Peter Federson
I looked at that slim, clear-eyed teenager on the student ID and thought
about what I looked like now. I touched my face and felt the nerves running
beneath my thin skin. Muscles corded around the nerves until
they tightened into lines of tension on my jaw, like strings on a
violin that were wound too tight, so my neck was bent by the
pressure. This nervous energy sunk my cheeks until they were hollow cups,
traced wrinkles down either side of my nose like gashes and drew dark rings
around my eye sockets, from which crow’s feet radiated like jagged scars.
God, I wish I could start over again!
Catherine
―Peter, you‘re very creative and energetic, and a really nice guy—when you want to be—and I really want to continue seeing you, but you have to respect my right to date anyone I want. It‘s not as if we‘re engaged. I mean, you date other girls, don‘t you?"
I knew that Catherine had found out about Tammy at some point, but I didn‘t remember when. So, I told her the truth.
―I broke up with a girl last night."
―Pete, if it‘s the U of I girl you‘re talking about, you‘ve broken up with her before."
―But this time…" I faltered.
―There have been several 'this times,' Peter, and until 'this time‘ is the last time, I‘m going to date whomever I want." Then her mouth clamped shut, and we stood looking at each other in embarrassed silence until she changed the subject.
―I‘m in the mood for an ice cream cone," she said.
Tammy
“Tammy, I’m on academic probation and if I flunk out of this damned place I’ll wind up in Nam and probably get killed.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” she slurred. “I think it’s that Catherine, that’s
what I think. That’s why you don’t want to see me anymore. Right, Peter?”
Her voice was rising. “Right, Peter? Huh? You son of a bitch!”
Tammy ended the sentence in a screech.
Tammy was now in full flow, rubbing her eyes with balled fists as tears
poured down her cheeks. She looked unbearably cute, and I wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her, first in her Firebird, and then at the Heritage
Hotel.
Marta
In the cafeteria, Marta sat down, pulled out a pair of
oversized granny glasses from the blue velvet bag—on which JOHNNIE
WALKER was stitched in yellow thread—and picked up a mushroom from
her plate. When the song ended, I noticed she wasn’t eating the
mushroom, but was scrutinizing it with one eye closed, like a jeweler
examining a fine diamond.
“Marta?” I reached up to pull my glasses forward on my nose so that I
could focus on the mushroom. But I wasn’t wearing glasses, I was wearing
contacts; I could feel them in my eyes.
“Yes, dude.” Her open eye glanced up and fixed on my hand, then
moved back to the mushroom she was examining. She looked at it, put that
mushroom down, and picked up another one.
Space cadet. (But you know about first impressions)
Harry
Suddenly, the hall door opened with a bang, and the barrel of a shotgun poked in. I screeched and dove for the floor, overturning the log and dumping the hot plate and coffee pot onto the floor. Behind the shotgun came a brace of pheasants, followed by Harry in full hunting regalia: high boots, red plaid shirt, trousers, and matching cap.
“J3#$& C&*$#!, Harry, don‘t ever walk through the door gun first again! You scared the sh%$ out of me…C#@(!"
Harry wore a big smile. ―Hey, I bagged a couple of pheasants and a rabbit. Do you wanna see them?"
―No! What the hell is that thing hanging out of your pack?"
―A piece of tail, ha, ha. I saw a dead fox and I pulled it off. Do you want it?"
―Hell, no!"
―Speaking of a piece of tail, how did the canoe trip go?"
My breathing was starting to slow down. ―We overturned it..."
Herb
“You call them gremlins, I call them demons, but it’s all the same,” said Herb. “It’s like chess: When the gremlin makes his move, you counter it.”
Herb quickly scored the algebra quiz he had given me. “And it looks like your gremlins have been checked—for today, at least.”
I glanced at Herb’s calendar. “If I can hold out for a few more days,
then the quarter will be over.”
“I’m sure you can do it. Just keep plugging along like you’re doing.
When Fader moves his rook, you move your bishop.”
I felt like a guy who had been losing chess matches all of his life because
he’d never learned the game. But now, in 1971, tutors such as Herb and
Marta were teaching me the rules.
Mr. Fader
"...some of you believe that I have been acting in an arbitrary manner when the Cubs lose.”
“Well…” he said in a clipped voice, “…this is anything but the truth. However, if this alleged
behavior has caused any of you discomfort, I apologize.”
He said “apologize” as if that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Read chapters 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, and 25, and do all of the practice
problems, legibly.” He was looking at me. “Hand it all in Friday. We’ll have a quick review, and then I’ll give you the quiz, which will also include selections from all previous quizzes in the course. It will make up approximately one-third of your final grade.” By then everyone was looking bug-eyed at the TA. This was probably the most brutal algebra assignment in the 102-year history of SIU, if not in
the entire history of higher education.
Roger Davis/Ramjet on the mighty WRRP. Roger inspired the character Ronald Ramjet.
by 
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