Flash Fiction: L0VEB1T
“Parker— you sleeping?”
It’s a voice from the loft to the lower bed. Dark room. Several kinds of music blend in the dormitory hall and seep under the door along with light from the hallway. Tuesday, 1 am. Relatively sedate at this point in the semester.
“The hell? Thought you had a rule: no talking when we’re both in bed. It’s like married people, you said.”
Sound of the wooden ladder bearing 160 pounds in descent. The soft spuck of minifridge opening in the ambient twilight. Closing again. Two piffs as bottles open.
“Take this, Dweebus. We’re not sleeping, we’re talking. I have a new crush.”
Metallic ticking from the understructure of the office chair as Jason settles into it.
“All right: you got my attention. But please make it short or you’ll have to burn one.” Parker hangs his legs over the edge of the bed.
“I have a new crush… kind of,” says Jason.
“So far, this is not sounding like news. You’re dating Courtney. So who’s the newest other woman?”
“It’s gonna sound weird,” Jason says.
“OK, get out the combustibles.”
“This is weird enough without that. It’s her Bitmoji.”
“The new girl. Who is it?” says Parker.
“No. I mean Courtney’s.”
“Wait,” says Parker. “You busted out with your precious Dragon’s Milk to tell me you’ve got a thing for your own girlfriend’s Bitmoji.”
“Yeah. She’s cute.”
“I’m glad you handed me this. I have no idea what to say.”
A swig. A swig in reply.
“So, say Courtney sends a text. She’s feeling a certain way. Just finished a paper – Bitmoji happy, smiling. Or maybe she’s feeling overwhelmed: sad face, but with those big eyes. Or maybe like I’m complaining about a grade or a project and she comes back all hearts and kisses. I look at them—”
“Listen, I know I should feel grateful for the beer…“
Another swig. A pause. Then another, this time together.
“—and I see her.”
“You see her.”
A quiet rises between them in the low dormitory din. Darkness. Then another, longer swig, bubbles audible.
“So what’s the problem? It’s your freaking girlfriend.”
“I’m just not sure I’d like her as much without.”
“As much as?”
“As much as I do with her Bitmoji. I mean, she’s pretty and all… but… I’d miss it.”
“Huh. Not seeing where this is going. Damn, this is good beer, though.”
“You know how last Friday you were out?”
“You better not plan on finding any more of these left in the fridge tomorrow if this is gonna drag on.”
“And I know you like her,” Jason emphasizes with a forward tilt of his bottle. Then he tilts it back, drinks.
“Everybody likes her. Don’t be a dick.” A swig.
Surrounding the two, the living pulse of the dormitory slows by a perceptible degree as night stretches toward the wee hours of a frigid February morning. Inside: Warmth. Stale laundry. Fragrant pizza box the freshest thing in the room. This is home.
“Alright. So, we were here. Courtney and I.” Jason’s voice shadowy from the chair.
“Jesus!”
“What? You’re surprised?”
“No I’m not surprised. You told me you’d be here. I’m just not sure I want to hear this.”
“Well, it was like I was seeing Courtney, real Courtney, through Bitmoji Courtney. ”
“While?”
Silence.
“I mean, like— during?” Parker clarifies, suddenly sitting upright, bottle in hand.
Jason swigs. Hard swallow. Then another swig, aspirating his exhale. “Yeah. Sort of. ”
“Dude!”
“Thing is—”
“Dude!”
“Shut up!”
“Dude, that is so—!”
“I know!”
Outside, a soft siren in the distance.
“So Jason…” Parker says, “I just realized that if you hold a bottle of stout in your hand, it reaches the right drinking temperature faster, so it also disappears faster. I wonder if I could model the consumption curve and plot it against the temperature curve, and determine what variable drives the process. Is it that it tastes better as it warms up, or is it just the fact that you’re holding it? And with a pilsner, would it work the other way, with people drinking it faster before it warms up?”
Jason’s bottle decisively meets the desktop. “I hadda ask an engineer,” he says. “You know what’s missing from your equation? The actual freaking beer. Life is messy. You’re oversimplifying. Exaggerating. Distorting. You really need to collect some field data.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Parker giggles, drinks. “Then again, I mean, what’s the harm? Why beat yourself up about it? It’s not like you’re cheating.”
“It’s a carTOON, Parker.”
“Ok. Yes. That’s a point.” A pause. “And you think I’m into exaggeration.” Parker swigs, smiling to himself in the semi-darkness.
Jason grabs his bottle from the desk, tilts, drains.
“You pretty much slammed that, Jason.”
A long-armed reach from the office chair to the fridge. Two soft pops. Another reach, this time to the bed.
“Here,” says Jason.
“Whoa, an embarrassment of riches. Thank you.” Bottle 2 to side table; bottle 1 to mouth. Then: “Guess I went to bed too early. But now what?”
“I just need to sort this out.”
“So… question: Do you ever find yourself scrolling through your old texts? Like, just to look again at what she sent?” Parker now sits cross-legged on the bed.
A sigh comes back in reply.
“Ok, so it’s bad,” concludes Parker.
“The thing is, it works.”
“Right!” Parker giggles from the cave of his lower bunk. “It freaking works!”
“—I mean, why is she sending these? So I think about her, right? So, then I imagine. She wants me to feel something, right? She wants a response. Would it be different if I were just re-reading a text?” Jason’s voice rising, almost shrill.
“You want my opinion?”
“Of course I do, you idiot!”
“It’s all a big goddam cartoon. Enjoy it! What the hell!”
“But who is it I’m seeing? I mean, really?”
“Yeah. Don’t we all ask that sometimes.”