“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

“I won’t be back, you know, after this.”

“That’s what I said, Jesse. And that was a long time ago. Shall I close the door now?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“I’m all right.”

The door eased shut and I lay there waiting in the half-dark, I followed the stream of light coming from the desk lamp and noticed books I hadn’t seen before. One was a copy of the Norton Anthology I remembered from English literature class. I pulled it from the shelf and thumbed through the pages from the back. My eyes got heavy, tired. I replaced the book and turned down the bedspread. I lay flat and naked across the sheets. I was waiting. And I waited and waited and waited until sleep or the waiting itself would bring Metro back alive.

“Why do you call me Metro? It’s not my real name.”

“You were in France once.”

“But why Metro?”

“Quick travel underground.”

“But do you love me?”

No one thought it odd that we marched together for graduation. We were known to be good friends, both English majors. No one suspected we were anything more than that, not even when we argued about the dance and ended our fight by walking hand in hand across campus. Or when he left me in front of the all-night reserve room of the library and I walked alone back to the dorm. But before I got there I found myself leaning against the corrugated trunk of an oak tree and crying from all my weaknesses, all my fears. I didn’t fear our discovery, I feared our loss and my own obstinacy about holding on to him as best I could. Maybe it was a triumph I felt later when we donned cap and gown and marched together through the Wesman gates. We were finished there, but our slow march away was also the commencement of another life, a life we hadn’t dared to discuss before, until someone saw us: Vester Johnson from Mississippi, all six feet of him.

Someone crowded the light from the door left ajar. I thought it was Clementine again. “No,” I said, but the figure remained in place. I saw his hand frame the door, then a head poke inside. I didn’t recognize the face.

“You’re late for class,” he said.

“What?”

“Your eight o’clock chemistry class. You’ll miss the lab instructions. You’ll need a partner for the experiment.”

“Huh?”

“And your library books. They’re overdue. I’ve come to collect them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hey, College Boy, you going to the sorority dance? Or you want to have a mixer right here? Who won the football game? You got the score?”

“Get lost, will you?”

“Come on, College Boy, roll over. Let me give your footballs a cheer. Fe, fi, fo, fum, we’re on top and number one! Catch that pass, up your ass, rah, rah, rah!”

“Get the fuck out of here!”