I Walk In, Part 2: Glen

To reiterate: I wrote this when I was 15, and I’m leaving all grammar errors and typos in-tact to the best of my abilities.

This part makes a lot more sense if you’ve read part 1.

—–

I WALK IN 

PART TWO: GLEN

“Gah!” the near-empty room filled with pitiful souns of frustration as Glen realized his story was going nowhere, “‘oh, so this is strictly business?’ did I really put that in my story?”  Creative writing is a mandatory class in Illiard’s College, and Glen had a hard time at being creative.  Even using a friend’s idea, he could barely write more than two pages.

Just then, Glen realized just how unfortunate he had been these past few years.  Until his junior year in high school, he had a 3.2 GPA.  In one year, that number sunk to 2.3, ruling out any major college or a good scholarship.  His SAT scores barely broke 1000, so that hadn’t helped his application, and his teacher recommendations were lukewarm at best.  Illiard’s was the only school that he could afford sans scholarship, and it was also the only one in the area with a creative writing requirement.

Even going for the cheapest school above community college level, Glen couldn’t afford good furniture.  Al he had was a mattress and a table, upon which sat his outdated computer that ran on Windows 3.1 and contained an Intel 200.  All it was good for was word processing.

A knock on the door, Glen went to answer.  It was Eddie, the friend that had given him the idea for the story.

“Hey, you got any farther with the assignment?” was Eddie’s greeting.

“I got stuck on page 3” came the answer, “how long was the story supposed to be again?”

“Dude, the minimum was 5 pages, and Professor Mauren said that was barely going to get you a passing grade.”

“Ah, that really sucks, you got any advice?”

Eddie looked over the story, then sort of frowned.  “You’re really having trouble with this, aren’t you?  ‘Oh, so this is strictly business?’ what is that supposed to mean?”

“I  have no idea,” said Glen “I stopped once I realized I was’t making any sense.”

“That’s always a good idea.” Commented Eddie, “Look, the thing isn’t due until Tuesday morning, it’s only Sunday, so why don’t you take a break, get a beer or two, then come back tomorrow with a fresh start?”

“I would, but I’m a bit strapped for cash.”

“The drinks’ll be on me, c’mon what do you say?”

“Yeah, that does sound good.  I’ve gotta finish this thing by tomorrow evening, though.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”  A last word of encouragement came from the friend.

***

Lou’s was a nice bar, comparatively speaking.  Most establishments in the area switched employees every other week, but once you were hired by Lou’s, you could be sure that you would not be fired unless you screwed up big time.  This lead  to a lot of customer familiarity.  The bar itself was usually quiet because most of the time, you wouldn’t go in there to have a good time, but rather to stave off boredom for a few more hours.  The main room of the bar was pretty small.  Room for 7 or 8 stools and a lane between them and the wall,  but there was also another room, which contained a lone pool table.  This room was actually the perfect size for a pool table, with a 3-foot margin on all four sides.

Glen and Eddie were both terrible at pool, so they just went straight to the bar.

“Glen, you look terrible,” Jeff immediately noticed as the two friends walked sat down.

“Yeah, assignment’s due on Tuesday, I’m about halfway done and can’t get and farther.”  Glen summarized the situation.

“Man, that’s gotta suck.  What class?”

“Creative writing” volunteered Eddie.

“Creative, eh?” piped up Steve from the corner.  Steve was the new guy at work.  He didn’t exactly know all the ropes yet, but he was learning from Jeff.  “I could sell you some stuff that would help you think up some crazy stuff”

“Look, me and drugs don’t get along too well,” Glen noted, “I had a bad experience with a combination of weed and speed.  You’d think they’d work well together since they rhyme, but noooooo…”

“Well, that’s your problem,” replied Steve, “you don’t have to take my advice, it’s just advice–”

“Hey, we came down here for a few beers, and that’s it” interrupted Eddie, “you want to lose a sale, keep talking.”

“Oh, so you just came in to take a break?” Jeff said as he passed over a couple of beers.

“Yeah, just a break.”

The rest of the night went by with almost total silence.  No other customers came in and nobody was really in a talking mood anymore.

***

The next morning, Glen woke up with a terrible headache.  He had no idea why, because he had only taken a few beers the night before, then he noticed the cracked trophy on the floor.  He realized he wasn’t in his dorm, because he didn’t have any trophies.  He looked up to see how it had fallen and saw a shelf that wasn’t his either.  Where was he?  He didn’t get that drunk the night before, did he?  Glen looked around.  This room definitely wasn’t his, the floor was carpeted, and there was a TV in the corner on top of a VCR, on top of a dresser.  The dresser was plain wood, but it had little knick-knacks on it that were definitely effeminate.  On the other side of the room, there was a desk, which held an orange Macintosh iBook and a printer.

Picking up the trophy, he read the engraving: “AWARDED TO HILLARY SWEENY FOR OUTSTANDING SCHOLASTIC ACHIEVEMENT.”  Who was Hillary Sweeny?

“Just a sec, Wanda, I think I heard something in my room,” came a woman’s voice from behind the door.  Glen had no way to prepare for anything as the door opened to reveal a girl who was obviously Hillary Sweeny.  She was on the phone, and wearing her PJs, the former she had dropped at the sight of a guy in her bed.

“How the hell did you get in here?”  she demanded.

“I have no idea,” responded Glen, “you wouldn’t happen to be Hillary, would you?”

“How did you know my name?” snapped Hillary, apparently annoyed.

“Well,” began Glen, “there’s this trophy I found on the floor…”

“You broke my trophy!” Hillary cried, “Are you some kind of thief?”

“Honestly, I have no idea how I got here or even where I am,” responded Glen, “I kinda just woke up in your bed a few minutes ago”

“But that’s impossible, I was only in the hall for about fifteen minutes, you had to have snuck in when I wasn’t looking”

“Look,” began Glen, “I don’t know any more than you do when it comes to who I got here, but I don’t even know where ‘here’ is, and you do, so why don’t you tell me?”

“You are in my bedroom, in my parent’s house, in Rochester, New York, and it is 8:30 AM, Wednesday, April 4th.”

“Wednesday?” exclaimed Glen, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m positive,” replied Hillary, “What day did you think it was?”

Glen thought about that for a moment, “Well, last I remember, I was in a bar nowhere near New York, and it was Sunday night.  Well, Monday morning, really.”

“Really?”  Hillary was surprised, “you’ve been asleep for 2 days?  Where were you before?”

“I was in Maine, at Illiard’s college.  And I had a major paper due yesterday.”

“You know, that’s really terrible, I’m sorry I can’t help much.”  Hillary seemed to be believing Glen, “My car is in the shop, and my parents would kill me if I borrowed one of theirs”

“Don’t lose any sleep over me, I’ll get back somehow”

Glen knew very well that there was no chance of him getting back to campus within the week.  He knew that even if he had, Professor Mauren wouldn’t take his paper, even if it turned out to be Shakespeare.  Perhaps this was a chance for Glen to do something else with his life.  Get out of the loop and do something on his own.  Follow his own path.

“Sorry for breaking your trophy, but I should get going,” Glen told Hillary.

“It’s ok, but my parents will never believe me”

“Are they here?” Glen asked, “I’d like to try to avoid them if I can.”

“They won’t notice you, they’re kinda dumb” responded Hillary”

“Y’know, you shouldn’t talk about your parents like that,” Glen said with a laugh.

Out the bedroom door, down the hall, into the kitchen, out the back door, around the side of the house, and down the driveway.  They were out.

***

Money.  Glenn needed money.

(continued in part 3)

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2 Responses to I Walk In, Part 2: Glen

  1. Pingback: I Walk In, Part 3: David | Fiction, Almost Fiction, and Fact

  2. Pingback: I Walk In, Part 4: Alice | Fiction, Almost Fiction, and Fact

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