Last semester I had a frat boy for a roommate.
His name was Jason.
Almost every other night, it seemed, Jason would
stumble into our room with a brand new
girl and have sex with her on our futon.
Most of the times I would still be wide awake,
writing a paper or just sitting on my computer,
though that never stopped him.
I began to observe that the girls he brought
into our room were always at least twice his size,
and so drunk they could barely string together
enough syllables to tell me their name, which really
didn’t matter, because I knew that neither I nor Jason
would ever speak to them again.
But one afternoon, out of concern for all parties
involved, I brought my observations up to Jason.
He was shocked, and responded condescendingly,
“It’s not always about looks, Sonny. It’s about
what’s on the inside.”
It’s been six months since he said this, and
I’m still trying to figure out just what, exactly,
he meant.