P.D.A.

Brendan O’Brien

I was studying in the Simmons Hall Third Floor Common Room. Big presentation tomorrow. A guy walked in and turned on the stove. His phone buzzed. He picked it up and tapped the screen.

"Hi, babe," the voice on the phone said. 

I kept studying.

The guy spoke. "Babe, I'm gonna be, like, cooking this hot chocolate." Seemed simple enough to me.

"Can you help me?"

"Oh my god…" said the voice on the phone, holding out the "god" for a long, long time.

I kept on studying.

Then this guy started making his hot chocolate. I don't think he'd ever done it before. At least, that's how they were talking about it.

"Oh my god, wait til the water is boiling!"

"Is it hot enough yet?"

"You have to wait to pour the powder in!"

"How long do I have to stir for?"

"Wait!"

"Ah, fuck."

"Stop!"

"Oh my god, no!"

At some point I could barely study; I could barely even read. I had to watch this fucking guy bumble around with his hot chocolate. He opened boxes and packets and dropped his garbage everywhere, sometimes almost directly into the open flame. Thank god he didn't start a fire. He kept spilling the powder on things, it was all over his hands and arms and clothes. All the while she was laughing at him and going "No!" and "Ooh!" And he got all defensive whenever she told him what an idiot he was; "Shut up, babe! I'm not stupid, babe!" He had this coarse laugh too, like someone who smokes a lot, or how an older dog barks. All this fucking noise. It was like a fucking circus act in the fucking kitchen.

And then his phone beeped, three times. The laughter stopped.

"Oh, no…" he said.

He kept stirring his pot, silently. Stirring and stirring and stirring. The water sloshing around, the bubbles, the spoon against the walls of the pot. Even the flame of the stove seemed to hiss a little higher. I couldn't stand all that noise either.

I got up and held out my phone charger. "Here."

He smiled, in a kind of pouty way. Then he shook his head quickly, stopped smiling, and said, "Uh, thanks, bro."

He charged his phone and called her again. He poured his hot chocolate into a big thermos, and I listened to him talk to her about her essay, and she asked about his history class, and “is it cold by you,” and “have you talked to your parents.”

He charged his phone and called her again. He poured his hot chocolate into a big thermos, and I listened to him talk to her about her essay, and she asked about his history class, and “is it cold by you,” and “have you talked to your parents.”

After a little more talking, he gave me back my charger, took his thermos and cooking supplies and left the Common Room.

And then today, I had to give my presentation. My assignment was to write about the two Swedish scientists responsible for finding the cure for Osculumboritis. I turned on the projector, but as it turned out, all I had written on the title page was: "I AM GOING TO KILL THESE TWO. I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO KILL THESE TWO."