Miriam

  Miriam. The name is laced with Hebrew origin. Meaning bitter or wished-for, which seem to be polar opposites, but I guess that fits me just perfectly? The digital alarm clock beeped like a maniac. 7:02.

  “Already?! I have 3 minutes to get to class?” I scan my bedroom for my other shoe.

  Searching far and wide, up and down, like I was a predator hunting down my prey. I drop down to my stomach like I was in the army partaking in morning drills. I wasn’t far off, I mean, university is pretty much a boot camp.

  “Found it!” I was filled with joy exclaiming with success until I glanced back at the digital box of technology near my bedside.

  “It took me a minute to find my sneakers?!” I slide my shoes on. They were pretty beat up and had scratches on the quarters and vamps.

  I rush out the door, tripping over my shoelaces. I ran faster than a bolt of lightning just trying to make it in time to class. I have always viewed life like a camera lens. Sometimes you need to look for a better angle, and sometimes you need to change your view completely.

  The sickening bright white lighting along with the big windows was throwing me off. Just then, I stumbled and fell to the floor. My knees hit the ground and I exchange a few glances from students walking past me. I look down sheepishly feeling my cheeks warm up.

  I look up to see a pair of cold green eyes meeting mine, burning with anger, however that rush of frustration dissolves as he meets mine. It felt like we'd met somewhere but I couldn’t place when or where.

  He stares at the floor and I stammer, “I’m so, so sorry—I should’ve been paying attention to where I was going, now I’ve spilled coffee all over you.” I continue as I swipe and pat coffee away, but I only spread the stain and make it worse.

  His large, strong, pale hand grips mine. “You seem to be in a hurry.” he shuffles awkwardly and releases my hand.

  “Watch yourself.” he groans in soft annoyance and leaves me with empty thoughts, scuffed up shoes, messy hair, dusty knees and a lame excuse for being tardy to my class.

  At that point I didn’t care anymore. I huff and I march my way to class, combing my fingers through my messy raven hair. I take a breath before opening the door. Of course I had to make a scene.

  All eyes are on me. However there’s a couple of pairs I’m familiar with. My roomie, Stephanie’s and the ones I fell in love with, Artie’s. He had the prettiest hazel eyes, with little flecks of gold and green here and there when sunlight hit.

  They were gorgeous, he was gorgeous, everything about him was whimsical. I was completely head over heels for this fine gentleman, compared to the guy I had met in the hallway. More so meeting the ground because of him. I then realized I hadn’t moved an inch, making it seem like I was a ghost.

  I quickly make my way to my seat, striding past the soft murmurs that erupted the room, but I can’t gloat, they weren’t talking about me. They were either chatting about dates, next classes, what they were gonna eat for lunch or even how fine the professor was. I can’t necessarily blame them but I have eyes for one man and one man only. Artie.

  “You definitely caught his attention.” Stephanie, my roomie, was a blonde, blue-eyed girl. She had the prettiest lips and her physique could totally pass for a runway model. She was like a Malibu dream or an exotic pi?a colada.

  “Who? The professor’s?” I tease mockingly, knowing she wasn’t in the mood since she’s never a morning person, but yet she still got up earlier than me this morning.

  “Your eye candy, Artie,” I shift in my seat, “Whatever.” I look away, his eyes now on mine and my pulse races. I swear my heart was beating out of my chest.

  Artie Rodrickson was indeed my eye candy. I was obsessed over him. Sneaking pictures every now and then of him, he was too fine to pass up. I mean come on, I wasn’t really stalking him…I just knew his daily schedule.

  6:30, he’s walking out the door. 6:45, he is already in line at the cafe ordering a white chocolate caramel macchiato, with a shot of espresso, three packets of sugar, and extra whipped cream on top. Total: $8.49.

  After ordering his Venti sized refreshment, he takes a separate passageway so he can take a few sips of his beverage in peace. It’s now around 6:57 when he steps into the classroom with his strong cologne and freshly combed hair. He takes his seat, straightening out his earthy undertone, beige, colorless-looking clothes and fiddling with his pens; 7:01. 7:03, I usually take my seat, and gawk at Artie while Carter spits out random animal facts to me.

  Okay I was insanely obsessed but he was—no, correction, he IS one of the finest men alive. My dreams and fantasies were then crushed by the sound of Mr. Winston’s voice.

  “Ms. Mayberry.” he clears his throat, “You seem distracted?” His dark aged eyes shift when they meet mine.

  “Sorry…” I sink down into my chair and he gives me an un-amused nod. He then continues his lecture.

  “As I was saying, you’ll each be paired into different groups. You will have free range but you’ll have to work together to create a creative story. Each teammate in their group will have a turn to writing a different part of the short story. Any questions?”

  “I’ll begin pairing then.” His eyes scan the room as he breaks up friend groups. Grinning wickedly.

  Mr. Winston was a middle aged man, with dark tan skin and dark amber eyes. He looked like a Brazilian celebrity, he had dark raven hair such as myself, but with a silver streak in his dark locks. He had a deep thick voice accompanied by a Latin accent. His frame was muscular and towering, of course some of the students in here had a crush on him, don’t blame them.

  “Group 1: Audrey, Nathanial, Kalani, Ali. Group 2: Stephanie, Lucas, Caden, Francis,” he kept going on listing different names and their group, “Group 6: Maddie, Carter, Artie, and Miriam.”

  “Well? What are you waiting for? ?Vamos!” He exclaimed and clapped his hands like he was performing choreography. This is creative writing, not show choir?

  My face flushed red when I realized I’d be paired with Artie. Sure Maddie was a bit stuck-up, and Carter was a bit too interested in me, but I’d be with Artie. I wish I could keep him for my eyes only.

  I remember my first year of university. I may have gone a little too far by watching his every move, I mean I still do that, but can you blame me? Everything to his first and last name, to his friends, to his distant relatives, to his bad habits. I’d only watch him when I felt like it, I wasn’t creepy I just really wanted a chance to speak to him.

  We all grouped together and sat on the floor like we were still in kindergarten. We took the sheet of paper that we were going to pass around the group and Carter began writing and brainstorming, blabbing on and on again and how we should include horrifying elements and horror in general. Maddie snatches the paper, it crumples ever so slightly in her palm.

  “As if, we are creating a romance. I have MANY references!” Carter wrestles her for the crumpled piece of paper, when Artie puts his hands up.

  “Stop the fighting, we can include both somehow…” He stares blankly at the sheet of paper for minutes.

  We couldn’t decide what to write. We all stared cluelessly as the professor collected our assignment.

  “I’ll finish the short story.” Artie takes one for the team and I swear I’m sweating by now. Get a grip, Miriam.

  “So will I!” I accidentally outburst, not wanting to miss a chance to work alone with Artie. “I mean I will take responsibility and help Artie with the assignment.”

  Mr. Winston nods approvingly. “Very well, have it completed by Tuesday. You have all weekend.”

  Artie winks at me and I feel my soul get sent to heaven, feeling it be embraced by fluffy clouds and the warm sunshine glow. Class ends right then and there when Artie walks over to me and I feel frantic and nervous. I didn’t care who else was still in the room I just had to act cool for him and him only.

  “Miriam, right?” His voice envelops my heart, like he was casting a spell, using barely any syllables.

  “Yeah!” I croaked nervously and I felt the blood rush to my head, like I was on illegal substances. Not like I know what it’s like.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “It was nice that you wanted to chip in.” I stammer, “Yeah, yeah.” He flashes me a calm and collected grin that makes me melt.

  We sit in silence for a short while until he decides to break the awkward silence, his fingers brush against my palm and he starts to head out. He stops at the door and his eyes lock with mine.

  “I guess I’ll see you around?” I looked down at my palm and there was a piece of paper balled up. It was his phone number. I called out to him but he already stepped out of the room and was nowhere to be seen.

  I guess I will see him around. I walk up to the top of the class when a familiar face speaks to me. “He’s not all that you know.” Those same cold green eyes meet mine once again.

  “What are you talking about? It’s not like you care that much.” He stayed silent, but I overheard him mutter the words, I hate you.

  “Why? You don’t even know me.” He gruffs. “That’s not what I said.” I heard him mumble as he exited the room, however I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Why are there so many stairs? In my sorority house of 24 female students we only have one laundry room on the fifth floor near the cleaning closet. I despise living on the second level. And oftentimes, I have to wait for one of their loads in the washing machine!

  I finally make it up the never ending staircase up to the laundry room, only to find a load in the washer. Just my luck. Luckily the load was finished so I just put her sweaters on high-dry and I shoved my load into the hunk of machinery.

  As the washing machine tumbled and buzzed I sat with my legs crisscrossed on the hard cold laundry room floor. My fingertips hovering over my keyboard, struggling to type a message.

  Ding. “Hey, M! I was wondering if you’d want to come over to my dorm this weekend to complete the assignment? Maybe get to know each other as well.”

  How do I respond? I put my phone down immediately and I took my load out of the washing machine and into the dryer. I step out of the laundry room and I make my way down the million flights of stairs to the dining hall. I see my friends sitting at a dining table and I make my way to the table to set my things down and I dart for the dinner line.

  “Miriam! You should come sit by us.”

  And that was Angela. She was sitting by Stephanie at the dining hall. She had short, 4c, fluffy, dark hair and a dark complexion. She was wearing a lovely orange colored top and a denim skirt.

  I don’t know how she does it but she makes any outfit work on her. I step into the dinner line and I walk behind the college football jocks who smelled of body spray, dirty gym socks, and sweat. Almost ruining my appetite. Their body spray was polluting the entire dining hall.

  No sight of that weirdo anywhere. I get my tray of food. Tonight’s menu was delicious sopa and enchiladas.

  I find my way back to the table where Angela and Steph were seated, “Hey pretty lady, what’s going on with you and Artie?” Angela rests her chin on her hand and she bats her eyes at me.

  “Nothing is going on. We overthought our project during class, the professor pushed a failing grade towards us, he took the blame, I felt bad and—I said I’d help him with the project… Then he smirks and touches my hand and gives me his number, he texts me, and invites me to his dorm and,""And?” Angela interrupts, and she’s now half off of her seat, “I didn’t say no?”

  Both of their jaws dropped, and they glanced at each other. “It’s not what you think, I’m just gonna stop by and help him with the project, and everything will be completely normal.” Totally normal.

  It was indeed not normal. The way my heart was racing on the way to his dorm. My dark waves, bouncing with every step, my head spinning at over a hundred miles per hour. I couldn’t stop thinking of him.

  His mannerisms, the way he dressed, spoke, walked, he was an angel. The kind you would find in century-old, historical, art pieces; hung up in museums. He was the heaven that those paintings brought to those who captured it right. I would gladly go insane and slice a bit of my ear for him.

  The dormitory's walls were painted an eggshell color, and the carpet did not match whatsoever. He lived in the older section of the building but whatever, I would cross oceans for this man I’ve barely spoken to. There was a note posted on his door.

  “Hey, pretty! Sorry for the short notice, but I had a family event I had to attend. It completely slipped my mind. I promise to make up for it, and I promise I’ll text you later. Again, I’m sorry. Have a great rest of your night,” -Artie.

  My eyes start to twitch, and I purse my lips. I sigh in disappointment and irritation. I wish he could’ve told me sooner. I storm down the hallways in exhaustion. He was supposed to be my recharge.

  I walk my washed-up, extinguished self out of that door. My once neat hair, now transformed into a tumbleweed.

  “Why are there so many stairs?” I muttered to myself. Hobbling down the stairs and almost tripping over my own feet.

  I bumped into something; someone. Those familiar, cold, emerald green eyes meet mine once again. No warmth whatsoever. Like usual.

  “How’d it go?” I pass him and stop in my tracks, slowly turning around with passive aggression.

  I open my mouth, then purse my lips. Knowing I had nothing nice to say, and I shouldn’t say it at all. But something in me snapped as soon as his smirk broke through his “mysterious” persona.

  “You know what? It didn’t go as well as I thought; it didn’t go at all. But he remembered to at least write a note for me, and that has to count for something!” I outburst.

  He started to chuckle, but there was no humor. “But forgot to make time to tell you, you weren’t his top priority?”

  He pauses and walks back towards me, his hands shoved into his pockets, “he’s not that great of a guy. He’s all looks, and he’s only gonna hurt you. Or he’ll drive you to a point where you hurt yourself.”

  My eyes soften, then they narrow in disbelief. “And what would you know? You're the one who seems like the type to hurt someone.”

  That seems to shut him up pretty quickly. He turns away and doesn’t look back, and heads in the opposite direction. His shaggy raven hair, overgrown and covering his features and the back of his neck. He totally needs a haircut.

  On top of that, who was he to tell me who I could spend my time and energy on? Besides, Artie is a decent guy from what I know; he’s a lady killer, not an abuser. He seems to be a family man and a good one at that.

  I don’t know who that prick was, but he is getting on my last nerve. He’s like a stalker, and I don’t appreciate it one bit if that’s the case. I guess I’m somewhat of a hypocrite; well, I’m not a stalker; however, if knowing every detail about a crush is stalking, then I suppose I might as well be one. It’s not like I’m watching him from his bedroom window or anything. I just pass through the halls, and I stay in the loop.

  His friends would know; I ask about him all the time. That’s how I know so much. His social media being open to the school and world doesn’t help either. I’m fangirling a bit too much, and I need to calm down, but you cannot tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you were in my position?

  Ring, ring. My phone rang, and it was my mother. I didn’t want to pick up, but I answered anyway.

  “Hey, Mom.” She then replies in a chalky tone, and something about it just makes me wish I had a flip phone so I can slam it shut, “How’s university?”

  “Why are you trying to make up for the fight we had last year? I don’t want to talk to you, Maude. I’m not calling you mom anymore; you don’t deserve that title. You made me sick, you left me sick.”

  My thoughts continued to swirl, and everything just made my skin crawl. Her breathing, her pauses, everything.

  “You left me, Miriam. You abandoned me? What about me?” She starts to wail, and I almost laugh.

  “You’re making this about you again, Maude. You’re always making it about you. Why do you think I left?” I take a breath, trying not to break. I can’t let her win this battle.

  “You hurt me in unimaginable ways.” I bark back which she responds, and I break, “Well, I guess you’re repaying that favor.”

  I don’t let the tears flow. I don’t know how she could hurt me so badly, then play victim? Everything aches and plagues my mind. My heart.

  I hung up the phone, and I continued my walk to my dorm. As much as I despise her, she makes me feel like I ‘owe her’ everything. I just want it to stop, I want peace.

  I try to clear my head by humming my favorite tunes and thinking of endless romantic scenarios in my mind. Spoiler: it does not work.

  I take a different approach, and I pop my earbuds in and listen to a podcast. One that I usually love, yet I was so drained from school, Artie, my mother, and now all this walking.

  After countless minutes on end, I reach my destination. Then I encounter my arch nemesis. The stairs. Even after a long, rough day, the stairs always know how to drain my mood below zero.

  My feet were aching, my nose was running, my hair was frizzy and tangled, my clothes were now covered in soot from walking around the whole day, and my head was reeling. Although the warmth of the building shielded me from the icy autumn air, I felt everything but warmth inside.

  I was just about to unlock my door when my toes hit something. It was a white box with my name on it. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better, it did. But confusion struck me hard.

  I glance around, looking for the culprit who left this mysterious gift. I picked up the white box and opened it to see what was inside. Scummaging past the tissue paper, I saw a pair of shoes. Shoes that were brand new.

  The box had no other name but my own, so I closed the box and unlocked the door. I slid my old, beat-up sneakers aside and put on the new pair of shoes. Just my size. They fitted perfectly. A note, from the looks of it, had been slid into the box. I sat down, shoes still on, and opened it. The note read:

  “I have a surprise for you, I said I promised I'd make it up to you.”