I Have a Friend ...Part 2 ...Hidden Language of God

In myths and dreams
I fan my needs
In the dark,
And pretend
In prayer
To understand
The hidden language of God

I'm pretending to read a tome of Thomistic theology, but the words are swimming on the page.

Who am I kidding? Not myself, surely.

I'm stuck in the dorm for another boring night watching Jack, my roommate, like a dog in heat, pacing and staring.

It’s raining and he’s bored. He can’t see out the window for the raindrops and even if he could, no chicks will be out in this storm.

I finally have had enough.

“You know, this is getting to be a real drag.”

I put down my copy of Aquinas and give him an open-blink stare.

“What?”

“You don’t get body language?” I growl. “I’ll tell you what’s a real drag—sitting here day after day watching you at that bloody window.”

“Wadda ya mean?”

“I mean, why don’t you get the hell of here? Go to the pub—meet a few girls—get drunk, get laid.”

He stares at me as if I've lost my mind.

“Hey now, Stevie, boy—you okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“It’s not like you to talk like that—you’re not like the rest of us.”

“I’m exactly like the rest of you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Aw, hell—how would you know?”

“I know—I don’t spend hours in the chapel praying.”

I pitch my book at him—it misses and sails out the window.

Jack's eyes are dancing. I swear the boy is touched.

“Aha—see! Just like Martin Luther when he threw the ink well at Lucifer—who does that?”

“Somebody who’s pissed at having a loonie for a roommate.”

I go over and stick my head out the window. Raindrops pelt me.

“Lose something?”

Father Tom’s standing on the front lawn below, fishing a copy of Aquinas out of a rain puddle.

—See what I mean? It’s a conspiracy.

Later that evening, I’m back from chapel, grumbling and slamming doors—looking for anything to get in my way, so I can slam it.

“Someone take your book?” Jack drawls.

I waver between slamming the drawer and smashing my fist into his face.

“Let’s go to The Pig,” I sigh.

His face lights up and he’s wearing a crooked smile.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I’m not and my expression tells him.

The Pig’s code for La Place Pigalle, the local campus watering hole and a notorious pick-up joint loaded with chicks—and not the kind who read Aquinas.

Jack reaches into his jeans and pulls out a crumpled five-dollar bill and gives me a sheepish grin.

“I’m buying,” I reassure him.

He’s out of the chair and to the door faster than a bellhop spotting Donald Trump.

Hey, big spender!

What the hell! Who said that?

It wasn’t me and it sure as hell wasn’t ole Jack, looking like a hound dog on a scent.

I choose to ignore the voice. Nothing is going to deter me from my night of self-destruction.

I don't care about Jack and his 'needs'—I want to cut loose and have me a ball.

I heard that expression somewhere and I liked it.

Something I've never done.

Hell, I'm a free agent in the universe. Who am I to resist the Cosmos?

To be continued…

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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