Under My Enemy's Roof - Under Him

“Been waiting long?” he asked.

“No,” I lied.

“Good.”

He opened the top of his patchwork backpack, which looked like it had been sewed together out of scraps of leather like a quilt. The drawstring holding the top closed had a thin length of chain added with a tiny padlock.

Thwarting his security he took out a sheaf of paper, held together with a staple in the top, left-hand corner. The paper was fresh, seeming to glow in the bright sun.

“I did it like bullet points, going scene by scene,” Augustus said as I flipped through the pages.

“Thanks,” I said, unable to think of anything clever to say.

“I didn’t do it for all the movies. Just Scorpio and the next couple Richard Kern. I have a pretty full plate and can only do two or three at a time for Experimental Film. My prof. for practical cinematography is a bit of a loon. Guy is obsessed with Kubrick, like to a stalkerish degree.”

I wanted to say something clever or cool or sexy. Oh Lord, please let me come off as sexy. Not as the nervous, awkward kid that I was. I was getting so sick of that part of myself and really hoped college might help. Like as soon as I set my foot on campus I would magically change. Like stepping through the portal into a fairyland. No dice, kitten.

“I gotta be going,” he said, standing up.

I fought the urge to grab his hand. To pull him back down beside me not wanting him to go yet. The daddy’s girl in me rearing its ugly head. I couldn’t act like a kid, I was supposed to be an adult, darn it. At least in the eyes of the law and society.

I still wasn’t old enough to drink legally but that didn’t matter as much as some people liked to make out. Particularly considering that I wouldn’t even if it was allowed. I’d heard too many stories, most of them about family members on my dad’s side. Mom used to say that it was how he’d ‘caught religion.’ Like it was a cold.

I watched Augustus go, the gentle swing of his shoulders caused by his heavy-booted stride, even and long. It might have been something he had practiced. I imagined that a gait like that is something that would have to be learned over time, like a beauty show contestant learning to wave or to walk in cumbersome costumes.

I couldn’t shake the feeling. There was something about Augustus that stuck with me long after he was gone. It was more than the almost spectral familiarity which couldn’t possibly be real. If it was I would remember where I’d seen him. Unless it was in a past life, which I didn’t really believe.

Though I did believe in God’s plan. That there is someone for everyone. This is where the idea of ‘soulmates’ originated. It was just possible that Augustus was mine. The very idea made my heart gush and my peach get warm. We would still need to be married before he could take my maidenhead but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun in the meantime.

I decided that if I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, I might as well get to know a bit more about him. He wasn’t around to ask, so I decided to do what everyone did when they needed to know something. I would Google it.

Back in my room, trying to find Augustus online, it wasn’t long before I realized I would need more information. Augustus was an odd enough name in itself but I wasn’t going to be getting anywhere fast without a last name. I looked at the notes he had given me, but they only had the class information. Nothing about him. How enigmatic!

I felt my excitement rise as I continued the case. I knew Facebook was getting to be a dusty relic but it was still worth a try. Not least because they put locations on along with the names and photos, helping to narrow things down.

There were only ten guys named Augustus in the state. I started scrolling through the profiles, most of the guys in the photos looking like they were my dad’s age or even older. Finally, between six and nine, I saw him. His face was recognizable as it was unreadable. Augustus Graves.

The words hit like a brick right between my eyes. A deluge of memories nearly blowing me off my chair. Getting up onto shaky legs, I stumbled my way toward the bathroom, hoping I would make it in time.

Putting in a good bit of devotion at the porcelain shrine, I reached up with a shaky hand and flushed. The bathroom tiles cold under my knees. My soft, empty retching turned quickly to sobs. Deep and loud, bursting out of me like the puke had. The scars started to ache. The cross on my forearm and the smaller ones on my ass. Both punishments for ‘consorting with the enemy.’