@humanschallenge Week 4 Day 3: Sequels
A/N: This is a continuation of ‘Poetry’ by @nachocheese-itsmycheese
Sorrynotsorry that it’s total, unadulterated fluff! And actual apologies to nachocheese, because I have no idea what happens in the freshman year at US universities in terms of classes/societies, so I made it up.
It got quite long. This is parts 1 and 2 out of 4 (I’ll publish parts 3 and 4 in a separate post tomorrow).
Part 1: Aldington, Richard
Just two weeks earlier, Mattie had stood on the college lawn, watching as the other freshmen milled about her, headed for one stand or another at the Orientation Week fair. She knew which stands she wanted to avoid: the Phi Beta Kappas and the like – but wasn’t sure that she was enough of a joiner to go for anything else.
It was then that she spotted the perfect club. Off in one corner, its forlorn home-made banner proclaiming ‘Come and say ai’, the scrawled sign on the backboard reading ‘Robotics Society’. It was manned by two older students: one whose beaming smile and upright stance seemed to invite people to come and talk; the other, scruffy and slumped against the backboard like he’d been brought here against his will.
“That’s a terrible joke,” commented Mattie, approaching the table.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said the tall, smiley student.
“ ‘Come and say ai’ – I mean, you don’t even pronounce ‘A.I.’ like that!”
The other student chimed in: “That’s what I told him too. Are you signing up anyway?”
“I don’t know. Do you make robots?”
“No. We discuss issues around robotics and Artificial Intelligence. Like a debating society, only without the wannabe politicians crowding us out.”
“Mmmmm. Well, I thought you might make robots, so I’m not sure,” she said jokily.
“I can teach you how to make a robot if you’d like!” said the taller student eagerly. He was nudged sharply in his ribs by his companion.
“Don’t worry, I was joking. Kind of. Well, I guess I’ll try it and see. It’s got to be better than joining a sorority, right?”
“Sign here,” said the scruffy one, holding out a pen. He craned his neck as she put down her name, reading out what she’d written. “Mat-tie. Don’t you have a surname?”
“I don’t like to give too much away on first acquaintance,” said Mattie mockingly. “And you are..?”
“Leo. I can tell you my surname when we know each other better,” replied the scruffy one, matching her for sarcastic wit. “This is my brother, Max.” Max, stood off to one side, beamed broadly at her.
“Your brother? You mean, like in the modern sense of the word?” Mattie couldn’t help from blurting out.
“No – as in, the family sense of the word. My dad kinda adopted him when I was young,” replied Leo, giving a brief, lopsided smile.
“Well, good to meet you both,” said Mattie, not really sure that she meant it. They were a strange pair. And brothers!
“See you at the first meeting next Thursday. We hold it at a café off-campus. It is very informal,” Max said, sounding very formal indeed. He handed her a flier. “We normally have a speaker, then a round-table discussion.”
And that was how she met Leo and Max. She wouldn’t call them friends just yet, because although they intrigued her, she didn’t let people get to know her that easily. They were held in a holding pattern for now.
The poetry class was the last one she signed up for, and only because she’d needed to take a compulsory lit. option in order to pass the freshman year. ‘Poetry, an A-Z’ read the catalog description. Well, so long as it was brief sonnets and not poetic epics, she’d give it a go.
She told Max about it after the first Robotics Soc meeting, mentioning the blond student who’d been so helpful and who had patiently taken her through the Aldington poem line by line. “I mean, I can code – that makes sense to me. But poetry is tough. It’s people not really saying exactly what they mean.”
“Like similes and metaphors? And circumlocution?” questioned Max, who knew a little about poetry from his brother Fred.
“Exactly. I’m just glad I’ve found a willing partner. It helps that he’s cute too,” confided Mattie. She wasn’t normally this open, but there was something about Max’s genuine interest that encouraged her to share.
Leo wandered over from the café bar, carrying another espresso. On hearing her sudden enthusiasm for Aldington, he was quite dismissive (“I managed to get out of the lit. class; they don’t force the Engineering students to do it”), but at least he feigned some interest and asked what other poets she was going to be studying.
She was surprised he was even talking to her, as he’d been ultra-cagey when she’d bumped into him earlier that same week outside the computing labs. He’d been carrying a bunch of trailing USB cables and she’d merely asked where he was going, but he’d reacted like she was spying on him, growling in response: “Nowhere. To see no-one.”
“Woah, I was just being polite! I don’t actually want to know. Who died and made you so angry, anyway?” she’d retorted, his surliness causing her sarcasm to spike. He’d reacted like she’d slapped him full in the face, turning on his heel and walking off in the opposite direction without another word. She noticed that he walked slightly tilted, as if he was in some pain and holding it in.
Just before her second poetry class, she found a folded note inserted under her dorm room door. On it was written:
“You should have loved a god; I am but dust.
Yet no god loves as this poor frail dust.”
Printed in smaller italic script, on the bottom right hand of the note, was the text: ‘From ‘Prelude’, by Richard Aldington’. Mattie initially wanted to laugh at the misguided sweetness of the message. But then she read the lines again, and started to think about Odi, and how earnest he’d been about poetry, and how Aldington was his favourite poet. He had copied down these lines for her in all seriousness.
She actually looked forward to her class this week. Who were they studying again? Someone Bukowski? She’d better do a quick Google search so she could appear knowledgeable and interested in front of Odi.
Part 2: Bukowski, Charles
Now, this was more like it. Bukowski was much more direct. He said what he meant.
“I think I’m really getting it,” she said to Odi, who was sitting next to her in the class. “He just says what he wants, no filter.”
Odi, still dressed in his favourite orange sweater – she could overlook that, she’d decided – gave her a warm smile. “I’m so glad you’re getting into it, Mattie. I think the world would be a poorer place without poetry. Listen: my friend Dean runs an open mike night – this week’s a poetry slam. Do you fancy coming along?”
Mattie thought probably not, but if Odi was going, then definitely yes. “Sure,” she said nonchalantly, trying not to show her enthusiasm. “Where and when?”
“Do you know a bar called Deckard? Just off the interstate. I can give you a lift if you’d like. Bring some friends. These poetry nights aren’t always so well-attended, so any new faces are really welcome.”
“I’ll be there,” replied Mattie instantly, forgetting to keep her cool. She thought that she might ask Max for moral support – which would mean inviting Leo along too, even though she could picture him declining straight away.
Mattie didn’t actually know what a poetry slam was, but imagined some kind of literary version of ‘8 Mile’, with people competing to be the best at reading out their poems. In the event, she wasn’t far wrong.
She walked into the café with Max, Leo trailing behind them. He was such a drain on her buzz right now, but she hadn’t wanted to offend Max and suggest his brother stay at home. Spotting Odi by the bar, talking with a tall, bearded man, she went up to them confidently.
“Hi Odi. I forgot to ask, I’m not expected to get up on stage, am I?”
“Oh, hey Mattie,” said Odi, bending to kiss her cheek in welcome. Her skin tingled. “This is Dean. He’s the M.C. tonight, so I’m sure I can ask a favour and get him to spare you.”
“Hi, Mattie,” said Dean, lolling against the bar. He had the studied look of a singer in an interesting indie band – fringe swept to one side, skinny black jeans, and dark-rimmed spectacles. “Odi’s told me about you. I won’t call on you if you don’t want to. What about your friends though: will they give it a try?”
Max and Leo, who’d been hanging around in the background, overheard this and came to join them.
“Why not?” grinned Max. “I am always open to new experiences.”
“Not me,” declined Leo. “I study Structural Engineering. Subtitle: How to make buildings stay up. So, I’m about as poetic as an old boot.”
Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem. You and Mattie can wait this one out. Maybe we can persuade you up on stage next time round.”
With Odi and Max prepping their poems for the slam, she had chance to chat to Leo, who was surprisingly at ease in unfamiliar surroundings. She started to wonder if his surliness was a front that stopped others from getting to know him. ‘It takes one to know one,’ she thought to herself. Years of not fitting in had left her with an invisible shield up at all times. At high school, she’d been too studious for the princesses; too overtly rebellious for the freaks and geeks to play with.
Once the poetry slam started, Mattie started to enjoy herself even more. She and Leo had to control their silent shakes over Max’s poem (entitled ‘Ones and Zeroes’), but when he’d come back over to their table afterwards, Leo had hugged his brother and said: “That was great, Maxie.”
“What did you think, Mattie?” asked Max, in all innocence.
“Wonderful, Max. Just like Charles Bukowski.” She thought that might sound like a compliment.
Leo glanced back over his shoulder to Mattie from the midst of his brotherly hug, and they exchanged a conspiratorial look.
Odi’s poem was pretty dreadful. It was about a childhood trip to Long Island with his Uncle George and Aunt Mary, and it went on forever. He rhymed ‘ice-cream’ with ‘sunscreen’. Only Dean and a few of the other regulars clapped him afterwards, plus Mattie’s table too, out of politeness.
After Odi’s rendition had finally finished, Leo sighed and proclaimed: “I’m having another beer. Mattie?”
“After that? Yes, please,” replied Mattie thankfully. “What about Max?”
“He’s OK. He’s got a ton of food intolerances – including to wheat – so he can’t drink beer.”
Max sipped his water, smiled and shrugged.
By the end of the night, Mattie thought that she had not laughed so much in a long time. Finally, she was somewhere she fitted in, with people she felt could become proper friends. Even Dean had drunkenly confessed: “As much as I love Odi, his poetry’s pretty terrible.” She caught Odi looking over at her and Dean in cahoots, and gave him her brightest smile. He smiled back broadly.
The next morning, she awoke to find another note had been pushed under her door. This time, she dove for it, anticipating the sentiment; remembering how Odi had smiled at her the night before. On the note was printed
“and finally I discovered
real feelings of
others,
unheralded,”
with the source: ‘‘Let It Enfold You’ by Charles Bukowski’ printed under the extract.
Mattie thought Odi’s approach was old-fashioned, but she preferred that a million times over to some leering, fumbling attempt to chat her up. She looked up the poet for the next week: Ana Castillo. Better get studying so she’d have something insightful to say.
[Author’s P.S.: The ‘brother’ thing in Part 1 is a ‘Zoolander’ reference]
