Ray and Roy, chapter 3

Chapter 3

Afterwards, I walked back to my room and felt hungry. Troy was there alone, and I asked him what time the cafeteria Ginny mentioned opened.

“Fuck, dude, you’re outta luck today, man! They don’t open ‘til tomorrow, for orientation an’ shit.” I turned around, resigned to starvation. Sporting an understated grin, Troy came to the rescue. “Hey, uh, I’m goin’ into town for some eats. You’re welcome to come, bro.”

“Cool, ‘bro’!” I chuckled. “Call me Ray!” I charismatically offered.

“Yo-yo, Ray! How you be?” I ignored the pathetic “wanna be” shit and took the ride. After all, what choice did I have? Well, surprisingly, “hangin’ wit tha homie” wasn’t that bad. It turned out Troy had a very “black” upbringing on the north side of Milwaukee. Over half his school, as a matter of fact, was African-American. Funny, I thought, I’m “the black guy”, yet I’m from the affluent suburbs where I enjoyed a typical “white” upbringing.

Aside from skin pigment, Troy gave off a stronger “black” vibe than me. I realized that as we stood in line at Burger King. With his baggy shorts and oversized hoody, I felt like calling him Eminem. Of course, I didn’t dare. Later on, though, I realized he seemed to appreciate inappropriate humor and may have taken my comment well. For instance, in the grocery store he suggested, “Yo, man, they’re all racist bitches up here. Do me a favor, dude. Like walk up an’ down the aisles an’ distract ‘em while I stuff all this shit in my pockets!” I nearly pissed my pants laughing.

On the way back, Troy informed me his preferred name is Roy. “Ray an’ Roy. Bitchin’!” He cranked up some gangsta shit that I, again the token black guy, never even heard. Roy found that amazing. We got back and I followed Roy to the kitchen. He found a black permanent marker and wrote his name on his perishables. I did the same. He nuked a couple Hot Pockets, and after he finished with the microwave, I tossed in some mac and cheese. Then Roy ran back to the room and fetched us both some sodas. We crashed on the worn out couch in front of the TV. Big surprise, only one station came in – such is life in the boonies! Oh well. We just ate and talked. Speaking of surprises, Roy turned out to be a fun guy to chat with.

“So, Raymond, you from the G.C.?” he blurted between bites.

“Well…West Suburbs, Bloomfield. I’m a rich asshole,” I giggled.

“A rich bitch?” Roy called out. “Damn, brotha. Why the fuck didn’t you buy me nothing?” he laughed.

“Buy your own shit!” I got up and washed off my plate. I saw the admonishment taped above the sink that read, “Attention: All Dishes MUST Be Washed After Using!” In smaller print it warned, “Kitchen privileges may be revoked if dishes pile up”. I shook my head in disgust, Great, they can force us to buy their food? Genius! Roy came in and tossed his food packaging into the trash. He nudged me. “They got disc golf, if you wanna?”

“Sure!” I shrugged indifferently. I followed Roy to our room to get his Frisbee. He complained it was warm, which was true, and removed his sweatshirt. Roy’s chains jingled as I struggled not to look…but sassy me did! His black tank top revealed an OK upper body, not exactly a body builder, but there was still plenty of man there.

He ruffled through his bag for his disc, dumping the entire contents everywhere. The great elixir known as “cute” allowed me to set aside my distain for Roy’s sloppiness. As he cursed and grumbled, he asked, “Say, uh, you got a girl back home, Ray Ray?”

I said, “Nah,” and left it at that. The truth was I was out to nearly everyone in Bloomfield, and practically all of Chesterfield Academy. By that time, I had a couple boyfriends, but nothing really happened…no sex, I mean. Of course, I made out and fooled around, but… I knew some guys who were complete whores, and I knew in my heart that wasn’t for me. Let me wait for love was my mantra.

Roy finally located the Frisbee and leaned against the bunk bed post. “Single, too? Look like we both be wackin’ it!” he chuckled. “Naw, dude, kidding!” Despite the fact he just trashed the whole room searching for a worthless piece of molded plastic, I have to admit I found the idea of some discrete nighttime fun with Roy appealing. And damn, did he look good all of a sudden! His smile, green eyes set against light brown hair, that peach fuzz above his lip, and all those earrings, they made him look dangerous…cute-dangerous, if there is such a thing. I stopped cruising him, though, when he talked himself into a serious hole.

“Naw, I dumped the bitch before the end of term. Wuzn’t puttin’ out, so I was like, I’ll get me some pussy somewhere else. Ya know?” Disgusted, I rolled my eyes. Just another punk ass loser with zero respect for women. Whatever, buddy.

For the sake of good roommate relations, I went along with the disc golf outing. On the way to disc golf course, Roy mentioned, “Probably won’t see Matt an’ Ev much. Evan’s aunt’s got a cabin they both crash at. In fact, I roomed with them last year, an’ they stayed here no more than a week. No joke!”

“How can they afford that? We get screwed living here!”

Roy flashed me his adorable green eyes and stifled a laugh, an odd though endearing reaction. “I dunno. Why you worried, rich bitch?” We laughed and proceeded with our game. To my relief, the good rapport we enjoyed earlier returned. I suspected Roy’s awful remark about women was part of a macho thing, a way some men attempt to impress other men – I remembered that from my sociology class. Maybe, I thought, I should let him know I don’t approve of that language, but that we could be friends without all that masculine bullshit.

Copyright © 2009 by Mark D. Solay. All rights reserved.