” I turned around and looked at my bed that was terribly unmade. “This is my room. Dermot is next door.” I gestured to the right with my thumb as if looking to hitchhike. “Ohhhhh shit, how much you want to bet Dermot switched the names while I was in the bathroom? I’m an idiot for not realizing.” “I don’t really want to bet anything, actually, so…” “He’s not usually a prankster like that!” Josiah erupted, completely ignoring me. “He drank too much already.” Josiah’s voice had a bouncy feel to it, making everything he said sound lighthearted. Though his hair hung down to his eyes, he bounced around so much when he talked that the hair tended to stay from blocking his vision. I waited for him to turn and walk off, but he didn’t. Instead, he started shamefully laughing and said, “We were pre-gaming for the party tonight.” “Yeah, well, Dermot’s probably waiting for you,” I pointed where again, this time more clearly. The extendedness of the conversation started to hit me. All the moisture in my mouth disappeared. “Yeah, for sure for sure…” He looked me up and down then glanced behind me into my room, nodding his head and slowly rubbing his cheeks. “So, what you up to, you going out tonight?” “What?” “Did I insult you?” He put his hand to his chest insincerely. “No, you just…” “I just asked you a question.” I wanted friends, yes, but that didn’t mean I knew how to make them, or that I wanted some random guy to come barging up to my room. Maybe he was only trying to start a conversation. But I wasn’t ready to have one at that very moment. “You’re at the wrong room buddy!” I felt like shouting at him. His mere laxness about everything infuriated me. Josiah spoke up almost right away. “I don’t mean to be rude.” His shoulders sunk, the light in his eye flattened, and his eager voice lowered. “I’ll leave you alone.” Even if I couldn’t get myself to say it yet, I didn’t want him to leave me alone. But before I could do anything my phone rang in my palm; I looked down and saw my mom’s picture on the screen. “I guess you have plans already,” he said, taking the name off my door and going over to Dermot’s room. He knocked, and when the door opened the light ignited in him again. As he walked through the door and out of my sight he turned and looked at me. He gave a shrug that had more character to it than any shrug I’d ever seen. Even with my lack of social intuition, I thought I knew exactly what he wanted to convey. His shoulders and hands softly moved up to show me that he wouldn’t try if I didn’t want him to. But his eyes showed something different. His eyes told me there was a chance—an in. They said, “Remember, Dermot and I are right next door.” *** I slammed my door shut and answered the phone. “You’re not out going crazy and partying, are you?” My mom said immediately. She sniffled and laughed, and I could hear my dad’s chuckle in the background. She was only joking, but I couldn’t believe how spot on she was. Did she know? Was she a psychic? I began pacing around my tiny room. I’d barely decorated, which my mom hated, but my dad understood that I was too busy with schoolwork to decorate. I didn’t see the use in having a homey room. Four walls, a bed, and a desk were just fine with me for the time being. Josiah sparked something in me. My heartbeat pulsed in my temples, and my room, already steamy and hot, began to overwhelm me. I sat down in my chair near the tiny window. “No, of course not.” I tried to sound lighthearted. “She’s joking Max,” my dad said, as if that wasn’t abundantly clear. They were obviously sitting beside each other on speaker phone. “Have you gone out at all this semester? Met anyone cool?” “I was invited to a frat party tonight, but…” I looked at myself in the mirror again. “But I don’t think I’m gonna go.” “You know what happens at those kinds of college parties.” He said it as a statement, not as a question. “Just a bunch of beer drinking…” “Drug doing idiots.” He said, “Exactly.” “Did you go to the Chabad Shabbat tonight?” My mom asked. “No, I never said I was going to.” “Well a frat party alone doesn’t sound like a great option.” I agreed with her, really, I knew going would end in disaster. But someone had invited me to a party for the first time. And with my parents out of the picture, it became easier to imagine myself breaking the rules. The rules were across the country, what could they do about it? Kill me for thinking for only a moment that I could survive at a college frat party. “Remember what happened last time Max?” “Yes,” I said, not wanting to dwell. I didn’t enjoy talking about that night. Not with anyone, and especially not with my parents. “Obviously I remember.” “It’s best not to go alone.” My dad said. “Do you not have any friends to go with?” “Adam!” My mom shouted; I could hear her hand slapping his shoulder. “Max, I didn’t mean it like that, you just…” “I get exactly what you mean dad.” My voice lowered, and I spoke practically in monotone. I heard my parents whispering tensely, before my mom spoke up. “All we think is that you should have buddies. It isn’t smart for you to try doing something like that at such a new place without anyone you know by your side. Know what we mean?” “Like I said, I know exactly what you mean. I’ll talk to you later.” “Okay, I’m sorry honey, have a good night.” I hung up the phone and put my head back onto my pillow. They had good intentions, my parents, I knew that even if it often resulted in my belittling and restricting. But this time their input only made me want to go to the party more. They said I didn’t have friends, that was true, but Josiah and Dermot were right next door. I could hear the mumble of their voices. Josiah’s light and loud, Dermot’s low and smooth. Josiah seemed to imply that going out with them was an option. But that wasn’t even the biggest question. The real question was whether I thought I should go to the party in the first place, Josiah and Dermot with me or not. And finally I knew my answer. Yes, I was going to the party. I had to. I had to at least try. I’d made up my mind, there was nothing my parents could do about it. I’d go next door, knock, and tell Josiah I wanted to go to the party with them. That could work. Though, how the rest of that conversation would go, I had no clue. Going against all my previous learned logic, I slid my keys and phone into my pockets, and pulled my door open. But when I stepped out into the hallway, I nearly shit my pants. Josiah and Dermot had stepped into the hall at the very same time as me. “Going somewhere?” Josiah asked. I had to force out my words. “Um…. sort of?” “Sort of?” “I wanted to go to the, the uh, the party, yeah.” “Real smooth dude. Come on, let’s go.” He started walking down the hall towards the stairs before stopping and looking back. “Oh, and this is Dermot.” “Yo,” Dermot raised a hand to wave. I noticed Dermot’s earrings and nose ring for the first time—two studs, one on each ear, and a ring through the right of his nose. His bleached buzzcut blended nicely with his tan skin. Dermot toed the line between off-beat loser and put together perfectionist. Seconds passed before I spoke up in a shaky voice. “Okay, let’s go.” As I said it, I tried my best to replicate Josiah’s meaningful shrug back to him. I don’t think I did a very good job, but I think he understood what I meant. As I would soon come to know, Josiah usually knew what you meant by even the slightest of hints. He always was a receptive motherfucker.