Seavers Apartments, Shippensburg University, Shippensburg, Pennsylvania

Read this.

Seaver’s Hall is the top-of-the-line dorm at Shippensburg University. Each dorm has three rooms (two bedrooms and one common room); six people live in each (three to a bedroom) but the rooms are huge. There is cable TV and air conditioning. You can put multiple couches in the common room. There is a massive walk-in closet in the common room, typically used as a food pantry, but almost big enough to fit another couch in (we used ours for food and guy junk).  The walls are an off-white wallpaper, and the ceiling is a tiled ceiling—in short, it’s kinda like a real apartment.

            I had five great roommates; we were almost like a season of The Real World, we were all so different. Except we were all straight, white males from the Northeast. But other than that we could not have been more different—or more well-suited to one another.

            This particular night that I am thinking of was quite a bad night.  I had endured a rather horrible break-up a few months prior and had not taken it well. I was drinking very heavily. I was writing tons of awful, angry, awful poetry, and I had collected this poetry into a little booklet that I called Ever-Always a Late Dream. Every poem in this collection was about Her, and every poem in it was awful.  I had finally convinced Her to come to my dorm room so I could give Her a copy of it. At least one-quarter of my desire for Her to come over was so my roommates could see how hot She was. The other three-quarters…well, that motivation was probably even uglier.

            I sat on the brown, smelly couch facing the television and got much more drunk than I should have. By the time She got there (around midnight) I was so wasted that I had entered that area where the things you are looking at, the things you are hearing and doing, do not seem real. If you concentrate very hard, you are in decent command of your faculties, but are vaguely unsure of who the people around you are, where you are, and why you are doing what you are doing.  A stage past this is blackout territory; in fact, this stage is often blackout territory.

            So. She arrives. I offer brief introductions to everyone and whisk Her into my bedroom, where I have kept a pristine copy of Ever-Always a Late Dream for Her.  I think I tried to talk to Her briefly about love, or forever, or some drunk whispy bullshit, and when She wasn’t hearing me, I started letting her have it. I was angry as hell with Her. How dare anyone break my heart? I was special!

            Well, I’m sure I had already spent the last two months guilting Her, and She figured (rightly so) that She didn’t deserve it anymore. After all, She was just trying to do what made Her happy, no? How much was She supposed to suffer, simply because I suffered?

            So she stormed out.

            At first, I paced the common room, gently sobbing, unresponsive to the questions and comforts of my numerous roommates. After a few minutes, though, I got angry again, and tried to flee the dorm room to go after Her and make Her feel terrible again. Either that, or make Her kiss me.

            But the roommates stopped me. Shippensburg University is, after all, a dry campus, and you can get in a lot of trouble for being drunk. Which I clearly was.  They spent a good 5 minutes trying to convince me to calm down, but I just got angrier and angrier, and louder and louder. And drunk, angry, and loud is bad even inside the dorm room, because some authority figure is bound to come check things out eventually, and then they’re all gonna get in trouble.

            So, they stuffed me in the closet.  They turned out the light. I’m sure they were thinking I’d just go to sleep or something, but I got even angrier. I got all turned-around and confused. It was pitch black and I couldn’t tell which way the door was or even which way was up or which way was down and I started to howl and claw at the walls I was so angry I couldn’t even remember Her name now I was just angry at everything and god oh so drunk I started throwing the food off the shelves the Slim Jims the Captains Wafers I stubbed my toe kicking the big Igloo cooler it hurt but just for a flaring moment I got angrier still and tore the shelving unit down on myself and howled even louder howled like I was outdoors or on a mountain not stuck in some pitch-black closet I got a full head of steam and ran into the wall hoping it was the door but it wasn’t I couldn’t find the door then somewhere in there I forgot where I was and then a moment later who I was I am not exaggerating this is not the only time this would happen to me and there is nothing more terrifying than being so drunk yet so cognizant that you are aware only that you are drunk at this point I stopped howling and forgot I was angry and became utterly terrified who was I? what was I doing here? why wouldn’t they help me? I knew there was a they somewhere who could help me but didn’t have the smallest clue who they were or where they were it was like being encapsulated in a huge malevolent concrete womb I slid my hands along every wall surface but it was all just smooth cold painted cinder blocks no knobs no windows no magic buttons I began to cry in earnest and wonder if in fact I was dead or in some kind of prison but at the moment I could not picture what prison looked like not even images from TV or that movie Escape From Alcatraz that my mother had helped me buy on VHS when I was ten I could remember that though I could remember my mother helping me buy Escape From Alcatraz from Hills department store but I couldn’t picture my mother I had no idea what she looked like or what her name was so maybe Escape From Alcatraz was all a dream…

When I emerged into the common room the next morning, the front of my pants were covered with piss and there was dried rancid shit in my ass crack.

2 Responses to “Seavers Apartments, Shippensburg University, Shippensburg, Pennsylvania”

  1. Duuuuuuuuude. I forgot about this one. Horrible, yet great story.

  2. Oh my God, Seth. You never told me this story before. That was probably a smart decision, actually. I still feel guilty…

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