My Furtive Roommate
by Marc Watson
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
Did my alarm not go off again? I guess I must have overslept for the millionth time. Either I ignored the alarm, forgot to set it, or I disabled the thing entirely. It happens more often than you would think. Tim would have never let me sleep this long. He would have woken me up with breakfast in bed if I had tried. I miss those days.
I miss him so much, and the pain doesn’t seem to fade at all. Some days are definitely worse than others. I am not exactly sure how I have functioned since he passed. Life has been a blur, and I swear that sometimes I am just on autopilot, like a passenger in the backseat, watching my days pass by. Sometimes I feel like I have skipped days or even weeks on end. He was the only one who grounded me and gave me a sense of hope for the future since my dad passed away when I was younger. Life is one big bully, hell-bent on torturing me. Somehow, I am still here, though.
Unfortunately, so is Abbey. Abbey is my roommate. Tim and I had talked about getting a roommate to help pay the bills for the apartment. Our situation wasn’t dire when it was just the two of us, but living month to month occasionally posed some challenges. We didn’t have the money to go on a proper date or take a trip, but love is all that mattered. He wanted the dates for us, of course. I admittedly wanted that for us, too.
None of that matters now. I suppose he must have arranged for Abbey to move in before he passed, but never had the chance to tell me. She was all moved in by the time I came back from the funeral. I must have missed the move-in during the couple of weeks I stayed at my mother’s place. At least there would be a silver lining that I wouldn’t be alone.
If Tim had hand-selected her as a roommate, he must have believed we would immediately become inseparable friends. It has been three months. So, how are we on the friendship path? I will let you know if I ever see her. I am not being fair, though. Abbey works the weirdest hours, and we miss each other like clockwork. We communicate by leaving notes for each other, and she always leaves the kindest notes, as do I. My only complaint is the messes she leaves.
Abbey is disgusting! Tim used to be messy, but Abbey is on a whole other level. She is about as bad as a movie’s depiction of a guy’s college dorm room. Her clothes are everywhere and in piles. Some are clean and others are dirty. I don’t even know how she determines what is clean or not. That is assuming she cares in the first place. I don’t think she does if the dirty dishes, overflowing trash, and hair everywhere are any indication. Like I said, gross!
Abbey also doesn’t understand boundaries, or at least mine. She keeps stealing my clothes, food, and who knows what else. We don’t even have the same style of clothes, but she takes them anyway. I told myself I would talk to her about it the next time I saw her. There are some things that I think are best said in person rather than left as a note. To be honest, I haven’t seen her in so long; I am not sure I am confident I know what she looks like.
I know we must have interacted more in person when I first got back, and before she started this crazy schedule, but it was all such a blur I hardly remember any of it in any detail. It feels like it has always been this way, even though it really hasn’t been that long. If our schedules ever align, I will really have to insist on our going out, grabbing some drinks, or simply going and doing something together for fun. It is hard to get to know someone honestly through a few notes a day left on the counter.
If there is one thing that I can be genuinely grateful for, it is the fact that I work an afternoon-to-evening shift at a library. I know it is weird for people to like that late of a shift, but maybe it is because I am weird that I like it, so it is fitting. I already feel a disconnect from society as it is, so the less I am conformed to the eight-to-five lifestyle, the better. Plus, working in a library is a fantastic experience. I have always found books more interesting than people, anyway. I have to admit I also like the extreme organization throughout the library as opposed to what I experience at home.
Books also have a magical way of always depicting the world with a more exaggerated sensibility. Environments are always so much richer and more beautiful than reality would actually be. The grass is always greener. The sky is always bluer. Everything just looks majestic and inviting.
The same goes for people as well. In a book, there are never truly any background characters. Everybody has a vital role in how the story plays out. Now, think about the last time you went to the grocery store. There are countless people that you pass by and interact with, and yet they really mean nothing to your story. They are merely background to your individual story. They have very little, if almost nothing, to do with the progression of your story. This simply is not true when you’re reading a book.
In books, virtually every character will play some sort of integral role. Not only are they essential to the story, but the characters are also interconnected. Characters actually matter to other characters and story thread development. Even two disconnected characters end up playing a part in the resulting dominant story. They may end up being more intertwined than you would have expected. You don’t have to read very deep into the writing to understand how necessary, simplistic, and suspiciously easy these connections are made.
So why do I like this? Maybe it’s because it means I matter. Maybe it’s because I want to feel connected to people, other people, who also actually matter. Maybe I like a world that is smaller and more overtly interconnected. Maybe I appreciate the organization. Fewer people in it is also a plus. That brings up another point that diverges so drastically from the real world. If a character hides away in a story, they are not forgotten. No one just disappears.
I enjoy solitude, but I don’t want to feel like I have totally vanished when I seclude myself for a period of time. In a book, it is evidently clear that others recognize when another character is not present. Intimacy between individuals and groups is valued and understood much more. Maybe that’s really what I want. Maybe I’m just looking for that intimacy. An intimacy I have lost. Maybe I want a sense of belonging again.
Since I lost the ones that meant the most to me, a sense of belonging is all I’m really longing for. Tim was my sense of belonging after my father passed, and he took way too long to find me. These books offer an escape into a different reality in which I could belong, a place where I am welcomed by others with open arms. Escaping to the fantastic world in which they reside is certainly another part of it.
When I look out my window, I see drab, diluted color; a soulless wasteland. Environments don’t have the lusciousness they do in books. Reality is cold, gray, and depressing. In books, it doesn’t matter how heartbreaking or sorrowful this story is; it is always so much richer with passion and vibrancy. If you hurt, you hurt in blues and purples. When you are angry, you rage in fiery red. If you’re happy, you glow with orange and yellow.
Working in a library gives me access to so many different worlds. If I don’t like one world, I just escape to the next one. Maybe that’s what I do with the real world. I escape to another one that feels more real. The fact is, I’ve never really felt like I belonged in this world in the first place. I’ve always felt like I was a background character. Not the kind that matters, either. I just am there for a moment and then cease to exist, disjointed from reality.
I don’t know what it really is, to be honest. I just feel like the real world lacks something. Or maybe it’s the fact that I just don’t feel like I’m truly in it. There has always been this lingering feeling, like I was in the passenger seat watching my life go by. That is probably the most significant part of the problem. Between the covers of a story, I’m allowed to empathize and place myself as though I’m a character. The main character.
I suppose I’m just looking to matter. Do I matter? What is reality anyway? Is reality just a matter of your own perspective? Stories have always felt more real to me than the “real world”. Wouldn’t that mean I am simply being trapped from reaching the reality in which I actually belong? What caused me to become imprisoned here in the first place?
I can never understand or figure out the people around me in the real world. In books, it is always spelled out for you. Things seem to be a lot simpler, or maybe it’s because people are more articulate. They give a better sense of what they want and need. Characters are dynamic, sure, but they’re clearly dynamic and clearly state things, whether good, bad, or even a lie.
Even when there’s a sense of betrayal in a story, it’s a twist, but it’s a clear twist. It is made overtly clear what the genuine desires were behind the actions. This is not the truth of our reality, of our so-called reality. Life would be so much easier if it were one of my books.
Luck is on my side tonight, as it is a very slow-moving shift. I know it isn’t financially ideal for the library, as we rely on the amount of foot traffic for funding. However, it does mean I can sit and read once I get my daily tasks done. Tonight, I am reading about a detective in a dystopian future. The detective is hunting down an unknown assailant who has stolen the identities of several other individuals. The perpetrator keeps vanishing every time the detective gets close.
I was deeply immersed in this story when the lights overhead turned off and back on. Oh, man! That’s the signal telling patrons we are five minutes till closing. The story was just getting good, too. I guess I will have to wait until my next shift to see if I can finish it. It is such an immersive story, too. So disappointing.
I don’t exactly remember getting home. I certainly don’t remember going to bed either. Yet here I am, waking up the next morning and feeling once again like I didn’t get enough sleep. I think I’m going to have to end up seeing a doctor about my sleep lately. It’s not like I’m not getting an ideal amount of sleep either. I suppose it’s just not very good quality sleep.
The morning was a bit rough. I walked to the kitchen to get myself some breakfast. My favorite coffee mug is sitting on the counter with about a quarter cup of coffee still in it. I swear, Abby doesn’t respect boundaries in the slightest. I take a deep breath and let it go. The best way to do that is to make myself breakfast and think about what I’m going to do today. I don’t work tonight, so this will be my day to run errands. I honestly don’t particularly like running errands.
Once I’m dressed and have had my breakfast, I gather my things so I can head out the door. I can’t seem to find my wallet, though. Actually, I can’t seem to find my keys either. Man, I must have been really out of it last night. This is out of character for me, for sure. I must not be getting enough sleep lately, at least not good quality sleep. I spent a good 15 minutes looking for my misplaced belongings.
After some thorough searching, I finally found both items on a side table by the TV. I never put them there. I guess it must have been me, though, because the book that I had been reading last night was sitting next to them. I don’t even remember checking it out, but I am glad I did. If I have time later, I am definitely diving into it.
I headed out the door and made my way to my first stop. Unfortunately, the stop was to pay this month’s rent. It is a fortunate thing that I just got paid a couple of days ago, or money would be seriously tight. That is another advantageous reason I work at the library. I can read all the books I want without having to pay for any of them.
I am grateful I found glee in something that doesn’t cost me a dime. I can’t imagine being one of those people who go out all the time or embrace retail therapy. That doesn’t mean I don’t inevitably have to go shopping as much as I hate it. In fact, my next stop was to buy some clothes.
Clothing shopping is the worst. I didn’t generally go out and buy new clothes unless I had to. I honestly would hold off on buying new clothes until they were literally falling apart, except in the last few months, I’ve lost some weight. Now nothing seems to fit me anymore.
Usually, I’d be happy that I’ve lost a few pounds, but right now, not so much. It meant I had to be out interacting with people. I wasn’t happy about that at all. I would just have to make it as quick and as painless as possible. That honestly shouldn’t take an eternity, as I would try to get everything I can off the clearance rack. A few square feet of retail space, and then get out.
Once I survived the clothing escapade, I headed on to the grocery store. As soon as I got there, I remembered I had forgotten my list again. I tried my best to remember the things that I needed. I’m sure I’ll forget something and have to come back again later this week. I might just wait until next week to get whatever I forgot. The way I see it, as long as I get enough to carry me to next week, it won’t matter if I forgot something. I hope there’s nothing too essential that I’m forgetting. I am going to cross my fingers that it doesn’t happen.
After what has taken entirely way too long, I head to the register. Of course, there’s going to be long lines. This can be worse than the shopping itself. It’s not the standing in line forever that gets me. It is the other customers who feel this incessant need to talk. I would love nothing more than to use the self-checkout, but I always get a few too many items for that. I know other people would go, “Ah, close enough.” Then they use it anyway. To me, it’s the principle of the matter. It is ultimately your choice to do the right thing.
Copyright © 2025 by Marc Watson
