My Hot Roommate

            “ARE YOU SURE you won’t be around here in summer?” asked Charlie. I took a glimpse at him and saw his face was freezing due to my poor internet connection in my room. Ever since I moved to this apartment, the internet has not been so good, just at least one straight day. My laptop sat on the bed.             I was drying my hair after a night bath when I replied to him. I heard my voice shaking as I angrily wiped the right side of my head with the white towel while moving my head in speed motion. The shower handle in the bathroom was as bad or far from worst as the wi-fi. It loosened and fell on the floor when I first turn it. But it is okay. It is my last day here. And to this annoying apartment. “I told you. Not now. I’ll be away there.”             Whether or not, as I sat on my bed facing my laptop, I saw his face frowning. It did hurt me a little, but what I was feeling was more…  serpentine. I think? Where was he?             Charlie is my best friend, whom I met when I was working as a part-time café crew. He has been there for me. Always. Every happy and sad moment.             “Can I come with you?”             “Only if your agency allows you to,” I retorted, not forgetting to add a smile, so he knows that I am joking.             He curled his lips down, eyes up. I can clearly feel how he was feeling. It was none other than sadness. I know, at this point, he was pressured by his parents. Charlie is a model. And he signed an exclusive contract with one modelling agency that does not want nor wished him to go. He wanted to quit being a high fashioned model and begin with what he really loves. Playing instruments, particularly the piano, is his passion.             “I wish,” he whispered.             “Go on,” he added. “You might be late for tomorrow.”             I smiled at him for the last time and closed my laptop.             I rest my head on the comfy pillow. One thing I liked about this apartment is the bed. Soft. My bare skin on this bed reminded me of someone. It brought me to my memories where he and I were on the same soft bed. His smell, his sexy body, his lips. Then, on the spur of the moment, he was beside me. Actual. Dreamy.             “You’ll love it.”             His voice saying his famous words kept on playing inside my thorny mind while staring at him. His nose, his symmetrical eyebrows, his shiny eyes. Why could not I forget it?             Indistinctive.             I stare at the ceiling. A small amount of salty liquid begins to gather in my tear duct. I felt it. Every drops carried a lot of ecstatic reminiscences.             Suddenly, my eyes shut close, and the only thing I can remember, which should be what breakfast will I prepare tomorrow but not, is the person next to me. Liam. Real. Why figmental?             Many minutes had passed, my mind wakes up to my mother’s calming voice. For a moment, I think she is whispering until I open my ears widely and realize she indeed is. I overheard their conversation with my dad. They were debating regarding the sudden change of my course from my hobby course to engineering. Believe it or not, I hate it when I cannot find a way to ignore a discussion between my parents or any other people while talking about me. This unexpected change in my course is my father’s decision.             Then, I feel lost between bewilderment and irritation. What happened?             I gradually begin to open my eyes and starts to look around. Dad, mom, and I are moving constantly forward with their voices solely. It is late when I become fully aware that I am inside of dad’s car. I am seated at the back with my things beside me while dad is driving the car and mom is beside him.             “Do you think it’s safe to leave him in a dorm? With no one to talk to?” It was my mother who asks.             “Be positive,” said my father. Of course, his voice is in usual deep and hard. Impossible to beat with mines’. Except I become a father in the future. I cannot wait.             “Mom?” my first word on the very next day is drained, spoken with a lot of indifference. Their voices instantaneously die out. Did I say something wrong?             I did not dare to utter another word, not a single “I” or “if”. I hold my head very high, close my eyes again, and think of the brilliant photos I took a few weeks ago. I only said ‘mom’ because I used to. Then, mom asks.             “Honey? Are you okay?”             “Nauseous,” I answer with my hoarse voice. I am still not interested to be in their conversation.             “Nauseous,” mom carelessly echoes the word to dad. Finally, her voice returns to normal. And she exclaims, “See!”             If mom will ask me what I want right now, it is opening the door of the car and jumping outside, leaving no care what scratch or wound will I get for doing so. Not involving in their dialogues is the only thing I desire at this moment. Only if they shut up or discuss something else, I’ll be glad to stay in my seat.             I move and lean my head on the window, looking outside. Buildings, buildings, and buildings. Left to right are buildings. What I could not remember and keep on asking myself, since I have woke up and found myself inside this car, is that where are we going? These are not the buildings I use to see in San Diego. Yet, while this perplexity is running across my mind, I did not ask mom or dad. Soon, when the car stops, I will know where.             “Our son is not a good shape,” Mom added to dad, who seems unbothered by her while driving.             I catch how my father peeks at mom’s face. There is a smirk. Then, there was a short–long, awkward silence between them.             And I am totally bothered by that smirk, exhaustively intimidated. What is going on? I ask myself unvocally. During the silence, my two eyes are back to the buildings. I have to admit that this city is beautiful. I can imagine how exquisitely picturesque this is at night with city lights on. Very panoramic.              Then dad breaks the seconds of tranquillity. “Relax. Once he remembers that today is his sophomore’s first day at LA’s State University, he’ll come alive.”             My ears want to hear what just my father had said to check if I heard it right. But there is no need for dad to resay it. His voice repeats inside my ill head. I am terrified. No, everything is terrifying. I think I cannot handle things ‘till the end of this day without having another good, dreamy, disturbing–free rest. How can I forget that today is the day where I will be moving away from San Diego? Away from my family?             While my balling eyes are on their way to mom and dad, my mouth immediately and stupefyingly says that single, simple word whenever I receive a piece of surprising news from anyone, “What?!” All my senses start to operate accurately this time. I am indeed alive. But that piece of information is the only thing I can recall right now. I mean, questions like “how did I end up here” and “why I cannot think of what happened yesterday” is swirling inside my easy-to-forget-things mind.             Mom turns her head to me, speaking softly. Sometimes, I loath it when mom speaks in almost a whisper. I even have to lean forward and stare at her matte red lips to read and know what she is saying. “Honey? Have you forgotten? If you don’t want to take your first day, we can head home and come back here tomorrow.”             “Oh, Miss W., stop tolerating our son,” it was my father’s appeasing voice that talks to mom. I started to wonder why there isn’t a tone of anger. Usually, father is enraged every time he says the word tolerating or something that relates to toleration. But I see no reason for him to be angry.             I suspect it is because today is the grand day that I will be taking his high preferred course for me, and he does not want to ruin it by having an argument with mom. No, not totally argue. I have not seen them fight again after two years.             Engineering is great. I know what you are thinking – extreme Mathematics and Science skills are highly required to be an engineer, or at least, I thought. I don’t know. But the degree that I really desire and am greedy to get is Photography. Not Photography Engineering, but just Photography. It is my passion. I love taking photos creatively with a lot of patience and total concentration and observes it details, either major or minor. And I can clearly claim that I am good at it, just like my father being an engineer.             After dad reply to her, mom returns on the average speed, voice is normal, “For Louie’s sake, Mister H. I am not tolerating him.”             One of the most things I love between mom and dad is how they call each other. Miss W. and Mister H. A short–long term for Ms Wife and Mr Husband. It sounds sweet, full of love. Every second I heard it from them, I wished I have that woman to call Miss W. Or whatever we came with addressing one another. Dear, dearest, darling – we decide. I hope.             “Look how pale he is!”             Pale? Do I look pale? It is time to panic, and I did so. The second thing I love this time, if mom asks me, is a mirror. A mirror with enough size to see my whole face. Eager to see how bad my reflection is. Hoping I see myself through the car’s side window, I face it. But none. Buildings, buildings, and buildings. It is all I see.             “What happened? Why am I pale?” now I am impatient to know why.             “Honey, can’t you remember of anything you did this morning?”             Yes. All I know is I am asleep, got awoke by her voice, went irritated, came to realizations that we are in a car, I watch so many buildings, ride confused and joined their conversation. So, yes, I can’t remember anything this morning. Now, all I wanted to know is why I am pale.             I did not answer mom. I look at her, wearing a face of shock. It is to suggest or tell her that my answer to the question is yes. I’m still waiting.             A seconds moment later, she asks again, “What breakfast did you eat this morning?”             Will this conversation never end? It is displeasing.             This time, I did try hard and my very best to recall what I did this morning. But my mind is blank. I am now doubting whether all of my senses are genuinely working. Too idle to pronounce or even open my mouth again, I shake my head, indicating my response, “no”.             No is the farthest answer to her question. It should have been naming a food, but, really, I cannot remember a thing.             While holding the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road, dad questions me. “How about last night with your friends while celebrating your birthday?”             In that question, everything came back – everything. I saw and pictured what happened yesterday. Yesterday is my 20th birthday. We, my friends and I, did a little, simple celebration. Just us. Down the greeny grass, beside a wide, calming, silent lake, the cameras everywhere. Photos everywhere, trees everywhere, mountains were on their steepest steep. Birds sang their highest notes just like we held our peals of laughter.             Then, at the night, we made it to the bar complete. I lose a bet a few times, and drank a couple of alcoholic drinks as punishment. I remember some details when my friends, who have not consumed any alcohol, not even a single drop from used glass, drove me home. They were making fun of me. Of course, in front of our cameras. By the time I arrived home, the only thing in my mind is my bed. I was not sure if I did my night bath first before I went to bed. Whatever did came first, one thing is for sure. On the bed, somewhere in the night, whilst in the middle of mocking and sorrows, untroubled by the loud calls of crickets nor the notorious beeps of thousand cars, reasoning with the present circumstances that leads to undesirable judgements, peering ignorantly above a white canvas-like plane with incomprehensible dancing silhouettes, I swore, I was crying.