The Defiance screams in my head, This dude is not to be trusted, you feel me, but desire keeps me reaching for a reality that appears to have been just a dream after all. The bubble of anticipation bursts. I sit paralyzed by confusion as the last of the sunlight betrays me, leaving without my permission. The darkness moves us past Rumi’s field into a whir of quiet desperation. I long for his touch. He hungers for sugarcane and clear answers in the world.

“Ah, well, we should probably head back. I have an early class tomorrow. Wednesdays are the worst, but I had an amazing time hanging with you. I’m gonna go home and read some Rumi after I finish studying. I’m inspired.”

We walk back, the flurry of the campus rushing to meet us much too soon. We stand in front of the Hanover Inn, preparing to part ways. Bryce gives me a hug. Again, I try to feel if there is more he wants to say. I hold on a little longer, to show him my desire, but he releases me like the autumn trees release their leaves. I float back down to the earth.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, walking off before stopping and turning around. My hope quickly returns.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing… I’ll meet you there.” He smiles.

Manda Panda comes stumbling in at 3:00 a.m., drunk, babbling, and burping. “Hey, girl,” she says. “Oh, shhh. It’s nighttime. Sleepy time. Sorry.”

I try to pretend like I’m still asleep as she fumbles her way around the room, loudly slamming drawers and knocking over things.

“Shhh,” she says again to herself.

When she starts throwing up, I jump out of bed, run to the bathroom, and grab some paper towels. I turn on the light and see her kneeling on the floor in front of me. Black mascara runs down her cheeks and chunks of vomit line her lips. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “It’s been a long night. Gin and juice is not a game, but I’m sure you know that too now. Hey, raise the roof,” she says while pumping her hands up toward the ceiling several times.

I cover the throw-up with paper towels and help her up on her bed. I wipe the vomit from her mouth and ask her why she keeps getting so drunk.

“Maybe a little is OK, but not too much. I got so drunk at Professor Alexander-Grant’s dinner, I threw up on her lawn. I was so embarrassed. I’m never getting wasted again. Plus, I watched my father drink himself sick my whole life. That shit will mess you up.”

“Shhh,” she says again even though I’m not talking that loud. “My head is killing me.”