Dawn Enters My Dorm Room

"Drip, drip, drip." The sound of the leaky faucet invades his ears. He awakens to see room 833 drenched in darkness. The man wants to stop the faucet's slow torture, but he cannot pry himself from the comfort of his warm bed.

The early morning sounds of Boston float into his window. Outside, two homeless people argue loudly. A frantic businessman honks his car horn impatiently at a red light. An elderly woman hobbles across the street hoping to make it safely. A handful of change noisily hits the ground as a man scrambles to reclaim it. A group of friends converse loudly.

But the man in room 833 is still sleepy. His eyes slowly adjust to the blackness of the room. A glow in the dark t-shirt boldly reads "They Might Be Giants" in green letters. A pair of bright white tennis shoes are slowly becoming visible. The blood red numbers of an alarm clock proclaim, "5:07 am." The snoring of the man's contented roommate joins the leaky faucet in "The Concert of The World's Most Annoying Music."

Daylight slowly slinks into the room. A cellophane wrapper catches the light. Other various objects appear on the floor. Two gray, plastic video game controllers emerge. An entire desk is birthed from the darkness. Many objects reluctantly wake up on the desk. An empty green and silver Newbury Comics cup rests, waiting to be filled again. A slim blue and white piano book, titled "The Best of Bill Evans," lies still on top of several textbooks.

The two homeless men outside are still fighting. A disheartened Mazda attempts to start several times unsuccessfully. A group of young joggers move past the building as a unit, never falling out of sync. A red light turns green, and the man in front pays no attention; several car horns attack this man at once. A teenage boy stops walking, adjusts his pants, and looks around suspiciously to make sure no one saw him.

The red numbers on the clock now read, "5:25 am." The man feels numb, lifeless. He slept four hours total in the past week. And now, the only thing he wants is to catch up on his sleep. But the faucet seems to have a problem with this. He pulls his pillow over his head. He finally drifts asleep. He dreams of a hammer. The hammer meets the faucet with a loud "CRASH!!"

But the dream remains a dream. He is snapped back to reality. The faucet's racket has heightened to an unbearable level. The man stumbles out of bed. He staggers past the desk, past the alarm clock that says, "5:45 am," and into the bathroom. He gropes for the faucet's tiny handle, and turns it as hard as his tired hand allows. The dripping stops. He takes a moment to savor his victory, and returns to his bed. Finally devoid of dripping noises, he hits the pillow. Suddenly, the snoring of his roommate is louder.



--Copyright 1997 Michael Schmid--
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