Episode 5: Paris beckons; Lamont makes a REAL date

Fiction, by Joe Selmont.

As I sprawled out in the grass in between Ansep and the back entrance of the Student Union, flipping through Michel de Montaigne's essay titled “On Sorrow” but paying keener attention to Common's lyrics as they flowed in through my headphones, I thought some quiet thoughts on life, love, and school. It being the end of the second week of the semester, I was not yet overly weighed down with reading assignments, writing assignments, and the consternation that comes therein. Two students walked out of Ansep carrying pingpong equipment, on their way to the SU for good times, I'm sure. How silly sorrow seemed in that moment. Life has leveled out, thought I, remembering the events of the day.

My name is Lamont Harpe. I live at UAA, work at UAA, and study French lit at UAA. My future goals are hazy, but I've come to terms with that. To date, the semester had been a roller coaster of misfortune and sheer pleasure. It began poorly enough, with constrained finances, a gut-wrenchingly painful moving experience, and plain old loneliness, but I was finally falling into my groove. It always takes a little while to shake the summer out of you. Under normal circumstances it is depressing to see the summer fade into memory, but this was no normal start to the semester. For the first time in ages I had found a beautiful, funny, articulate lady that actually matched my awkward flirtations move for move. Her name is Emmanuelle, or Emmy for short. Oh, and my financial aid finally came through. I guess I'll talk about that first.

So after several attempts at waiting through the Financial Aid Office's excruciatingly long hold, utterly unable to ignore the atrocious hold music, I got through to a real human being! And they were oh so helpful, let me tell you. After exchanging pleasantries we dove right into business. Yada bing, yada boom. The planets aligned, Hell froze over, and a bunch of bureaucrats spun in their grave: my paperwork was found, my identity verified, and my financial aid accepted. My tuition finally paid for, and just barely before the payment deadline, I could feel my financial woes melt away. Oh, and it turned out that I won a $750 tuition waiver. What, what! Taking a seat in the Student Union Lounge, absentmindedly waving at passing friends, coworkers, and, who knows, probably a couple strangers, I began daydreaming of what I would do with the excess funds.

The responsible thing, of course, would be putting it away for future expenses. While that did in fact cross my mind, which is probably a marker of increasing maturity, I immediately dismissed it as insane. For half a second I considered purchasing a beater with a heater, as my dad would call it, but then I foresaw the tidal wave of associated bills that would assault the susceptible shores of my bank account: gas, insurance, pine tree shaped air fresheners. So that idea was dismissed as foolish. A few other ideas circulated (new wardrobe, a new laptop, a hundred pounds of bacon) but these were dismissed as mundane. Then it clicked, and I knew exactly how this unexpected income would be spent. I resolved to buy a plane ticket to Paris, to visit a good friend, a former student of the French language here at UAA, and get into some wacky adventures next summer. Oh, the excitement!

In the ecstasy of this inner-revelation, I temporarily blinded myself to my surroundings.

“Hello, Lamont... Helloooooo.”

Embarrassedly pulling myself together, realizing Emmy was seated directly across from me, I said, “Hello, hi. Hey, how are you, Emmy. Oh, man. You will not believe my luck. I'm going to Paris!”

“That's fantastic, Lamont. I'm very pleased for you. What's the occasion? Oh, and I am well. Just fine, thank you,” she said with a simper.  

“I am the lucky recipient of a $750 scholarship. God bless the education system!”

“Lamont,” she said with a mock frown, “shouldn't you spend that on, you know, your education?”

“Consider it a cultural education,” I said smirking. And then I felt something well up inside of me, something I could not quite define, and then in a rushed flurry I said, “Emmy, what do you say you and I go out on a date? Not a friend date, but a real date, like for two people who, um, like each other and stuff. How about it?”

Blushing and laughing a little, she said, “Yes.” Such a simple and wonderful word.

Beaming, I said, “Awesome! It's a date. Next Saturday good?”

“Yes.”

Pho Lena noodles beckon. Illustration by Ted Kincaid.

“Have you eaten at Pho Lena? We have to go there.”

“Yes. I think I'd like that.”

“Yes. Yes. Um. Okay. Great. It's a date.”

Laughing, she said, “You already said that.”

“Yup. Just making sure we're on the same page. Anyway, I have class in... well... I'm late actually. Ha!”

“Run along now, Lamont. I have to go into work anyways. We'll talk soon.”

“Yes. Goodbye. Soon.”

So I rushed off to class. As I went through the rest of my day I was lost in hopes for this date, desperately trying not to psyche myself out. Eventually I made my way to the grass in between Ansep and the SU, where you met me, reading Montaigne's “On Sorrow,” listening to Common, thinking to myself, what a silly and useless emotion, sorrow is. It's a date!
 __________________________________
The rest of the story here:
Episode 1: Lamont crashlands back in the dorms
Episode 2: Lamont feeling woeful and dismayed
Episode 3: Lamont meets Emmy
Episode 4: Lamont's typical day on the job at the SU