May could not have come quick enough for the seniors of Colford University. The euphoric skyline retired to evening, in a blend of blue and tangerine. Numerous students who packed commuter vans and walked in groups averaging 3-5 were just beginning their night off.
Most were ready to let their hair down after a tumultuous month of papers, exams, and research studies. Among the gallery of white baseball caps, oversized cups and domesticated, drunken cackling stood well-known attendees at an off-campus mixer. Ellie Seaver and her group of girlfriends stood outside the deck of her friend Jody’s place, as if they were attending a Hollywood wrap party. Checking out the scenery, their efforts of meeting legitimate dating material were inspired, but challenging at best.
Across the way, Brendan Raymore had his sights set on Ellie, a 5’7 tawny-haired super cutie. Affectionately referred to as ‘Ellie-fish’ by her single mother, who had Ellie at a young age, the Seaver women were very close. Tonight, she was celebrating for mom just as much as she abhorred dealing with being asked about what she had lined up after finishing up her last semester. Brendan, wearing a striped, button down shirt curtained over dreary, denim jeans had parted black hair a crop thick sideburns. Although he valued and respected women, you’d be hard pressed if the women in his life had thought of him any more than the brotherly type, to his chagrin. Kicking back with his freshman year hall mates and reminiscing about slip and slide at 3 in the morning—Brendan was pretending to contribute but looked over amid the bustling crowd. Was Ellie Seaver out of his league? Maybe. But then again, never underestimate the power of objectivity….This was Brendan’s game plan, until of course he spotted a slew of Capri-sporting, sandal-wearing, shell-neck laced girls who drew his eye away from his secret crush. Ellie looked on, exchanging a huge grin with Brendan, whom blushed and mopped his hair while pretending not to notice. It didn’t work.
In the traditional sense, these two particular seniors came from opposite sides of the tracks. In lieu of their group of friends, social standing wise in high school, you would never have guessed that the other knew the other had existed. This was different. Some people matured. Others, not so much. The two had study group together for a few semesters and always exchanged a warm hello when passing each other in the dining halls. Neither lacked drive, besides they were graduating college in a week so things should even out smoothly.
Early afternoon, Brendan woke from a semi-inebriated stupor to the hammering at the door from his conservative father. Right off the bat, the ever-so opinionated father of 4 looked his oldest son square in the eye with a sentiment of ‘Kiddo, let’s talk’ For Brendan this was all too routine. In his mind, and arguably others his age, a suitable description of his father’s lectures would be John Raymore’s Bullshit Cat walling: Volume 1 available in Nerve-wracking and Unnecessary. Brendan did care about his parents although he sought to find his own true form at Colford. His mother was the first to hug the first of the family to have done anything productive past high school. The Raymore patriarchs were high school sweethearts, raising their first born at the peak of coming to terms with their own sense of identity. Over the years, they had gone out of their way to bond with their kid over a slew of topics—ranging from balancing a check book to why having sex on the first date is bad news. Brendan begged this not be one of those interventions.
The Raymores saw fit to lay down the law no matter how advanced they felt their 22-year old proved to be. Balancing a semblance of integrity and tact was one thing, but keeping up his laundry habits was an Achilles heel.
“How you been, dad,” Brendan asked with heavy eyes and bird’s nest hair as he stood up to carry up the rest of his month’s worth of wardrobe his mother insisted she wash.
“He’s put on weight, John,” she chimed in.
“I doubt that, honey,” he replied firmly with a ‘let’s not sugarcoat any of this to him’ look.
“Bren—it’s been a while since you’ve been at school and we’re going to have to ask that you switch to living in the basement and…..possibly getting your own place soon,”
his father relayed passively.
“What the hell? You guys serious? I mean, I promise I’ll get it together,” Brendan exclaimed dumbfounded. He tried to work his mother into a seeking of approval that he curses up a storm in front of them both. It would not be the first time.
“What about MY room, ma?”
“Look son, we know this is a hard pill to swallow but things haven’t been all that great at work. And ever since we came here, your mom and I have been struggling like crazy to put your brother and sister through school. That’s what it is….I’m sorry.”
The middle ch
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