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Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 07 (08)

items 21 of 44 items
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Item’s are ‘child’ level descriptions to ‘parent’ objects, (e.g. one page of a whole book).

  • 10.19.95 invisible academy "Smoking" Continued from page 10 type of girl who could just walk up to a group of complete strangers and say, "Hi, my name's Grace. I'm new here. Will you be my friend?" She was lucky to eke out a smile when she accidentally made eye contact with one of them. She avoided the department. She had spent most of her time with Erica. But Erica only wanted her around when her boyfriend wasn't around, or when she was in between conquests. The twinge of jealousy Grace had originally felt was turning into full-fledged disgust. Grace felt very alone. Alone and justified. So when she had met Paul, a sort of sane, pleasant, nice looking guy, she had immediately seen possibilities. "So much for that." The burrito was cold. The truckers turned and looked at her. She gathered her trash, and made for the quiki-mart. "You got gas?" The man behind the counter chewed on a toothpick. "Yeah. Ten dollars, and a pack of Lucky Strikes, please." She slapped her parents' gas card down on the counter. "Oh yeah, and one of those bottles of 'Heads Up', too." "All this on the card?" "All this on the card." She drummed her fingers on the counter and glanced at the surveillance camera mounted by the door. It was trained on her. She waved. "Sign on the line there, ma'am." He pushed the smudged receipt towards her. 'Thanks." She signed her name and left. Back in the truck she packed the cigarettes and lit one. "Damn!" She choked. "These things'll kill ya." She put the truck in gear. "Guess I better head back. Shit." She sighed and turned towards home. * * * At 7:30 she pulled into her sister's parking place, dumped all the garbage, and locked it up. "What she never knows can't hurt me." She patted the hood of the truck and started walking to her dorm. Erica wasn't there. "They must have gone back to his place for a change of scenery." Grace dropped her backpack and flipped off her birks. The room smelled stale. Incense, cigarettes and pot smoke made a thick smog that hung about a foot from the ceiling. "Gees, no wonder they left, they hot boxed the room." She opened a window and turned on the fan. The answering machine was flashing. Grace hit the message button and waited. **Beep** "Uhhh....Grace? This is Paul. Me and Sharon are hangin' out down here....so uhh...come down whenever you get back from wherever you are." "Yeah whatever." She took off her skirt and tossed it in the laundry basket. "•♦Beep** "Grace, this is your sister. I know you have the truck and I'm calling Mom to tell her what you did. If you know what's good for you, you will have a very good reason when 1 call you back tomorrow. Goodbye." "Bitch." Grace slipped off her bra and climbed into the loft. **Beep** "Grace this is Erica. I'm not there, but I guess you know that. I'll meet you at noon at the caf. Have a good morning." "She doesn't even remember...That's amazing. Shit! The lights." She jumped out of the loft and flipped the switch next to the door. **Beep** "Uhh...Grace? This is Paul again. We're uhhh...gonna do something tomorrow after class. Give me a call, or maybe I'll see you at lunch." "I don't think I'm going to lunch today. I think that I'm just gonna stay in bed for the rest of my life," she muttered as she climbed back into bed. The tape in the answering machine screamed as it rewound itself. "I know how you feel." She put a pillow over her face. "I need a cigarette. " And fell asleep. When Grace met Paul again, she smoked three cigarettes in quick succession and drank two gigantic cups of coffee every morning. A first semester senior, she sat in the corner of restaurants scribbling scenes in the black composition notebook she carried everywhere she went. She felt herself horribly cynical and literary and wore a lot of dark clothing. Grace lived alone in a one bedroom apartment on a hill near campus. It had a lovely view of tree tops and frat houses. On the days when her life idled silently on the sofa, Grace would sit for hours with a cup of coffee, staring out the window. When she tired of the grey film between her and the rest of the world, she moved to the front steps, where she smoked and watched the comings and goings of the tiny apartment complex. The apartments at noon were nothing to shout about. A single slate building contained eight tiny apartments that had seen much collegiate traffic. It managed to blend into its green surroundings without actually looking like it belonged there. In the evening, when the parking lot was deserted, and the only noise came from the rednecks in the valley, the apartments were all diffused light and shadows. It was a place for things to happen. And though nothing ever had, Grace felt something should. She just hadn't decided what. A murder or a love story. Those that came to visit around dusk often found Grace perched in the window above the sofa, tight lipped and distracted, her eyes huge blue walls that stopped any comment before it could be made. It was Mark that introduced Grace to E- mail. "It's bad-ass," he lit a cigarette, waved out the match, and paced in the driveway. "You can get and send mail, join groups, play games, and even talk to people all over the world." "Ooooh." Grace leaned back on the front / steps and crossed her legs. "Sounds thrilling. Can't you do all those things anyway?" Not that many people came over. Usually just Mark. And he was right next door. Mark was Grace's neighbor and friend-in-resi- dence. He was over-intense in a James-Dean-rebel without a cause sort of way and had a tendency to get philosophical and verbose when M^^^h he was drunk. He smoked Camel filterless. Girls loved him. Grace knew him too well. Mark was a "writer." He and Grace spent hours in coffee shops drinking too much caffeine and smoking too many cigarettes. They drank vodka and argued existential themes. It was Mark that introduced Grace to E-mail. "It's bad-ass," he lit a cigarette, waved out the match, and paced in the driveway. "You can get and send mail, join groups, play games, and even talk to people all over the world." "Ooooh." Grace leaned back on the front steps and crossed her legs. "Sounds thrilling. Can't you do all those things anyway?" "Well, yeah, I guess." He stopped pacing and ran a hand through his short red hair. "But it's easy this way. And you can do it all from a computer." He was off again, a tall skinny smoking demon in a gray trench coat, his eyes flashing green. "It's BAD ASS!" "Oh, it's Bad Ass! Well, shit, why didn't you say that before!?!" Grace raised an eyebrow and giggled. "Bad Ass . . . Hell yeah, show me, oh Great One." She stood and dusted off the seat of the super baggy jeans ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ that she wore without fail. "Get in the car Grace." He rolled his eyes and opened the door. * * * The computer room looked like a good place to have a nervous breakdown. The walls were white. So was the ceiling. Rows of students squinted at white monitors, their faces a sickly green in the reflected light of the screens. "Oh yeah Mark. This looks like a barrel of laughs." Grace shoved her fists into her pockets. "Will my pupils be square someday, too?" "Shut up Grace. You're gonna get us killed." Mark shot her a look and sat down at a terminal. Grace pulled up a chair and plopped down beside him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend. Should I leave?" "No Grace, stay still." He flipped on the computer. "Now, did you get your number?" "Uh-huh." "Well can I see it?" He elbowed her. "Oh. Oh yeah, sure." She stood up and patted her back pocket. She was staring at something across the room. "Here you go ... I'm gonna go over here for a minute, OK?" She walked away before Mark could answer. "Paul?" He was sitting in the rear corner of the lab. "Hmmm?" He glanced up at her. "I'm Paul. Do I know you?" "I'm Grace, remember?" She was suddenly extremely self-conscious. She shifted from foot to foot. He didn't remember her. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. "GRACE?!?" He stood up. "Grace? No way! You look great! I didn't recognize you." He hugged her. "Hi. Thanks, I think." She stepped back. "I thought that was you over here." "How are you? What have you been doing? When do you graduate? God, your hair looks much better short." He stared at her. 'Thanks." Grace ran a hand through her hair. "It looks very French." 'Thanks." She looked at her shoes. "GRACE." Mark was turned around in his chair, flailing his arms at her. "DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS?" He made broad gestures towards the screen. "Oh yeah. YEAH! SORRY!" She turned to Paul. "Well, I guess I've gotta go. Umm, give me a "Smoking" Continued on page 12
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Object’s are ‘parent’ level descriptions to ‘children’ items, (e.g. a book with pages).