5/19/12

Courage and Cotinine
By Josh Gottlieb


Right before the lecture began, I ran to the head; there were only a few minutes left. I pushed the heavy, wooden door open and shut the stall as quick as I could. Without removing any clothing, I sat on the seemingly clean seat, and opened the top three buttons on my shirt. In my back pocket, I pulled out a small, white square that I placed in my teeth to hold momentarily. Ripping off the top portion, I drew out the clear, sticky strip and slapped it on my left tricep. After breathing a quick sigh of relief, I buttoned my shirt back up, tossed the empty packet in the toilet, and flushed.

Before leaving the bathroom I quickly looked in the mirror to make sure my hair was neat, which it was not. Since there was nothing I could do, I shrugged my shoulders and hauled myself to the lecture, which had not yet begun.

“Hello!” the instructor said cheerfully.

She was always elated, no matter the situation. I could have walked in, spat on the floor, and flipped her the bird, and she still would have smiled and told me how nice the weather was.

“Good morning,” I replied, not remembering it was noon.

I took my usual seat in the third row and slouched back, tossing my bag on the floor next to my chair. There was no point in opening it since there were no notes to take, considering we usually discussed topical issues loosely related to the subject matter for nearly the entirety of each fifty minute session.

“What’s up, Sam?” I heard from behind me.

“Hey Sarah.”

I served as Sarah’s single, male friend who wasn’t trying to sleep with her. Only half of that was true, since she knew I would hop in bed with her any time she wanted, but since I knew this was not a possibility there was no tension between us. In fact, we frequently discussed our sexual frustrations. It was just something that would simply never happen, and I was oddly content with this. Sarah however, was not the object of my fancy.

Then, as always, looking exhausted and carrying only a single book, she walked in right on time, two minutes late. She took her seat right next to the door, and her hair flipped just a bit when she reached to place the book under her chair. The endorphins flooded through my brain from the contents of the adhesive on my arm, but I like to think it was due to her walking in.

She crossed her legs and sat back a bit, letting her dirty blonde hair droop down on the chair-back. About an inch from her shoulder blades, the dirty blonde suddenly transposed to the seductive, blue dye she had recently applied. She turned her head slightly to the left to peer at the class, and just for a tick, locked eyes with me and smiled.

Within that fraction of a second, my heart fluttered. I could feel every organ in my body at once, and imagined a white, vaporous fume emitting from my skin, as if my soul had escaped. My eyelids turned heavy and my facial muscles tensed just enough to gesture a smile. This was pure, biological emotion; not a hint of logic formed it.

We gazed at each other, embracing each others’ eyes passionately. Her angelic, hazel irises met with my pedestrian, dark brown gashes that protruded from my head. I felt unworthy to even have the chance to be in their line of sight, or even glance at them peripherally! But despite my skepticism, I took them in.

Before I could even exhale, those dazzling eyes flashed back to the front of the room— back to the chalkboard, which hadn’t been used in a quarter century. The next fifty minutes went painfully slow, dragging on longer than the State of the Union address. At nine minute to the hour, the pseudo-intellectual discussion had ceased, and it was time to leave.

As I stood up, beads of sweat trickled down my ribcage, gently piercing the fabric of my shirt.

“Later,” I breezed to Sarah, who waved goodbye.

I quickly turned around and began walking towards the poor girl with whom I was infatuated. Her soft, pale hands reached under the chair to grab her book; her fingers clasped its spine gently.

“C’mon Sam,” I hissed to myself quietly.

My feet managed to gather up the strength to lift my shoes and carry me a few feet. I found myself behind an apple polisher who was determined to continue discussing the need for primary texts in higher education. Weaving past the misguided classmate, I found myself right behind the gorgeous book carrier. I walked up next to her, our hands about a half an inch from touching.

She turned and looked at me, those hazel eyes once again lifting my spirit, and flashed her perfect teeth. She quickly blinked twice. I took in half a breath and opened my mouth, about to deliver the message the remainder of my anatomy had been purging for the past hour.


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Originally from the Washington, D.C. area, Josh Gottlieb enjoys writing about the mundane aspects of life, regardless of triviality. His work has appeared in The Scarlet Sound and Dew on the Kudzu: A Southern Ezine.