Breaking Masks

by Josh Aterovis

  Chapter 1

  Breaking Masks

  Josh Aterovis and Dave Dabeagle

  © 2003

  "Jake"

  “Welcome to Van Rensselaer University of New York.”

  My stomach dropped as I read the sign. Suddenly, everything felt more real. You're a long way from home, Jake, I thought to myself, about three hundred and fifty miles to be exact. Home was the Eastern Shore of Maryland, or at least it had been for sixteen of my last seventeen years. My new home was here at VRU in Albany, New York. A fresh start far away from my past had seemed like such a good idea last fall when Mom and I had visited the campus. Of course it had seemed like a good idea then! I'd been on drugs at the time. What was I thinking?

  I forced my rising panic down and tried to look at least somewhat excited to be here. I had to put my happy face on for Mom. Not that it mattered. She was psychic, so she'd know how I really felt no matter what. That would be the downside of having a `Gifted' parent. I glanced over at her, and she met my gaze for a moment before turning back to watch the road.

  “It's perfectly natural to be nervous,” she said.

  “I'm not nervous,” I protested. “It's just weird knowing I'm so far away from home and everyone I know.”

  “It was your choice,” she reminded me.

  “I know.”

  “You'll make friends.”

  “I know.”

  “And if you don't like it, you can always transfer to somewhere closer.”

  “I know, Mom. We had this conversation before we left.”

  She winked at me with a grin. “Where do we go first?”

  “Um, the dorms?”

  “Why don't you check the letter they sent you?” Why do moms always have to be so sensible?

  Feeling like a complete dunce, I dug out the slightly crumpled letter I'd received in the mail a few weeks ago and scanned it quickly. “Yeah. It says that we're supposed to go to my dorm building and see the RA there. They'll show me to my room.”

  “And orientation starts tomorrow?”

  “That's what it says. At ten.”

  “What's your dorm building?”

  I glanced down at the paper, checking again even though I already knew the answer. “Mohawk.” All the dorms were named after local Indian tribes.

  While Mom navigated through the campus following signs, I began to fret about meeting my roommate. I'd never shared a room with anyone before and I wasn't looking forward to it. The letter the university had sent me also included the name and phone number for my roommate, Foster Williamson. I'd called him, and we'd talked for a total of five minutes, long enough for me to realize we were hopelessly mismatched. He's a lacrosse jock. The only sport I enjoy is surfing. He spent four of the five minutes we talked telling me about his girlfriend and her apparently generous breasts. I'm gay and single. He's rich. My mom is really going out on a limb to send me to college. He liked to party. Well...we were bound to have something in common sooner or later. The difference is, and this is an important distinction, I'm a recovering addict. That means parties are not the best option for me right now.

  I wasn't planning on outing myself to him right away. It was hard to judge how homophobic he may or may not be from our brief conversation, but I figured it was safer to get to know him a bit first. I thought it was pretty safe to say he was straight as an arrow judging by the way he went on and on about his girlfriend and how she was as horny as he was. I shuddered at the thought. I don't care what straight people do when they're alone, I just don't want to think about it. I still couldn't believe he'd actually told me he hoped I didn't mind if she stayed over at our room often since she was going to VRU as well. I hadn't told Mom any of this. When she'd asked how our chat went, I'd just given her a noncommittal “okay”.

  We pulled into a parking spot near the dorm and climbed out of the car. I stretched my legs with a groan, grateful to be out of the cramped vehicle. We'd been driving for over six hours and we'd only stopped once.

  “I guess we should wait to get your stuff until we see where your room is,” Mom said, looking up at the large stone and brick building that was my new home. I had to admit it was an impressive looking campus. Most of the buildings were at least partially built from stone, something we didn't see much where I came from. Neat brick pathways connected all the buildings and everything was landscaped beautifully.

  We set off for the main door, Mom with a purposeful stride and me trudging along despondently behind her. The small lobby area just inside the door was furnished with a slightly beat-up desk directly inside and an institutional style chair and couch in a small conversational area off to one side. A television was mounted in the corner, but it was turned off right now. Behind the desk sat a tall, rail-thin girl with shockingly red hair and a faceful of freckles. She was talking to a much shorter, slightly plump blonde girl about having her mattress replaced -- apparently the blonde girl thought hers looked a little unhealthy -- so we stood by patiently until they were finished. When the blonde girl was satisfied that cleaner bedding was on its way, the red-head turned her attention to us.

  “Hi, I'm Erin. I'm the RA. Are you a freshman?”

  I thought that was a silly question considering only the freshmen were moving in this week. This was a special week of orientation designed to help us settle in and make new friends. Once again, I'd thought it sounded like a good idea at the time. Instead of saying any of that however, I just nodded my head.

  “What's your name?”

  “Jake Sheridan. Er, Jacob Sheridan.”

  “Hi Jake,” she said brightly, flashing me a glimpse of her pearly whites. She scanned down a clipboard on the desk in front of her, then rummaged through a stack of envelopes, selecting one from the pile. “You're on the third floor. Follow me and I'll show you your room.” She stood up to reveal that she was even taller than I'd first thought. I was only an inch away from six foot and she towered over me.

  “The elevators are this way,” she said with a barely concealed smile. Mom and I followed her onto the elevator. “Oh, and no, I don't play basketball and yes, my hair is naturally this color,” she said, finally breaking into a grin as the doors closed.

  I couldn't help laughing. “I wasn't going to ask.”

  “Yeah, but I could read it in your eyes,” she said teasingly. “I wish I had a dollar for every time I've been asked one or both of those questions. So where are you from?”

  “Maryland.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Even they were red. “You're a long way from home.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Don't remind me.

  She smiled sympathetically. “I think you'll like it here.” The doors opened and we exited into a long hall way. She walked to the left, went down about four doors, and stopped in front of a door adorned with two paper stars bearing the names Jacob and Foster. She tapped the star with my name, “You can cross that out and write Jake under it if you want.” She pulled a key from the envelope, unlocked the door and pushed it open. “There ya go. Here's your key.” She dropped the key into my palm and stepped back. “Your roommate isn't here yet so you get choice of beds. If you need anything else, I'll be at the desk downstairs”

  “Thanks,” I called to her retreating back.

  “She seemed nice,” Mom said, stepping into the room.

  I followed her in and looked around with slight horror. It looked more like a prison cell than a bedroom: cold white walls, small window, two bare twin beds, two dressers and two crappy looking desks. It was definitely less than welcoming. I kicked the bed and frowned.

  “What were you expecting?” Mom said dryly. “The Ritz?”

  “Let's just bring my stuff in,” I grumbled and started back out the door.

  We rode the elevator back
down in silence. “Are the accommodations to your liking, sir?” Erin called with a cheeky grin as we stepped out into the lobby.

  “I think I'd like a refund,” I told and her she laughed, a loud braying sound not unlike a donkey. Sure, she could laugh. She probably had a room to herself, being an RA.

  It took several trips to load all the stuff I'd brought into the room. Besides my clothes, which took several suitcases -- Hey, I'm a gay boy. What do you want? -- I also had a TV, my computer, and my entire CD collection. Mom insisted on helping me make the bed before she left, but once that was done, the inevitable teary goodbye couldn't be avoided any longer. To her credit, she didn't make too big a production out of it. After she left, I indulged in a few tears of my own as I put my clothes away. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't help feeling a little abandoned. I had plenty of experience feeling alone so you'd think I would be used to it, but some things you just never get used to.

  Thankfully, I'd stopped sniveling by the time my door flew open with a bang, scaring the bejeezus out of me. I spun around to find a huge Neanderthal standing in the doorway holding a mini-refrigerator.

  “Where should I put this?” he grunted.

  I pointed wordlessly to what I had decided would be Foster's side of the room. The Neanderthal carried the fridge across the room and deposited it carefully next to the desk. I was still staring at him with open-mouthed wonder and hoping fervently that this wasn't Foster when we were joined by another arrival. This guy was slightly smaller than the appliance deliveryman, but looked like he was at about the same stage of evolution. His head was rather blockish and his face looked a little smashed in, as if he'd run into a brick wall and the brick wall had won. He was broad shouldered and stocky with a defined chest outlined by his tight t-shirt. His cut off sweatpants revealed muscular legs with a light dusting of dark hair. He dropped the cardboard box he was carrying onto the empty bed and ran a hand through his curly brown hair. He turned to face me and looked me up and down as if examining a biology project.

  “Are you Jake?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Foster?” I hoped my voice didn't reveal how nervous I was.

  “That's me,” he confirmed. “That's Slug,” he added, hooking a thumb in the direction of the Neanderthal. He grinned at me and a chill ran down my spine. I decided that I would continue to think of him as the Neanderthal and I would never speak the name “Slug” aloud. “We gotta go get the rest of my shit. Come on, Slug.”

  Foster left, the Neanderthal trailing behind him like a trained Sasquatch. “That could have gone worse,” I mumbled under my breath. I decided to vacate the room before they returned. It had gone better than I had feared and there was no point pressing my luck. I thought about taking the elevator, but decided to take the stairs instead. There were probably other people moving in and they needed the elevator more than I did. I took the stairs two at a time, jumping the last few and landing with a satisfying thud at the bottom.

  I wanted to ask Erin where a good coffee shop could be found, but she was busy welcoming an androgynous Asian student and I didn't want to interrupt. I gave her a little wave as I passed on my way out the door. I wandered around campus for a while, trying to remember where things were from my whirlwind tour last year. I managed to find the building that housed student dining -- more by accident than design -- and once inside, just followed the smell of food to the actual cafeteria. I asked the guy at the door if there was a café or something on campus and he gave me directions to the campus bookstore. “It's in the same building,” he told me.

  After getting only slightly lost trying to follow his directions, I found the bookstore and the café, which had been given the sickly-sweet name Cool Beanz. Note the “z”, as if spelling it like that would lend it some sort of street cred. I almost turned around and walked away, but my caffeine withdrawal drew me in. I'd given up a lot of addictions but a guy needs at least one vice.

  “Give me the strongest thing you've got,” I said, feeling like a gunslinger entering a saloon in a cheesy old Western. The girl behind the counter flashed me a grin and turned to the espresso machine. I waited impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other, while she filled my order. I paid for my drink and walked to a table inhaling the heavenly scent. I sat down and just cradled the elixir of the gods between my palms, content for the moment just to breathe in the intoxicating aroma.

  “A fellow java aficionado, I see,” a voice said from the next table. I glanced up to find a very pretty dark-haired girl smiling at me over the top of her cup of coffee.

  I smiled back. “More like a caffeine junkie,” I said.

  She laughed. “You got me there too. I was about to warn you about the brew here, but if all you're interested in is the caffeine buzz you should be fine.”

  “Warn me?”

  “They're not known for their high quality beans here.”

  I took a cautious sip and couldn't keep my face from contorting in distaste. The bitter flavor sat on my tongue and mocked me. “Wow. You weren't kidding.” I eyed her cup. “Why do you come here if you know they're so bad?”

  She lifted her cup as if to toast me. “Hot chocolate. They can pull that one off pretty well.”

  “Where do you have to go to get a decent cup of coffee around here?”

  “The Morning Rush is the place to go around here. It's over on Central Avenue

  .”

  “I, uh, don't know where that is. I'm new here.”

  “Maybe I can show you sometime,” she said with a little smile, tucking a curly tendril of hair behind her ear and leaning towards me. “Where are you from?”

  I knew she was flirting, but I was having fun so I decided to play along. What harm could it do? “I'm from Maryland, and I'd love it if you could show me this place sometime. The sooner the better -- I don't know how long I can survive on this swill.”

  “Maryland, huh? A southern boy, then. That explains the accent.”

  “I don't have an accent!”

  “Sure you do. My name's Rebecca, by the way, Becca for short.”

  “Jake-Jacob for long.”

  She crinkled her nose at me. “Cute.”

  “What? Me or my name?” I was flirting outrageously, but it was fun.

  “Both.”

  “Well, thankee, ma'am,” I said, using an exaggerated drawl.

  She glanced at her watch. “I'm meeting friends for a movie in a few minutes,” she said as she dug into her purse, pulling out a pen and a small notepad. “But here's my number.” She scribbled on the pad and ripped off the page, handing it to me along with the pad and pen. “And why don't you give me yours?”

  “I don't know my phone number yet,” I told her.

  “Just put your room number. I can find it out from that.”

  I obliged and handed the pad and pen back to her.

  “Thanks, I'll be in touch. We'll do coffee.” She swept out of the café, leaving me with her number. I just got a girl's phone number, I thought with amusement. Maybe there really is a first time for everything! I glanced down at the cooling cup of brown sludge in my hand and my stomach immediately began launching a revolt. “Don't worry,” I told it. “I won't force that on you.” I stood up and dumped the cup into the trash can on my way out.

  I returned to my room to find that Foster and the Neanderthal had finished moving his belongings in, but the dynamic duo was not currently in residence. I can't say I was too disappointed. Just out of curiosity, I opened the fridge and found it packed with alcohol. Beer, vodka, rum...they practically had a fully stocked bar in there. I briefly wondered how on earth they had managed to buy it all since I knew Foster was underage, but then I remembered Slug and realized that no one would ever have the nerve to card him. For the scantest second, the alcohol seemed to call to me. It had been almost a year since I'd had any alcohol or drugs. I quickly put a cap on my temptation and shut the door. Walk away.

  I went to my desk and pulled my CD player out from the desk drawer I'd placed it in e
arlier. I flipped quickly through my CD case until I found the one I was looking for and popped it in. I settled on the bed and slipped my headphones on and pressed play. The soothing sounds of a piano flowed over me, soon followed by the amazing voice of Norah Jones. No one who knew me would ever suspect I was a closet Norah fan, but there was just something about her music that could always calm me. And I needed calming at the moment. I could still see the bottles of booze wedged into the fridge. Don't think about it! I managed to distract myself long enough to drift off to sleep, still fully clothed and on top of my blankets.

  Then next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning, feeling utterly grungy and badly in need of a shower. I must have been more worn out from my stressful day than I'd suspected, because I didn't even wake up when Foster came back to the room. The proof that he had returned was evidenced by the lightly snoring lump under the blankets of his bed. I glanced over at the clock and sat up with a jolt.