In a Room Full of People

It's a Romance, when you finish reading it this story will still be a Romance, please just enjoy the story two people did their level best to bring to you and not tell me it's sitting in the wrong category. The temptation was to break it in half and post two chapters instead of one, as you can tell common sense won out. My thanks as always go to SouthPacific for his editing.

*******

I still remembered the day I first noticed the girl, in my first week at college. Dianne Barrett was her equal in my old high school: she could be alone when she started walking along a corridor, but would always have someone magnetically attached by the time she had got to the other end. Sadly, being a geek meant that I was also relegated to being a people watcher - please read watcher, and not stalker. Dianne Barrett was well worth watching, but this girl had her beaten all ends up.

I was at college to get the education I needed to progress and pay back my folks for sending me here, not to party all the way through like there was no tomorrow. It didn't take long to find out the girl's name - Taylor Dennison. Although I knew HER name, it was odds on that she had no idea of mine - that was, if she even recognized me at all. I was under no illusion about my place in the pecking order of college freshmen. Events were to prove that theory was oh so correct.

I had foolishly placed Taylor in amongst the Dianne Barretts of this world: stuck-up bitches who thought their looks entitled them to an easy path in life, treading on everyone else's toes to get their way, and dating only the jocks who acted the same way, or could be used to their advantage. Seeing her from time to time, however, sure made me change that opinion of Taylor Dennison. The jocks got to her first: she was polite right up to the time you didn't hear polite when she said "no thanks" to a date, and then she got real ugly.

The pretty boys and the guys with trust funds decided to have a go next. She dated a few, but word was that you got only one shot at Taylor. If you messed up on the first date you never got a second. From what I saw in our first year, she could hold her own in the conversation stakes with everyone. I heard her cuss as bad as the Neanderthals and speak as elegantly as a royal visitor.

After our first year was over, and the headlong rush to get into sororities started, Taylor got her hands as dirty as the rest of them to get into her sorority. That seemed to earn her more in the way of kudos points amongst the women who couldn't seem to place her into any category. All through our second year Taylor was still liked by everyone, but with her the boys all knew that "no" really did mean NO.

*******

It was in the back end of my second year at college when I first really met Taylor. Well, that's not exactly true: when I first spoke to her perhaps. Nope: that's not entirely true either. You see, I was reading in my room, the computer was on and my buddy's social media page was up. He liked this group because it had a section where you could hide your own friends and visit a general page on the site.

He liked it because, when he got stuck on some topic he was working on for class and I wasn't around to explain it to him, he would just throw it out there. You could pretty much guarantee that someone out there knew the answer. A bit like going on Google, only the person on the other end would actually help explain it in better terms, so that even my track jock of a room-mate could understand it. That was Tony for you: always taking short cuts whenever he could.

As for me, I still liked books. The head librarian and I were on first name terms, and had been since my freshman year. Tony was out for the evening at some party; I had some course research I wanted to get started on, so I stayed in. The computer still pinged from time to time, often with stupid questions. "Did OJ really do it?" "How many times is a katana blade folded to make a perfect sword?" Oh boy, did that debate get heated.

Hell, even the question of how to make the best home-made apple pie got asked once. That debate brought out so many of the students phoning home for mom's traditional recipes that even the Dean put his two cents worth into the debate. It shocked the heck out of everyone that he even had an account.

So to borrow a well-worn phrase, there I was, minding my own business, when the screen pinged and the next question rolled over from someone with the handle of TTBG. "In a room full of people, why do I feel so alone?"

The Neanderthals got in first and told whoever it was to get drunk. The women online took a more defensive approach and told the woman to seek out her friends or leave before the knuckle draggers looked on her as vulnerable and tried hitting on her. The name calling came next between the two groups and in amongst it all, the woman only known as TTBG got pushed to one side.

While all this was going on, I took a more philosophical point of view. As the name calling went on all over the general page, I clicked on 'private message' and, by the time I had pushed send, the damn thing looked like an essay. Seconds later the debate was about sending people to colonies on the Moon before sending any to Mars. I switched my roommate's computer off then, and got back to my own research without any of the distractions that his social page was bringing me.

A few weeks later Tony said he was off to the canteen to see some girl. Since it was none of my business I just shrugged and went back to reading. He came back about an hour later, scratching his head and telling me that the girl was a weirdo and he couldn't wait to leave. To me that meant he made some excuse about going to the bathroom and kept on going. I really did like the guy - hell, we had been roommates for a couple of years now and hadn't even had an argument - but Tony was never one for emotional entanglements on any level.

It was six weeks after that I really met Taylor. The rest of the people in the corridor at the time can attest to that.

"Excuse me. Are you Mitchell Cromwell?"

When I turned around, Taylor Dennison was standing there with a few books resting on her arm and an intense gaze in her dark eyes, two of her friends waiting patiently behind her. When I nodded in the affirmative she handed her books to one of her friends and slapped me across the cheek. The whole corridor heard the slap and looked on, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. Other than her friend handing her books back and all three walking off talking to each other, nothing else did happen.

Both the heat of the slap and the confusion as to why I got it troubled me throughout the day. Even when I got back to my apartment and told Tony about the slapping incident, I was still as confused as hell. The Taylor Dennisons of this world may pass people like me in a corridor, but to actually talk to one of us? Not in this lifetime. And, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine any possible reason for her to hit me.

"Let me guess, tallish? I would say five six, maybe seven. Long hair that stops between her shoulder blades and small of her back, tits that say come home to momma, and an ass that you feel could keep you company in the bedroom for the rest of your life?"

Other than the fact he missed out the fact she was African-American, he all but nailed the description of Taylor. I nodded my head once again.

"Thought as much. She was the one I took to the canteen and then she started talking weird - something about being in a room full of people."

Tony was heading out the door when I got that little tidbit of information, and suddenly the whole puzzle came together. Now I knew the face behind TTBG, not to mention the answer to what I sent her in reply to her question.

*******

The slapping incident quickly became a thing of memory, as do many subjects on a college campus. Too much going on and just not enough hours in the day, I suppose. The next interesting thing that happened was a conversation with Marta. Now Marta is a great girl, and we had some interesting conversations in our time, both on campus and in the library. We learned real quick that we would never be anything but friends, but we did know that this friendship would last well past our time at this college.

She called herself a free spirit; I thought "promiscuous" described it better but, other than the concern I had for her health, and her reassurance that no one got into her body without a coat on, followed by me going ever so pale and muttering the words "too much information," we had as solid a friendship as anyone could have in any mixed gender sequence you could think of.

Marta caught up with me at the library, and what raised an eyebrow with me was the lack of books, or even a bag, in her hand. She scanned the room, so the fact she was looking for someone was a dead giveaway. As her eyes found me a frown marred her face, and the only thought that came to me at that moment was "What have I done now?" I swear that, friendship or not, and with the way she behaved around me, I sometimes felt I was married to this woman.

As Marta pulled a chair out she said, "OK. Spill it."

Quickly running my past transgressions through my head while she sat and stared at me, and realizing she knew most of them, I just shrugged my shoulders.

"Why has Taylor Dennison made you persona non grata?"

Confusion was my only defense, and even then I had to put it into words.

"Marta, what the hell are you talking about?"

The stare she gave me simply got her my "I haven't got a clue" look back at her. She knew me well enough to know when I was bluffing. It wasn't in my make up to begin with, and I had never lied to her in all the time we had known each other.

"The girls at the sorority were finishing up this month's meeting when Taylor asked that you be given 'hands off' status. Her friends backed her up, and it was passed before I could figure out what the fuck was going on. You're in the cold, Mitch, and the girls will see to it that you stay there."

Still feeling nonplussed about what she had just said, my only question was, "Just out of curiosity, do I have a right of appeal?"

"In a court of law anything is possible, but you're talking about a sorority house full of women. You're a guy; you figure it out. So tell me: what did you do to her? I have never seen her so bent out of shape about anything since she came here."

Since I had no idea of the answer, Marta seemed to think it her mission in life to find out. Even placing my hand over hers, and telling her to let it - whatever it was - be, didn't dissuade her. Yes, Marta was my friend, and I loved her greatly for it, but causing friction with her sorority sisters wasn't something I wished on her over something that I neither had a clue about nor, to be honest, cared about.

Although we talked for another hour on other subjects, the topic of Taylor Dennison seemed to be a shadow that hovered. I was due to visit my folks in a few weeks so, other than not giving a shit since, in Marta's opinion, I could do nothing about it as it was now a sorority ruling, why put my friend in the firing line over something that clearly pissed off Taylor, and only Taylor.

*******

The following weeks seemed to be a "wind-up Mitchell Cromwell" event. I would sit down at any table in the canteen and all the girls at the table would get up and leave. Those that had boyfriends with them dragged them away when they did. I just opened my books and used the extra space, doing my course work while I had lunch. Thankfully my classes didn't clash with hers, although I'm sure she was using the "friend of a friend" network to find out where I was at any given time.

It amazed me why she was burning so much energy on someone who clearly didn't give a shit. Not getting laid didn't bother me, since I knew I was heading home in just over a week. With it being summer break, topping up on what I was missing out on while at college just gave me the impetus to get my head down and get on with it since, once summer break was over, all my time would be on third year preparations.

The only real clash came at the library, of all places. Marta still came by and kept me company, and we still used each other to study with. She had her arm in mine as we left while Taylor and her friends came the other way.

The looks poor Marta got from them all only got her screaming at the top of her lungs. "Look. His arm is in mine; his dick isn't anywhere other than in his own pants, so stop glaring at me."

Taylor dropped her books and went to go for Marta. Her friends held her back while I got my friend out of there. Damn, she was strong when she was pissed off. Even when I got her outside she was still up for a fight, and unfortunately I was the only one available. The slap came first, and although her emotions were winding down, her own anger still raged within her.

"For fuck's sake do something! Stand UP to the bitch! She's in the middle of destroying your life, and you're letting her. What the fuck happened to your balls?"

Shocked at my own friend's outburst I let her go. The glare I got from her should have given me an agonizing death. The tears came next as her own good nature slowly re-asserted itself. Her eyes lowered to my chest as her mind sought enough control of her emotions for her to re-think what had happened moments ago.

The shocked look on her face came first. "Mitch, I... I'm..."

I picked up her bag while she stumbled over her words and, when I looked at her, the tears came unchecked. She grabbed her bag and ran off along the path in the general direction of her sorority house.

Two days later I was heading home. I never saw or heard from Marta in those two days - not even a phone call - so I never got to find out if her sorority took any measures against her. She stood up for me when she thought I wasn't standing up for myself: friends do things like that. My texts to her, once before I left my room and again while at a gas station for fuel and a pit-stop, went unanswered, and that saddened me. It seemed that the ripples of Taylor Dennison's anger towards me had cost me my dearest friend.

*******

The beginning of the holidays was a mixture of fun and concern. The fun part was catching up with the antics of my friends while I had been away. The concern was that Marta had not returned any of my calls.

My folks didn't take long to figure out that my mind was elsewhere, and finally gave up waiting for me to talk to them about it. They ambushed me when I came home one evening from the movies. The kitchen table was once again turned into the conference room, and the family meeting began with Mom getting in my face and asking the most obvious of questions.

I think the fact that my folks knew me so well was a testament to just how well we got on. As an only child I wasn't spoiled; at least, I liked to think I wasn't, so I started from the beginning of how I met Taylor Dennison. Dad pitched in with the odd question and Mom said nothing, but just kept staring at me. It was the silence when I had finished my tale that unnerved me. All Mom did was sit and continue to stare.

When the silence became uncomfortable even for Dad, Mom asked me one question.

"What did you write back when she asked this question on this network thing of yours?"

Mom knew my memory. She wasn't stupid: she just sat and continued to stare at me, her face a mask. It still took me a moment to visualize what I had typed, and then tell my folks. When I opened my eyes again a slip of paper sat on the table, and both my parents still watched me. Curiosity being what it is, I picked it up and read the phone number.

"For a son with such a high IQ you can sure be dumb sometimes. I phoned Marta when you got back to find out what the hell had gone on with you two. Why did it take us dropping your ass on that chair for you to talk to us about this?"

Other than shrugging my shoulders I really didn't have much in the way of a defense. Dad got up so he could hide his smile from Mom. To both of them this meeting was over, but it still left the question of the phone number I now had in my hand.

Being stubborn can only work when your own curiosity is OK with you being that way. That slip of paper sat on the side by my bed for a full day before I phoned it. The shock as to who answered made me sit down when I heard her voice.

"Your Momma was right on the dot."

"I'm not a mother's boy, Taylor."

"Oh, don't worry: I know that for a fact. Your mom and mine have been in cahoots with each other since a few days after I got back home."

I could feel my cheeks going a little red, but I said nothing. Taylor left it that way as well.

"You cost me my friendship with Marta. She refuses to take my calls."

"Yes and no. I went to see Marta when I got back to the sorority house and we had a long talk. Had I known her better beforehand, I would have had that talk some time back. When I had finished she agreed to stop taking your calls until the day before we started back at school."

All I could do was ask the simplest of questions. "Why?"

The pause in conversation felt more like a build-up than searching for something to say.

"In a room full of people, why do I feel so alone?"

I never got a chance to answer her: Taylor had hung up. Remember the stubborn thing? Well, I phoned back and she refused to pick up, although she did phone me the next day. The conversations between us lasted longer when I stopped asking why and got the same response. Towards the end of the holidays we were talking for upwards of an hour a day, on any topic that seemed to get dragged into our conversation.

Taylor Dennison was no longer an enigma. She could tell a joke, and was never afraid to put herself down when she found something amusing about doing it. Her laugh always made me smile. It wasn't until close to the middle of summer break that I realized that I actually looked forward to our phone calls. Mom even carried that smug "I told you so" look with her all through the back end of summer.

Towards the end of summer break I did get a call from my roommate. One of the girls he dated at college turned up at his folks' house with her family in tow. Her father was a Baptist Minister, and she was deeply involved with the church. I'm told the shotgun wedding they insisted upon was to end his and her time at college, at least until the child was born, and I got the distinct impression that he would like Tony to go to a more local college so he could also be close to his new-found family.

I felt sad for my friend, but I did warn him for most of our first year together that yelling "I'm cumming, I sure hope you're protected" isn't a very reliable form of contraception. When I mentioned this news to Taylor she went kinda quiet for a moment.

"Will you get another roommate?"

"Difficult to say, to be honest. Dad got me the apartment, and I always thought I lucked in with Tony as company. There are always people out there looking to change rooms because they can't get on with the roomie they have. I'm not sure if I shouldn't just keep my room and work through."

Taylor could tell I was thinking about the situation for the rest of our conversation, and she picked at it from time to time. In the end I felt more depressed than when our phone call started, which was unusual given the fact that we were getting on rather well now; on the phone at least.

*******

Dad disappeared for a couple of days about two weeks before the end of summer break. When I asked Mom, since Dad never went away on business trips, she just shrugged her shoulders and got me doing chores. I learned quickly to stop asking after that. When dad came back he wasn't alone. Mom welcomed Taylor and her folks into the house while I just stood looking like a dork with my mouth hanging open.