As You Wish by Alexander Wagner (Issue 2, 2019)

As You Wish

by Alexander Wagner

Issue 2, 2019

“Who do you know?” the large boy behind the card table said, a little louder this time.

Jamie blinked. Maybe it was the loud music and lights spilling out of the front door of the frat house, or maybe it was the small group of people who lingered behind him waiting for their turn, but for some reason his head wasn’t working properly. He was meeting somebody here, but her name wasn’t coming to mind. Jamie had already texted her on his way up the steps, but he’d gotten distracted when he saw the two frat guys sitting behind a folding table at the entrance to the party. He dawdled around the porch awhile, pretending to check his phone and watching what other people did at the table, just to be safe. It was pretty straightforward: swipe your school ID, they ask you if you know someone in one of the hosting frats, you get a Sharpie mark on your hand, and they let you in. So why was he standing here, staring at this guy and not answering?

Oh god, you’re still doing it, aren’t you?

The boy wearing a tank-top smiled up at him patiently.

“Margaret,” he said, at last remembering what he was doing. “She’s in a sorority that’s also here, I think.”

“Which one?” the boy said.

Goddammit.

She must’ve told him a million times, but he always registered the name the way one reads a number too large to care about: when you see 1,945,362,744, the mind says “a lot.” When Margaret told him what sorority she was in, he heard some distorted Greek gibberish, but no memorable letters that he could tell this kid.

“I don’t actually remember which one,” he said.

“What was that?” the tank-top boy said, leaning forward.

Oh god, don’t make me say it again.

He opened his mouth to repeat himself, but was cut off by a shrill voice.

“Jamie!” Margaret shouted through the door, phone in one hand, red solo cup in the other.

Thanks, god.

Margaret hopped down the steps and hugged him before dragging him into the house. The large boys didn’t try to stop them.

Stupid. You looked so stupid back there.

It’s not a big deal. You’re in now, it’s over.

Just sitting there like a dumbass. People were waiting on you.

The guy didn’t seem to mind, though.

He totally did. He either thought you were stupid or trying to sneak in.

Margaret’s saying something, isn’t she?

Don’t let this ruin your night.

You need this. You need to have a good night out.

“…not much left, but you don’t drink much so we should be good,” Margaret said, finishing a sentence Jamie probably should’ve been listening to.

“Yeah, we should be,” he agreed.

They made their way across the house, weaving through the bodies that littered the various rooms. The house smelled like sweat, beer, and skunk, which Jamie was just “in-the-know” enough to understand was, in fact, not skunk. He really didn’t like frat parties at all, he had come to realize: they were crowded, hot, and loud, and they rarely had good beer. It was almost impossible to meet new people because everyone came in groups and the music was deafening, although Jamie probably wouldn’t be meeting new people in any other setting either, so he supposed that was irrelevant. But still, he came to frat parties whenever he knew that Margaret was going to one. He needed to get out more.

Margaret stopped in front of a small circle of girls standing by a speaker in the living room.

“Hey, guys!” she said, “this is my friend Jamie from my writing seminar.”

The girls all said hi as Margaret listed off their names one by one, all of which buzzed into Jamie’s ears, but never settled there. They looked more or less like every other girl at the party: relatively pretty and wearing very little clothing. He smiled uncomfortably and said hi to each of them.

Stop staring at them, you fucking pervert.

You’re not staring. It’s fine.

They didn’t come out here to get ogled by your creepy ass.

You’re not staring, everyone dresses like this. You’re fine, just focus.

They think you’re just another douchebag who-

You’re not above other guys, stop pretending you are.

You’re beneath them.

Shut up, nobody’s thinking that much about you.

Yeah, nobody thinks about you…

Stop.

As the girls finished their introductions, they all turned back to their conversation.

“So, how’ve you been?” Margaret asked him. “It’s been a while since the last time I got you out of your room. How’d that test you were worried about go?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, shouting to her over the music. She was also wearing very little clothing, but it didn’t bother him as much. She was pretty, too, but not the same way everyone else was pretty. She was pretty like clouds or bricks or anything else he was used to having in his life: she wasn’t unfamiliar or frightening. He couldn’t ever see himself asking her out, just because he was too comfortable with the way they were now, and he didn’t want to ruin anything.

“There were a couple questions I felt a little bit off for,” he continued, “but overall I think I did fine. And then I have a quiz tomorrow in Spanish, which should be alright, except I’m not sure if we need to know the new vocab or not.”
You’re boring her. Stop talking about school stuff.

She asked.

Only about the test. Stop talking.

“So, yeah,” he concluded awkwardly. “How about you? How was your week?”

Margaret started recapping her week, but most of what she said was lost in the heavy bass of the speaker they stood under. He could tell that she was already pretty tipsy, and whatever was in her cup must’ve been strong. She must have seen him looking at it, because she pushed it into his hands.

“Try it,” she said.

He took a small sip. A little bit of lemonade and a lot of vodka. Cheap vodka. He felt it slither down his throat and tried to suppress a grimace.

Don’t make a face. You should have a higher tolerance for this stuff.

He smiled and handed the cup back to her.

“Do you want one?” she said.

“Sure,” he said. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but he had a feeling that he was going to need some booze to handle this many people.

Margaret told her friends where she was going and led Jamie back through the crowd and across the house. They slid their way past mobs of people, most of whom were much bigger than Jamie, or at least seemed that way.

They’re all having so much fun.

Yeah. You’re wasting your life.

You should be doing this stuff, too.

Instead you’re just sad and alone all the time.

I bet those guys at the door are having fun.

You need to get out more.

Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?

Not really. You’re just moping around. You’re not enjoying yourself.

You’re gonna be alone and miserable forever. You’re wasting so much time.

You need a girlfriend or something.

But you just keep waiting for good things to happen to you.

You need to make them happen.

But you don’t know how to.

Stop waiting.

Kill yourself.

Jamie pinched himself hard on the side. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and let it out slowly.

Stop that. You’re fine. This time will pass, remember.

He’d made a habit of telling himself that “this time will pass,” and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He’d gotten a whole bunch of exercises and mantras from his therapist: things to do and say when you feel yourself going into the “dark places.” It worked most of the time, but sometimes he felt the need to invent his own. This was one of them. It made him feel like everything would be okay, even if he had to wait for it. He was afraid that it wasn’t really healthy, though. His therapist hadn’t told him to say it, and he felt like it delved pretty dangerously into “end it all” territory. Additionally, he wasn’t a fan of the concept of waiting for this moment to pass so that the next moment can come, and then waiting for that one to pass until you’re all out of moments and you realize that you spent your whole life waiting for it to be over. But for now, it helped.

They came into the kitchen and made their way to the counter, which was littered with empty containers of just about everything. Margaret led him over to a large plastic bottle of Kamchatka and started making him a drink with the cleanest looking solo cup she could find. She handed him the cup after she’d finished, and he took a big sip of the solution. It tasted a little better than hers, but not by much: it was lukewarm and flat. He let the drink burn its way down his throat and tried not to cough as he smiled at her again. She looked back at him, a hint of concern working its way into her face.

“Are you good?” she asked. “We can leave if you want, and just hang out at a pizza place or something.”

“Oh, no!” he practically shouted back. “I’m totally fine, honestly.”

“You’re sure? I know that frat parties aren’t really your thing. We can duck whenever, just let me know.”

“Ok, I will,” he said, “but honestly, I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she smiled and started to lead them back across the party to her friends.

You’re ruining her night.

She asked you to come here, you’re fine.

She came here to have fun, not to worry about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

It’s fine, she’s just checking on you. She cares about you.

You shouldn’t need a babysitter.

You should be able to do this without someone else’s help.

You should be able to just have fun.

This is why you’re alone.

You’re not fun to be around.

You shouldn’t be pulling her away from a party-

-just because you don’t know how to be happy.

You’re not.

Having fun?

Pulling her away. It’s ok.

This time will pass.

Jamie took a large sip of his drink.

He was tipsy enough to have a basic conversation by the time they got back to Margaret’s friends. They talked about majors and foreign languages and other boring college topics, which was fine with him. As the rest of the group started to break off for drinks and bathrooms, he and one other girl, whose name was Rachel, apparently, stayed and talked for a while. She was majoring in some kind of biology and had taken Latin in high school, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride, which Jamie was buzzed enough to find incredibly interesting. He’d seen it once or twice before, but didn’t remember much of it.

“And Andre the Giant plays this…well, a giant, actually,” she said, laughing at herself, “and he works with Inigo Montoya, a swordsman, and Vizzini, who’s…just kind of a dick, but it’s, like, really funny, and everyone needs to watch it at least once.”

“Oh,” Jamie said loudly over the hum of the party. “So I’ve met my quota?”
“I meant at least once when you can remember it, asshole,” she said, laughing at the joke Jamie didn’t mean to make.

She wasn’t nearly as tipsy as the rest of the group, which made talking to her a lot easier, he thought. Most of what they talked about was buried in his drink, but Jamie felt good about it. He was keeping the conversation going, and as far as he could tell he wasn’t being too awkward. He only pinched his thighs every now and then, when he sounded too drunk or too stupid. After what felt like a half hour, Rachel looked at her phone.

“Oh,” she said. “Margaret started throwing up, so the others took her home. She wanted me to make sure you knew she didn’t ditch you.”

“Oh,” Jamie said, “ok. I hope she’s alright.”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Rachel said. “The others are taking care of her. Hey, do you want to head out?”

They decided to go back to Jamie’s dorm room to watch The Princess Bride “properly,” as Rachel had put it. After a few bad jokes about piracy and its dire consequences, they settled down to watch it on his small laptop.

This is weird.

Why?

Shut up, you feel good.

Jamie’s heart sped up and he broke into a cold sweat. The grandfather had just come in, but he didn’t hear what he was saying.

Something’s wrong.

So what? This is fun.

But something’s wrong.

Then what is it?

Rachel leaned over and kissed Jamie.

Oh.

It only lasted a few minutes. Afterwards they were lying on the bed, their clothes in a pile on the ground next to them. He was out of breath, and had his arms wrapped around her as they lay together in the dark. He was starting to sober up a little.

That was good.

That was really good. That’s exactly what you needed.

This is perfect. Everything is perfect right now.

He listened to the silence for a while. Then he kissed the back of her head. She shifted slightly and sighed.

This is good. You’re great.

What if she didn’t like it?

She did. Everything’s perfect.

There’s nothing to worry about.

There’s nothing to worry about.

He was silent for a little while longer, just to appreciate it all.

Why are you sad?

You’re not sad. There’s nothing to be sad about.

You’re not happy, though.

You should be happy.

Why aren’t you happy?

Jamie shifted slightly, repositioning the arm that was under Rachel so he could feel it again. The cold, static blood rushed back into the rest of his body.

What’s wrong with you?

You shouldn’t feel like this.

What’s wrong?

You should be able to fix this.

This isn’t fair.

You can’t make it better if there’s nothing wrong.

Just figure out what’s wrong.

Then you can make it okay.

Just let me fix it.

Please let me fix it.

His heart sank into his ribs, which pushed into Rachel’s back every time he inhaled. Then he buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes.

This time will pass, remember.

This time will pass.