EPISODE 3: Lamont meets Emmy

Fiction by Joe Selmont

How twisty the winding twists of fateful fate can be, my friend. As I stared around the somewhat packed Commons, waiting for the cook to give the ready signal for my deliciously greasy burger, the tiniest hint of optimism lurked into my thoughts: perhaps this won’t be such a gut-wrenchingly disastrous semester after all.

Right, right. My name is Lamont Harpe. I live, work, and study at UAA. Blah blah blah. I study French lit. Etcetera, etcetera. The Fall 2012 semester was officially underway, and I had just spent the weekend moving back into the dorms – which, well, was unpleasant – and then there was Kickoff – which was pleasant – and that was followed by an utterly failed attempt to organize my life in preparation for classes: on this Monday which marked the beginning of a new academic year, I had not resolved my annual financial aid fiasco, I had not purchased textbooks, my shelf on the fridge was barren, and I had recently
walked in on my new roommate’s make-out session with an unfairly attractive woman. After this series of regrettable circumstances, my mood had thrown itself into the bottomless pit of a haunted, dried up well, and there was no indication that it might climb back up again. Per usual, I was mistaken – but when I woke up already several minutes late for my first class of the year (damn 10 a.m. classes), I assumed things would only get worse.

When finally I swung open the SSB RM 221 door to History 310 (I’m a history minor, by the way), I was impressively only fifteen minutes late and the professor was still going through the syllabus. I apologetically snagged a copy of the document from the table at the front of the room and took one of the only available seats, which was of course in the first row. Fast forward forty-five minutes and we’re released from class a little early. All in all, it was a good class, even though my teeth weren’t brushed and my armpits weren’t deodorized.

'I'm Emmanuelle. But you can call me Emmy'

But here’s the crazy part: this other student sitting in the first row – a cute woman! – kept glancing over at me the entire period. It was like entering a tunnel: I couldn’t focus on the discussion of the readings and assignments calendar, nor on the class expectations, nor on anything else. I could feel myself growing sweatier by the minute, but thankfully this lovely lady with the wandering eyes was seated a distant three desks away. (Though I did begin to feel bad for the two guys sitting on either side of me.) Why would she deign to look at me? I was greasy as all get out, obviously unprepared, and wearing yesterday’s V-neck inside-out. Let’s face it, I was not at my best. Yet this attractive woman was totally eye flirting with me!

The moment the professor released us, I rushed out of the room in an effort to avoid close contact with this beautiful stranger, lest she learn of my deplorable odor. I was nearly out the door when I heard it, a sweet, low voice saying, “Hey, wait up!” Embarrassingly caught in my tracks, I spun around only to see her approaching at a brisk pace, a lock of wavy brown hair falling across her forehead, a number of books tucked between her arms, a smile spreading across her face.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Emmanuelle. But you can call me Emmy. You work in the Student Union, right?”

“Yup,” I said a little too fast, “I’m one of the student managers over there. It’s a pretty cool job. Oh, I’m Lamont, by the way. It’s a real, fine pleasure to meet you, Emmanuelle, err, Emmy.”

She laughed at my goofy smile and said, “My pleasure, too. Be seeing you around?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Good. Until later, then.” She walked away toward the staircase while I stood still, too thunderstruck to move, and incredibly thankful that she didn’t mention my stink.

After gathering myself, I went through the rest of the day trying not to feel overly elated. I had work for a couple hours in the middle of the day, which was business as usual, except we were busy for the first time in months. Then I had French 432 in the evening, and was way too distracted to garner anything about the class, but it was with a professor I thoroughly enjoy, so I wasn’t too worried. Then after several hours of walking around campus, forgetting my troubles of the previous weekend, listening to The Smiths and The Talking Heads, and daydreaming about Emmy, I started to make my way towards home.

Eventually I wound up in the Commons, once I realized my only nourishment that day had been a donut. That’s where you met me, scanning the crowd for Emmy, hoping she might be there. Alas, there was no sign of her. The cook yelled out my order, I walked over, picked up the plate, and sat back down. As I gazed into the plate’s contents, mindlessly counting the sesame seeds scattered across the bun of my burger, I didn’t allow myself to think. But still the thoughts came, quietly, whispering a certain name.
_____

Miss any past EPISODES?

• Episode 1: Lamont crash-lands back in the dorms
• Episode 2: Lamont, feeling woeful and dismayed