Balconial Conversations

Chapter 6: Gertrude's Brownies

"Have you met Gertrude on the second floor?" He’s sitting on the uncomfortable metal floor again, cross-legged with a Tupperware container. He pops an entire brownie into his mouth, and I actively avoid watching his jawline as he chews.

"Considering I just moved onto the sixth, that would be a no."

"She makes pot brownies." He says it with the childish enthusiasm of someone else doing something illicit.

"Are those pot brownies?” He doesn’t strike me as someone who does drugs, but apparently, it’s prevalent and Very Bad on All College Campuses. I think I saw an article about it in my mom’s email.

"No, my dad made these; however, she delivered us some when we moved in."

"How old is she?"

"Seventy-four."

I can’t help but cackle a little bit. "Who's us?"

"My roommate and I. He loves Shakespeare. If Shakespeare were alive right now, he would marry him and try to combine their genes in a petri dish."

"Really? That’s your description of him?"

"Yeah, I found him in the newspaper. Anyway, he falls in love with a new person bi-weekly, so I feel like it fits."

"Bi-weekly like car payments?"

"Exactly, but to different cars, and each car crashes and burns before the new one."

I try to keep a straight face and not answer that smile he’s giving me. "I appreciate your metaphors."