Sometime when the leaves are brown - Mid 90s
Dear Diary,
Today has been a puzzling day, full to the brim with suprises.
I met my room-mate, who seems like a nice guy. Adorably ordinary too. Green eyes, warm grin, a fan of tweed, recessive hair loss. His real name's John, he came in through the door, put his bags down and stuck his hand out. Warm smile, introduction, I returned the favour, taking his hand which had noticeably well looked after nails. "Jim Moriarty."
"If we're going to the last name mile, then John Smith -a last name that's nothing as unusual as 'Moriarty', I'm afraid." he winked, and looked around.
I laughed, "Jim and John - it sounds like a story! Like Jack and Jill!" John smirked and looked into my eyes.
"John and Jim went up that hill to fetch a bucket of vodka, John fell down and broke his crown and Jim came tumbling after." I laughed delightedly at John's edited version of the famous tale whilst he smiled ear to ear.
"I'm going to call you Jack from now on!"
"Fine by me, Jill," Jack winked again before going about settling into our new home.
Yet this pleasant surprise of a nice room-mate wasn't all. I had my first lecture today (experimental psychology - my major) and was struck by a man. He was tall, insisted on keeping his coat on (safety blanket concept?) and had black, twisty hair.
He spoke up in the lecture, a flood of words that washed away the lecturer's guise. I laughed. Everyone else looked stunned, or mildly annoyed. Despite the room being huge, the guy noticed me laughing and looked curiously at me. The woman teaching us put her head in her right hand and said, "OK, hang back after class for a little chat, son." And we carried on. I was smiling throughout the rest of it at the marvels that came out of the strange man's mouth.
I was first out of the lecture, and once outside, I waited. I wanted to meet this gentleman. Sifting through the stream of plain faces, I finally saw him. He was last out, looking chastised. Or maybe smug?
Anyway, when he came out I stood infront of him, blocking his path.
"Jim Moriarty," I said, holding out my hand. His eyes, at first wide, started dogging me up.
"Nineteen years of age, comes from a poor background, couldn't wait to get away, recently broke up with his girlfriend - doesn't yet know he's gay." And with that he stepped around me and strode off.
I was so shocked, I simply came back to my room, lay for a while, staring at the cobwebs in the corner next to the door, and now here I am, writing my diary.
How did he know all that? I can tell it's because he's clever, he was deducing things from tid bits of my appearance. I just want to know what bits of me gave what away?
Poor - well yeah, my suit, as much as I've tried to wash it and re-sow it, must be obviously second hand.
But how did he know I broke up with Eliza? I guess my eyes look a bit puffy, bags from not sleeping well, etc.
What did he mean about being gay?
What a fabulous mind that lad had. And how he talked, with different words sounding like plucking different strings of a violin to create an overall melody! Oh! Anyhow, Jack just walked in so I better go.
Au revoir.
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