Life Without Pizza

Looking into the mirror on my left, I can't help but wonder why anyone would ever install mirrors in an elevator. Something important must be afoot, because the girl next to me is texting more quickly than I can imagine her speaking. Her auburn hair is pulled into a ponytail and a stack of books is occupying her left arm entirely. When the elevator stops and the doors begin to pry themselves open, she steps out without so much as a glance toward anything or anyone but her illuminated screen of connection.

As the doors again begin to close, I see her rip her eyes from their entrancement up at the world around her before spinning back toward the closing elevator doors. A look of understanding passes over her eyes just as she becomes shut from my view. The wrong floor.

My destination, the top floor, is almost completely empty.

There was a time when I really enjoyed these meetings, but that was when there was pizza and single women. Now there's no more food and only a few chicks who complain to each other about their dismally inadequate boyfriends. Looking down to the floor below this one, I see a former coworker of mine. She chopped all of her hair off. Maybe I should yell something down to her, but maybe this is a library and maybe I shouldn't.

Standing just outside the cracked door, I can see a few people on the opposite side organizing their things. Sighing, I open the door slowly so as not to interrupt any integral thought processes revolving around the wrong doings of paramours former and current.

Before anyone can make an accusation, I say, "I know; I'm about five minutes late. I didn't expect you all to be here already."

Sitting on the opposite side of the table are two people I haven't seen here before. One of them endeavors to say something before I do, "Hi, I hope you don't mind that we came. We missed our group earlier today."

"That's fine. What's your name?"

Reaching across the table I grasp her hand as she answers, "Katie."

The guy next to her says, "Chris," as I in turn shake his hand. 

"Cool. I'm Dallin. It's nice to have you guys here."

Sitting down, I look around the room. "Well, does anyone have questions about anything in particular?"

People just shake their heads while I tell myself that this is the last time I ever take a tutoring position.

"Nothing? Okay, are there any areas you guys want to hit? The test is tomorrow."

Finally, the girl at the end of the table makes a suggestion, "I was thinking we could just do an overview of everything," to which everyone vocalizes their agreement.

Forcing a smile and a happy tone, I nod and tell them what a good idea that is. "No better place to start than at the beginning."

Reviewing everything without any direction or specifics will take at least 4 hours, but they don't know that yet. I hear Katie and Chris both eagerly pulling note paper from their bags. I lied. I know who Chris and Katie are: they've been on my list all semester but have never shown up until today. Unfortunately they will probably fail.

Instead of telling them of their fate, I choose to give them another day's hope and turn back toward the room. 

"Hey guys, before we get started, does anyone have a whiteboard marker that works?"

Losing to Fat Rats

Sometimes is an interesting word. It's as fleeting and frequent as its usage. Lives change sometimes, and the world will only sometimes notice. I grip the saw's handle tightly as I focus my strength on repeated strokes.
The solace is broken by a woman's voice, "Why are you cutting all the wood?"
I look up at Ashley; she seems honestly perplexed by what I'm doing. I take a moment to think about her question. Why have I been sawing log after log for at least half an hour? Boredom? Not exactly. Because I enjoy it? Sometimes, but not always, so also not a good answer. My father's instructions still ring clearly in my mind from when I was a young boy; "Be sure to stack it all nicely behind the shed. I don't want the weight of this winter's snow to topple the pile." Ten years later and I'm still capable of building a beautiful stack of wood. But this answer seems a bit too long winded to recite to a girl I barely know.
Finishing the cut on which I had been working, I grab the two fresh pieces of wood and walk over to my stack before turning to face Ashley. "Have you ever just felt like doing something?"
She knows that I'm dumbing down my answer for her. "No. Please explain."
"Well, the temperature is finally nice, and I can tell that the mosquitoes are going to be hitting us hard tomorrow, so now seems like the perfect time to prepare the wood."
Eyeing me while nodding her head, she takes a sip of her beer and turns back toward the fire. My answer must have seemed satisfactory.
By the time Chris returns from the throne, I'm cutting up the last log. I can hear his footsteps slow atop the millions of pine needles as he nears my glorious pile of wood. Before he chooses to say anything he settles by the fire as well. "Dallin, you're making us look bad."
As I finish the cut, I look up to say, "Nah, I figure we're even after you guys having to wake me up every morning."
Ash pulls a few pieces off the pile as I finally take my spot on the north side of the fire. We've had a difficult day on the mountain, and we happily allow the crackling fire to fill our void of conversation. The toenails peeking through the front ends of my flip flops are in need of a wash. Sighing in exasperation, I remove my right flip flop to examine the damage done today. It's been chewed to hell by those damn marmots. I can hear them squeaking in the distance, perhaps already planning tomorrow's raid.
"The marmots are coming for their revenge," Chris mumbles mostly to himself.
Some of our expensive equipment had been damaged the previous day by the giant rodents, and when they came a bit too close to our camp last night we chased them off with human ingenuity and big clubs. We haven't seen them since our reprisal, but more things were damaged today - including my sandals - and now we hear them squeaking incessantly just out of view. It's nerve wracking.
"If they were going to seek revenge they would have come for you while you were on the throne."
Glancing up at my unexpected reply, Chris grunts, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. No time more vulnerable than that."
"Or when we're sleeping," Ashley chimes in.
I tune in again to the crackling fire. I can still hear the marmots through the trees sometimes.