Left Drowning(39)

Zach and Eric have been snuggling nonstop all night, and it’s pretty damn sweet. They’re on the floor, and Zach is sitting in front of Eric, leaning his back into Eric’s chest. Eric has his arms wrapped protectively around Zach, and once in a while he leans down and kisses Zach’s head or shoulder. It’s f*cking adorable, and so adorable that I can’t even be jealous of what they have. As for what I have? I have a room full of people who I didn’t have a few months ago. I have more than I could have imagined.

“Well, kids.” Estelle gets up from the armchair she’s occupied for the past hour. She waves her cell around. It’s as if last night’s crying and manic praying had never happened. She looks as pulled together as ever.

“I’m headed to my history professor’s house. He’s invited people who are in town for Thanksgiving over for coffee and dessert.”

“Nooooo, don’t go!” Sabin takes a swig from his beer. “I was just about to do my rendition of ‘November Rain.’”

“In that case, I definitely gotta go.” She starts to pull on layers to face the cold.

“Fine, fine. Be that way.” He strums the guitar for a second and then lifts his head sharply as a huge grin appears. “But before you abandon us, I have a send-off!” He starts to head for the door to the hall. “Meet me out front on Blakemore Ave in five minutes.” And then he’s gone.

“Does he mean outside?” Estelle mock-whines. “Shit, it’s cold out! We’re into, like, negative numbers!”

“What’s he up to?” I ask.

“No idea. It could be anything.”

“He’s an *,” Eric grumbles. “But we’re still going.” He pats Zach’s shoulders.

Zach slowly stands before reaching out his hand to pull Eric up. “And then we are going home.”

Eric looks down to hide his blush. “Everyone bundle up. Hopefully this will be fast.”

“If we’re going out there, I’m finishing this glass of wine first,” Chris says. “Fleece has nothing on alcohol when it comes to staying warm.”

I follow Chris’s suggestion and finish my wine. “Okay, okay, let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back to doing nothing. Just as it should be.”

Soon we are all assembled on Blakemore Avenue as instructed, shivering and waiting for Sabin. Fifteen minutes go by. The cold is truly painful.

“Where is that drunk bastard?” Chris demands.

“Ha! Look who’s talking!” Eric teases. “I think we’re all a little drunk.”

“Are you drunk enough to give me your coat, because even my tits are freezing,” Estelle says. “Pretty sure my nipples could cut glass right—”

“Hey! Hey!” Eric immediately takes off his coat and hands it to her. “If you promise to never again talk about your tits, you can keep this coat forever.”

“Aw, thank you, Eric! My savior!” She throws on his coat while he sticks out his tongue.

“Wait, shhhh, listen,” Zach says with a slight slur. “Do you hear that?”

The unmistakable sound of a guitar echoes around us. We all look up and down the snowy street, but Sabin is nowhere to be found. It is only when he starts yodeling that we collectively realize he is on the roof of the dorm. I look up and cringe. This is not a square, concrete, sterile dorm building from the 1950s, but rather an old architectural wonder, with dramatically steep eaves that project far past the edge of the building, an archaic slate roof, and several balconies. It usually strikes me as beautiful, with the snow-covered peaks and dips. Tonight, with Sabin on top, it just looks dangerous. For the moment, he is safely stationed on a flat area near the third story, but he is eyeing the steep eaves just below him.

“Oh shit,” I murmur. “Oh shit.”

“What’s that in his hand?” Eric asks.

I squint. “I think it’s a tray from the cafeteria.”

“Oh my God.” Chris rushes from the sidewalk up the few steps that lead to the dorm’s wide walkway. “Sabe? What the f*ck are you doing?” he calls up to the roof. “This. … Dude, this is not a good idea. Whatever you’re about to do? No. No way, man.”

Sabin yanks the guitar strap from around his neck. “Catch!”

It is not a particularly small miracle that Chris manages to catch the poorly thrown instrument. “Estelle, take this.” Chris holds the guitar out without looking away from his brother. “Seriously, Sabin, get the hell back inside.”

“I’m going traying! It’s going to rock.”

“What the f*ck is traying?” I ask no one in particular. Nobody says anything. “WHAT THE FUCK IS TRAYING?”

“I assume he’s going to sit on that goddamn lunch tray and sled off the roof,” Zach says in disbelief.

“No, he is not!” Chris yells.

“Yes, I am, too!” Sabin hollers drunkenly. “Come on up! Come with me! It’ll be awesome!”

“No, it’s not going to be awesome. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Chris is over-enunciating. “Very, very badly. Irreparably.”

This is true. Below Sabin are areas of ground that are either frozen solid or unforgiving concrete. Flying off the roof would certainly send him to the emergency room, if not the morgue.