Chris, Student

Chris squinted at the italicized font and sighed, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He reached out and pressed the ‘pause’ button on the recorder and attempted to sound out the words.

“Day-zhoor? Day-zhoor-ay?”

“Talking to yourself again?” his roommate Evan asked.

Chris held up the thick law tome. “How do you pronounce this phrase?” He pointed to de jure.

Evan shrugged. “Not a lawyer, man.” And he went back to his chemistry and punk music.

“Thanks anyway.” Chris tugged his headphones back on and pressed the button to resume recording, continued reading. “ ‘A corporation formed according to legal formalities is a corporation de jure. If a corporation is not formed de jure, it may still be considered a corporation de facto...’”

After a while he got into the rhythm of reading, and he felt the words roll smoothly off his tongue even though he didn’t really understand any of what he was reading. He’d read so many textbooks on so many topics that they started to blur together. But as he read, he gazed at the photograph pinned above his desk, of Sarah and her guide dog, and thought, She doesn’t know I’m alive, but she depends on my voice.

He finished the chapter and stopped the tape, popped it out of the machine and scrawled Corporations, Chapter One on the label. He had to deliver it to the student support center and then get on with his own homework. Maybe, on his way across campus, he would see Sarah and Diane sitting on the grass, basking in the sun, picture-perfect and completely oblivious to it.

Chris scooped up his jacket and headed for the door, and the phone started to ring. Evan was closest, but he continued bobbing his head to his music and balancing chemical equations. Chris sighed and crossed the room, scooped up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dear, it’s your mother.”

Chris winced. She sounded more frail than usual. “Hi, Mom. What’s going on? What can I do for you?”

“I got a call from the pharmacy again today...”

Of course. The creditors had come calling again. Chris let her words wash over him, making humming noises in all the right places. When she was done, he had to resist the urge to slam the receiver back into place. Then he stared down at his knuckles, red and swollen and scraped raw in several places, and he picked the receiver back up, dialed.

“Hey, Matt? Yeah, it’s Chris. Tell Tony it’s on tonight. I’ll meet him down at The Pit. Yeah, bare knuckles. Bring some sports tape. Put me down three-to-one on me, all right?” He glanced over at Evan, but he was lost in his music.

Good.

He probably wouldn’t notice when Chris came back after midnight with a new black eye. Chris shrugged on his jacket, grabbed the tape, and slipped out the door. He did stupid things for the people he loved.

(Written by Nagi)