Guest TheDames7 Report post Posted June 27, 2002 - Prologue - Last night, I told my best friend about a crazy idea that I had. I was going to TRY to write a book. I’m emphasizing the word “TRY” because it has been a long time since I’ve completed something that I set out to do. I had a feeling he would simply dismiss my idea with his usual “you’re a sack of shit” line, but I told the cynical bastard anyway. Well, it turns out that I was partially correct…he flat out told me that he didn’t think I’d write one word of it. That’s when he proceeded to call me a receptacle for carrying manure. He’s not really a cynical bastard. I just haven’t ever given him a real reason to think I’ll accomplish anything anyway. Hell, I haven’t given myself a reason to. But like I said, I’m going to try. Come to think about it, there really isn’t much that I’ve set out to do that I’ve ever truly followed up on. I had the notion of writing a book based on my high school experiences during the first few weeks of college. One horrible chapter later and I just gave up. Technically, I lost it when my hard drive crashed, but I’m sure if I was dedicated enough, I could have tried again. Damn, it had a good title too…or at least what I thought was a good title. “Like It Was Yesterday”. Who knows, if this book ever gets done, I might go back and complete the original damned book. Yeah, right. If this book ever gets finished, or even nears completion, it’s the final, reassuring sign that the Apocalypse is coming. Now I’m sure that someone who cares, not too many people I would assume, but someone out there must be thinking to themselves, “What the hell IS this book about?” Frankly, the book that hopefully you’ll continue to read is about me. More specifically, my fear of change in my life and how the past 8 months have been the most exciting, tumultuous, depressing and mind-numbing time of my life. I’ve realized that I’m afraid of change and that plays a big part on my daily decisions. Why am I so afraid of change? I wish I could answer that right now, but I can’t give you a straight answer. I hope this book can shed some light on that. Now, I’ll have to admit first off that I have an ego and at points, I cannot be objective. It is because of this that I have decided to write in the third person. Will this device help me be more analytical about myself? It could. Will I have fun doing this? I’m banking on that. Will this book be any good? Hopefully. If completed, will I be proud of it, regardless of how bad it may be? Ya Damn Right. Before I sign off, however, there is one thing that I am proud of. I’ve put a few words to paper, (and even typed it up myself), and that’s more than anyone thought I’d ever do. By telling me that I wouldn’t do it, my best friend knew I would, just to spite him and that is how I know that I have his support…100%. Damian Gonzalez June 5, 2001 - Damian - All that stands between him and the reality he refuses to face are a pair of large, metal, maroon colored doors. Two doors labeled 205B and 207B, respectively. He couldn’t care what was behind those doors. In all likelihood, it probably contained more rejection, pity and disappointment for him. And so there he laid, on a small twin sized bed adjacent to a thin wall, despite pains shooting up his spine due to lying there for far too long. As he opened his eyes, he slowly pulled off his bed sheets, which were moist with his perspiration. He placed his feet on the floor, the same floor that was covered from corner to corner by a dull rug that contained several visible stains. Sitting up, he contorted his tender back and the clearly tired male bellowed out a yawn. His vision still blurry, he reached over and with his right hand searched his desk chair for his glasses. He always placed them there before he went to bed, so they would be in reach upon awakening. After placing his slightly scratched lenses onto his face, the 20-year-old Puerto Rican leaned over and turned on his computer monitor, located directly in front of the head of his bed. With a push of its power button, the monitor began to make its usual crackling sounds, and he mustered the strength to sit himself directly in front of it. Finally, after giving his monitor a moment to refresh, the young man looked at the time of the day. The bottom right of his screen read: 2:37 p.m. and it took him a moment to realize that he had slept through his alarm clock again for the umpteenth time, and already missed all of his classes for the day, but he didn’t care in the least bit. It was Friday, October 13, 2000, but to the unsuperstitious Damian Gonzalez, it was just like any other day, filled with the same bullshit he coped with everyday. He was still at RPI, and he still wanted one thing…to go home. Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, or RPI for short, is a specialized university located in Troy, NY, roughly located approximately 15 minutes east of the state’s capital, Albany. Founded in the 1800’s, the school specialized in three main curriculums of study: various facets of engineering, architecture and computer science. Upon graduating high school in 1998, RPI was Damian’s first choice for college, but for all of the wrong reasons. All he knew when it was time to choose a school was that he wanted to get away from home, yet still be around a familiar face. Having a good program in his desired major, computer science, was an added bonus to him. One of his best friends, David Leon, had always expressed interest in the school ever since his brother had attended years prior, although it was relatively unknown to most students. It seemed as if you mentioned the university to a teacher or professor, you’d get a response of approval, implying “Yes, this is a good school that you have chosen.” Ask anyone else, however, and you’d get the more common response of “What? Where? Never heard of it.” As fate would have it, as Dave’s interest in RPI grew, Damian’s grew exponentially. He took it upon himself to do research on the school, reading as much as he could on the university and even attended a day long tour his senior year. After his acceptance into the school, he looked forward to the next semester, thinking of it as a new beginning to his life. “Fuck” he muttered as he glanced to the right, ran his hand through his uncombed hair and yawned once again. His bedroom was absolutely filthy. It reeked of an odor that was an unpleasant, odd combination of sweat, body odor, old pizza and chinese food. This was to no surprise for him, as he had no garbage can, only a small plastic bag on the doorknob of his bathroom door, which had already been filled to the top over a month ago. The rest of the garbage, along with anything that was too big to fit in the bag to begin with, was kept hidden in a corner, already occupied by grease stained containers of chinese take out. It was in this room, Colonie 207B, that Damian spent most of his time. The room was approximately 8 feet by 12 feet and largely contained a desk, dresser drawer, bed, blue suitcase, portable heater and the aforementioned filth. The bed, desk, and drawer were furnished by the school, the rest he brought with him. The room also had a small doorway, which led to an equally small closet and the room’s entrance/exit. The room tended to be poorly lit, as his bed and desk were located next to the window, one that was always shut and covered by blinds. Damian shifted his vision to look at his monitor once again. With one click of his mouse button, he realized that in the time period while he was sleeping, no one bothered to leave an online instant message. He kept his computer on all night, as it doubled as his alarm clock, but he also left his online screen name on at night in the unlikely case that someone would leave him a message. Most students at RPI also left their computers on just for that purpose. Damian put up a small message that would let anyone who messaged him realize that he was not at his desk, but showering. This use of an “away” message seemed useless to Damian, as he doubted that anyone would write to him in the interim though. Damian turned his entire body to the right now and put on his trusted sandals. Sandals that clearly didn’t belong to the same pair, for his left was black and red, while his right was predominantly tan and contained little black. This same sandal was clearly broken, but instead of throwing them out, Damian opted to try and repair it as best as he could. He finally stood up from his desk chair and took a few steps toward his bathroom. Walking past unopened textbooks, candy wrappers, and pizza boxes, Damian stepped onto his telephone that was lying on the floor, knocking its receiver loose and almost causing him to fall as well. “Shit!” As he listened to a dial tone, Damian picked up the receiver, put it onto its proper location and continued to walk a few feet to a door. This door, unlike his front door, which was just as thin as the wall he slept next to, was of the same color, an off white. Behind it were two more doors, one leading towards the bathroom, and one leading towards the room next to his bedroom… his “living” room, which was separated by the now infamous wall. Opening the bathroom door, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror located on the inside of it. Damian Gonzalez stood at 5’5 1/2”, but would never admit to that fact. He always claimed to be at least 5’6, as he was very sensitive about his height, or lack there of. He weighed about 160lbs, a combination of un-toned muscle and some fat. Being of Puerto Rican descent, Damian was of a lightly tanned complexion, the kind of skin tone that people try to achieve in tanning salons. After standing there for a few seconds, he stepped into his bathroom, pulled back his shower curtain, and proceeded to undress. He removed his sweaty T-shirt, to expose a small gut, hairless, slightly toned chest and small arms. Running his thumbs down his sides, he stripped himself of the haggard blue sweatpants he always wore and his black boxer shorts. Damian then stepped into the shower after feeling out a comfortable temperature, and let the running water breathe life back into him. After washing his body, he sat in the tub Indian Style, and as per usual, mentally planned out the rest of his day while the shower continued to crash water onto his skin. He would generally do this whenever he showered, as Damian considered it his form of meditation. Damian usually took long showers and would remain in the tub until either his skin was wrinkled, or until he finished masturbating, sometimes both. Done with his daily “cleansing”, Damian dried himself with the same damp towel that he used every day. He went back into his small filthy bedroom, once again wearing the same dirty sweatpants, and searched for the remaining whites that didn’t smell. In the case of his socks, the ones that were least dirty. He finished getting dressed, and plopped himself back in front of his monitor where he proceeded to indulge himself with one of his bigger addictions: the Internet. * * * Hours passed as the Internet addicted Hispanic did primarily the same thing over and over again. He listened to music on his computer, had meaningless conversations with people he knew (including some he didn’t), and checked his e-mail. Occasionally rising from his zombie-like state to urinate or spit, Damian was engulfed in his virtual reality. Online, he seemed to be uninhibited, saying things that to total strangers that he couldn’t picture telling his next-door neighbor. Claiming that he could communicate with more people over the net, he rarely used the phone anymore. It seemed the Internet was his only link to the real world…the world outside his room. Time crept up on him slowly. With his stomach beginning to feel the pains of hunger and the sun close to setting, Damian realized what he had to do and proceeded to change clothes. He changed into a black t-shirt and Nike windbreaker pants of the same color. Sufficiently bundling up, he put on a pair of jeans as well, along with a gray sweat hood and leather jacket. He then gathered up his keys, his ID cards, and some cash. Combing his thick, dry hair as best as he could, Damian, looking disheveled, walked out of the bathroom and into his “living” room, Colonie 205B, for the first time today. His living room was almost the exact opposite of his bedroom. Other than some dust and a few sheets of paper underneath a chair, the room was relatively spotless. The exact same dimensions of his bedroom, it seemed almost empty in comparison. On one side stood a large new 32” inch TV, DVD player, surround sound receiver, subwoofer and a Nintendo 64 console, all resting on a small, black, compact mini wall unit that matched the color of the electronics. Above the television were 3 speakers, the left, center and right speakers, respectively, with cables discreetly running into the back of his receiver. On the other side, the only other inanimate inhabitants of 205B were two chairs, similar to the hard wooden chair Damian possessed in his bedroom, except with cushioning on the seats. In the corners stood two long boxes erected on its side. The rear surround speakers rested on these boxes and faced the chairs in a feeble attempt to recreate surround sound. This room also differed from his bedroom in overall atmosphere. The windows were usually open, the room didn’t reek of old food, and was for the most part stain-free. Damian absolutely treasured this room, as it had some of his most valuable possessions in it, such as his pseudo home theater system. The only thing he treasured more was his PC. Damian only remained in the room for a moment before exiting. The only time he ever spent in the living room would be in the unlikely event when a visitor would come by, if he ever wanted to watch TV, which wasn’t often, or if he wanted to enter or exit his domain, since he only had the key to his living room door. Finally, locking up his door, Damian sighed and went down a flight of stairs and out the buildings front door, where he had to face his reality. - The Outside World - At 6 in the evening, the sun’s brightness was dimming with every minute. The cold harsh breeze of October was in the air. The serenity and peacefulness of upstate New York was clear and apparent. Damian loved it, yet hated it at the same time. Walking a few feet from his apartment building to the curb, he noticed the school shuttle bus rounding the corner past his building, too far to catch up to. “I cannot believe this shit!” He absolutely dreaded walking to campus, as he tended to be lazy, but he was also afraid of the effects the weather would have on him. Becoming ill with pneumonia, influenza a number of times, and a recent bout with bronchitis in the past 2 years at RPI, he was somewhat of a hypochondriac. At the slightest cough or scratch in his throat, Damian would consume an assortment of drugs that could do serious amounts of damage if not taken in moderation. If the weather were a bit undesirable, Damian would persuade himself to stay sequestered in his filth. Today, however, he could not. He had an obligation to his stomach and to his friend. As Damian began his 20 minute trek to the Student Union, he cursed the ground he walked on, spitting on the side of the road every few seconds. No one despised this route more… * * * Phillip Totaro waited impatiently as his friend and weight-training partner was still walking to the building. He paced back and forth on the second floor of the Student Union, right outside the food shop’s entrance, with a few sheets of paper folded underneath his arm. Wearing a green sweatshirt torn at the neck over a tight blue tank top, he also wore blue windbreaker pants, looking more like a gym coach than a student, complete with a clipboard, pen and a piece of fruit. He stopped to take a glance at the clock, and his face started to show signs of frustration. “He’s not here yet? Doesn’t he usually show up at 6?” “Yep. I am going to KILL that kid!” “Maybe you should take it easy on him. I see the way he walks out of here every night. He looks like he’s in a lot of pain.” Phil began to settle himself a bit. He was usually an intense individual, especially during training. He wanted to take out his rage out on his trainee, not on the elderly food court cashier who was well informed of their workout sessions. “Nancy, if he walks in here, tell him I’m in the bathroom.” “Sure”, she said with a friendly smile on her face. Phil turned and took one step away before Nancy tapped him on the shoulder. “There he is right there”, she said as she pointed to a mysterious figure moving slowly as he opened the side entrance door to the building. Damian, breathing heavily and exhausted, staggered into the Student Union, looking like he was just ill. He waved his hand at both of them, and leaned over to drink water from the fountain. After drinking for over 10 seconds, he gasped for air as he noticed the agitation in Phil’s face and approached him slowly. “Look, Phil, before you say anything – “ “Don’t even say a word, let’s go.” Phil said with a stern tone. “Wait. I only came to get something to eat.” He stated as he was still trying to catch his breath. “Oh no you didn’t. Eat after, you’re supposed to re-start today, shoulders and calves, let’s go!” Any other day, Damian would have succumbed to Phil’s request and followed him to the gym, feeling a sense of loyalty (and obligation). He wasn’t sure whether it was a lack of motivation, a legitimate feeling of nausea, or simply not caring enough, but he did know that he did NOT want to go to the gym today. “Man, I fucking feel sick as hell” he retorted. “There’s no way I’m going with you today.” Phil only stood at about 5’8, maybe 5’9 and weighted in at about a trim 160lbs. Generally a jokester, no one took him seriously about anything…anything except weight training. The 20 year old Buffalo native had been weight training vigorously for years and although he trained every day with an intensity unmatched by a lighting bolt, he seemed never to bulk up, only tone whatever muscle he already had. This never deterred him, however, as he was adamant about training every day, and missing a session was almost sacrilege to him. “Yes, you are. If you throw up, I’ll buy you a Gatorade. Now come on!” “I don’t want a Gatorade, I just want something to eat, please.” Phil had no choice but to allow it. He knew Damian truly meant what he said. He was been in bed, sick with bronchitis a week prior and didn’t want to risk further damage while he was still recovering. “I know I asked you to train me Phil, but I don’t think I’m ready to go back yet.” “Fine.” Phil paused for a few seconds, as he thought of what to say next. “Look, just get some rest. You need to get better fast. Its going to take you at least 4 weeks to get you back to the level you were at before you got sick. Just get better man, I’m worried about you”, he said with his thick Buffalo accent as he showed true concern. “Thanks man. Will I see you later at Keith’s?” “Maybe. I had planned on lifting at 8 after you were done and then JERKIN’ OFF but now I guess I’m lifting alone now, Butthead!” he shouted as he burst into laughter. Phil the jokester came back in full force, leaving his drill instructor side behind, getting ready to torture his muscles later. “Alright kiddo, get something to eat, some carbs, and some protein. Get meat or somethin’, no grease. In the meantime, I’m going to grease myself between your mom’s legs in the bathroom and give her some of MY meat! WOO!!” No one who knew Phil could take offense to his jokes. He ripped on everyone, even himself, almost always interjecting some comment on masturbation or making love to someone’s mother, and ending it with a resounding ‘WOO!’. Mostly everyone found him to be hilarious, and some even tried to top him with “mother” jokes, but to no avail. He just had this outrageous charisma that seemed to be infectious when around others. Damian couldn’t help but laugh as Phil power walked away, looking back at him with a forced face of anger. As Phil’s voice began to fade, he heard him loud and clear one last time. “I’m gonna fucking kill you tomorrow!” Phil couldn’t say that with a straight face as he tried to hold back a smile. Finally, he let out a chuckle as he left the building, out of Damian’s view. * * * Now that the situation with Phil had been taken care of, Damian continued his mission to feed himself. As he turned around, he heard a familiar voice. “Are you alright Damian?” He turned around to face Nancy, a woman in her 50’s whom he had befriended over a year ago. She was the main cashier in the school run pizza and sub shop, Hole In The Wall. Ridiculous name aside, they had the best food on campus, which isn’t saying much, but unlike RPI’s mediocre-at-best dining halls, students had to pay for food here. Nancy almost never charged Damian though, unless an immediate supervisor was in the area, in which case, he was forced to fork up the cash. Their interaction began as just small talk, but when she began to give him free sodas, he felt as if having a conversation with her from time to time was the least he could to do to repay the favors. At times, he wouldn’t even attempt to get any freebies, just wanting to talk to someone who was willing to listen. Eventually, Damian grew to care for Nancy, as she became a second mother to him while he was away from home, but never told her how he felt. Being the opportunist that he can be, however, he would still try to get some free food when he could, which was more often than not right after he worked out with Phil. “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t know. I just feel like crap” he said after thinking for ages. “So, I guess you’re not exercising today, huh? Your friend seemed upset.” “Nah, he’s fine. He’s just really intense, you know. To be honest, the only reason why I think he let me go was because he knows that when I’m not motivated, I can’t lift a damn thing. It kills out workout, you know. But, I am feeling better, just not enough to go back.” “Well, it’s for the best. You need your rest.” “Thanks, Nance. Do you mind if I – “ Damian asked as he pointed into the shop. Nancy understood his gesture and simply nodded. “Ok, I’m just going to talk to Keith first.” “Ok” said Nancy with that same friendly motherly smile that she always gave him. Damian then entered the small eatery, about to engage in verbal warfare with the one person who knew him the best…his best friend. - Keith & Justin - As he entered Hole In the Wall, Damian looked all around him. A sandwich station was to his left, with all of the usual cold cuts and condiments. To his right, on an unmanned counted stood different beverages, and assorted pastries. His destination, however, was directly in front of him, the grill. “Hey guys,” he said as he raised an open hand into the air and approached the counter. “Steak sub”. The sweaty food engineers nearest to the grill simply nodded in return. He spotted his friend, simply standing by the pizza oven, preparing a new pie. They made eye contact and almost like an old time western, both walked towards the counter or opposite ends. If Damian’s best friend ever truly approached anyone in this same manner, with the intent of inflicting pain, that person would probably end up in the hospital, missing a limb of some sort. Keith Alexander Gutierrez was a very large person, at least to the vertically challenged Damian. Keith was 6’1 and over 260, with a large bulk of that weight in his stomach. Although lacking muscle tone, he had a surprising strength and quickness that Damian had never seen matched. However, Keith was never truly intimidating, generally behaving more like a zany character in a cartoon or sitcom. At work, he seemed especially unintimidating, wearing a uniform that consisted of black pants, white shirt, black apron and of course, the funny looking chef hat. “Hey” he said to Damian in a tone that usually caused the intended receivers of said greeting to urinate on themselves. “Hey” he replied in that same tone, unconvincingly. “Sup?” “Nuthin’. About to fuck your mom within an inch of her insignificant LIFE! You?” he said trying his best not to laugh. “About to help”. They both began to laugh heavily, the entire line of customers turning to look at them. Their skin color transformed into the brightest shade of red possible on a humans face. Keith’s face, normally pale with the exception of his rosy cheeks, began to sweat. Damian and Keith both wiped their teary eyes as the laughter died down. Finally calm, they were both smiling from ear to ear. “You’re back from the gym already?” Keith asked. “Nah, I told Phil that I couldn’t go. He was pissed.” “Why couldn’t you go, what happened? He came in here a few times looking for you. “ “I still don’t feel well, so I told him that I couldn’t go.” “That’s nice. Hey, a few of the guys and I are going to the mall to see U-571 and we’ll probably go to Denny’s afterwards. You wanna come?” “Did you not hear when I just said that I feel like shit?” “No, you said you didn’t feel well. But by tonight, think you’ll feel better?” “Maybe, I don’t really feel like going anywhere.” “Of course not” Keith stated with a biting sarcasm. “Man, you bitch and bitch at me all the time about the fact that you don’t do shit, and then you tell me you don’t wanna go when I offer you something to do. Oh, let me guess. You have ‘better’ things to do. You’re gonna make up some shit about how you feel tired or some shit, but all you’re really gonna do is home, get online and masturbate. Come on, tell me no. I dare you.” “No”, Damian responded with a smarmy smile. “Faggot, faggot you are!” Keith knew Damian better than he knew himself. He knew his rebuttals, his train of though, everything. In the verbal war between them, Keith had Damian’s battle plans memorized. He was the only person Damian couldn’t truly bullshit, and the only person who ever told him like it was whether he liked it or not. “Who’s going tonight?” “Um…myself, Mac, Justin, Brandon, and some of the other faggots. Are you down?” “I’ll see.” “Damian, its me. You don’t have to lie to me. In the 6 years that I’ve known you, every time you’ve said ‘I’ll see’, you haven’t done a god damned thing!” “Like I said, I’ll see. Most likely I’ll come back home after PWC.” “Man, whatever. I hope you have fun beating yourself and talking to some cyber-woolie.” Damian couldn’t help but laugh. Keith handed his best friend his steak sandwich as Damian continued between bites. “Motherfucker, I don’t talk to no fucking woolies man.” “Oh yeah? Two words…Michelle Mezzabarba.” “Keith, that was just one chick.” “One big ass chick! Shit, she’s bigger than 4 girls put together! Damn, son, the original woolie was ROTUND!” “So, she was a little big.” “A little?! She was as thin as a fuckin’ Volvo man!” “OK, ok. But most of the girls that I talk to online are fuckin’ hot man. You got to admit it.” “Yeah, sure. Now I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite Damian, because you know that I’ve talked to girls online, but Damian, dammit Damian! You stay online all day! Fucking go out and meet people man! When was the last time you met a girl in person, other than Lauren?” “Been a while. Anyway, hurry up. You get out at 7:30 right?” “Yeah, I shouldn’t even be working today, but I had to fill in for Jason. Man, I’m telling you, just go down the street, down to the store, anywhere! How about this one…. go to CLASS! This school has tons of girls, man, you just don’t know it. “Fucker, I don’t want no nerdy white bitches. Besides, the ones this fuckin’ school got don’t even look good. Just hurry the fuck up. I’ll be sitting over there.” He said pointing towards the dozens of tables and chairs that also populated the second floor of the Student Union. “Alright, alright. I’ll be done soon.” Damian walked out and sat near Nancy, who pretended to ring him up upon his exit. He ate as she rang up other customers, talking to her in between transactions. He sympathized for her. Nancy had a limp due to a recent accident where she broke her leg. Unable to stand for a long period of time, upper management decided to make her a cashier, where she could sit down on a stool. Damian wasn’t sure how he felt about it, as he was happy that she was still employed, but after working 18 years for the company, she was given somewhat of a demotion. If he was the employer, he probably would have done the same thing though. After a few minutes, Keith finally appeared out of the eatery’s employee entrance, still wearing his work clothes, minus the silly hat and apron. It was now 7:45 and they were running late. “Man, have you looked at the time?” asked Damian as he tapped on his watch with two fingers. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here any second.” That didn’t exactly comfort Damian much. They were waiting for Justin Moench, Keith’s roommate. Justin was one of the biggest pricks Damian had ever known. A spoiled brat from Cranford, New Jersey, he was the kind of guy that constantly insulted others, was very selfish, and constantly complained when things didn’t go his way. All of this naturally caused many people to dislike him, including Damian, but the one personality trait that Mr. Moench possessed that infuriated Damian was that he latched onto people. As badly as he treated certain people, it would be those same people that he would want to hang out with and be accepted by, inviting himself into their plans, although unwanted, like a psycho ex boyfriend without the relationship. The only reason Damian ever hung out with him was because he was Keith’s ride everywhere, and in turn, became Damian’s. Although being very selfish in his motive, Damian almost felt as if he was “paying for it” simply by being in his presence. To his dismay, into the second level Justin walked, wearing his usual beige cargo pants, red pull over sweater and backwards hat. Standing at about 6 feet tall, he was very thin for his weight, 150 at the most. He had blond hair and blue eyes, along with a bushy goatee, one that made him seem as sleazy as he sounded. “Hey.” Justin always greeted everyone this way, with a voice that was begging him to clear his throat. Keith and Damian greeted him accordingly and approached the parking lot of the building. The sky began to drizzle lightly, but Damian reacted as if he was just caught in the eye of Hurricane Hugo. He hated the rain for many reasons, but most importantly, he was deathly afraid of getting sick again. He ran down the steps located just outside the second floor and rushed his way to Justin’s Oldsmobile. Damian was surprised that he had such an old looking car. Justin was given pretty much everything he wanted by his mother, such as his 60” inch TV, leather recliner, and tons of other assorted luxuries, even though he never showed his mother any appreciation. Yet, here he was, in college with a car that had broken down on him so many times, but worst of all to Justin, it looked old. Damian impatiently waited as Keith and Justin took their time approaching the vehicle. “Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!” he said at a thunderous pace. Justin walked over to the drivers side as the much larger Keith appointed himself “shotgun”, the front passenger. Damian took his usual spot in the back, as he never really liked riding shotgun in the first place. “Hurry up!” Damian yelled as he waited for Justin to let him into the car. “I can’t get wet!” Justin looked for his keys in his pocket and came up empty. He smiled at Damian and grabbed his keys out of his other pocket. “God, I HATE that fucking smile!” Damian thought to himself. Justin’s teeth were very dirty, with a combination of tartar and food stuck between his teeth, making it seem to Damian at least, as if he had one large yellow tooth in his top row. When he smiled, all that could be seen were his gums, and the top of the yellow teeth. His sarcastic, sleazy smile and his dirty teeth were a one-two combo that made Damian want to just punch him in the mouth…or at least take him to the damned dentist. Once in the car, Justin unlocked the remaining doors and instructed Damian to move the items in the back seat. Hockey sticks, empty ginger ale bottles and open cereal boxes and bags of potato chips occupied the back seat. With crushed chips and Cheerios all over, Justin’s car was as disgusting as Damian’s bedroom. After removing the now inedible snacks from the spot he’d be sitting, they were ready to go. Justin pulled away and drove away from campus, heading for the apartment that he shared with Keith, a few blocks away from campus. After a few minutes, they arrived, and Justin parked the car, noticing some of their friends on the steps outside their building. “Looks like they’re here already” “No shit. Really Justin?” immediately followed with a laugh from Keith’s mouth. They all exited from the car and walked over to the entrance of the building, where about 12 or 13 guys were waiting for them. - The PWC - Ever since Damian Gonzalez was at the age of 4, he had been watching professional wrestling. He was an avid fan of the World Wrestling Federation, (or WWF for short) for years, until, like other children in the early nineties, he found out that it was “fake” and “staged. After realizing that there was skill involved to make the action seem real, a few months later, his enjoyment of the shows increased tenfold and he became a bigger fan than ever before. Watching the “sport” religiously through high school, he absorbed every amount of information that he could. He studied it, analyzed it. Professional wrestling became his biggest hobby. Prior to his arrival at RPI in 1998, his biggest fear, in respect to living away from home wasn’t about meeting new people, or living with his best friend David, but whether or not he’d still be able to watch wrestling. RPI didn’t offer cable in dormitories the year that Damian arrived, so he found other means, watching in lounge areas, cafeterias, and other public places on campus. He was content with doing so, until he saw a flyer for the “WWF Club” put up by two freshman: Justin Moench and Calvin Wong. After contacting Calvin and meeting at the club activities fair, the newly formed WWF Club had its first leaders: two co-presidents in their founders, and the vice president, Damian Gonzalez, who wowed them with his knowledge of wrestling and his commitment. Enthusiastic about something for the first time in his life, he recruited member after member. Elected sole club president his second semester, he changed the name of the club to the RPI Pro Wrestling Club as Damian didn’t want to alienate fans of other wrestling organizations. Even though he led a club of about 30 or so members (of which only 15 at most showed up regularly), he still felt a void in his life the first year of college. Growing apart from his best friend David that year, he felt the need for more companionship. He asked his best friend from high school and recent college dropout Keith Gutierrez to stay with him for a while. Armed with his Nintendo 64 console and the latest wrestling video game, Keith made friends with members of the club fairly quickly. Playing video games in the dorm room that Damian shared with David became a regular part of their lives and slowly, but surely, more club members began playing. Enjoying the few weeks that he spent at RPI, Keith decided to make a big change in his life and moved up to RPI during Damian’s sophomore year. As Damian moved from dorm room to dorm room every semester, it seemed, Keith came along, essentially living in the same quarters. He hosted video game parties at Damian’s place Friday nights, and by the end of the ‘99, Keith had created and ran the PWC or Phatness Wrestlegaming Company, after his self-appointed “Phatness” nickname. Hosted at Damian’s apartment at Colonie for a semester, PWC was forced to find a new home. Damian was getting tired of Keith living with him and desired his privacy as soon as possible. Once the sentiment was brought into the open, Keith decided that he was going to move out, but knew that he couldn’t afford to live alone. Although Keith had many friends, no one he asked was willing to move in the middle of a semester, considering that they would have to continue paying for the unoccupied dorm room as well as the rent for the new apartment. The only person who was willing to do so was Justin, who seemingly could care less whether or not his mother was wasting her money, and they moved in together in late March, early April of 2000. Every Friday since then, most of the club regulars would show up to Keith’s place in the evening to “compete” in Keith’s video game wrestling federation, and for incentive, Keith purchased replica title belts that could be won and lost by the players. The Club, and the PWC, which consisted of primarily the same members with a few minor exceptions, provided just some of the camaraderie that Damian was looking for at RPI. * * * Justin opened their front door and in poured the video game grapplers. One at a time, they entered their living room, occupying all of the space possible. As Keith went to his bedroom to prepare the night’s card, Damian sat beside a few of his friends watching as the guys practiced their “skills”. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Big Poppa Popick Report post Posted July 2, 2002 Dames, I read it...Kinda can guess its moreso a personal memoir rather than anything else, and gave ya some suggestions , peace, keep it up bro, you never know what comes of ideas Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Choken One Report post Posted July 2, 2002 Pretty solid. Its not a classic but a nice structured story. P.S keep working. I've written books before and they require intense dedication. However, you're going down the right path. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest welshjerichomark Report post Posted July 3, 2002 well i read it, and i have to say i think its really good- keep going, u never know where it might lead you. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest evenflowDDT Report post Posted July 5, 2002 Wow, that's a nice piece of work. It's difficult to judge something so personal, especially since it takes some guts to post a work of your own in the first place, whether it's personal or not. Anyhow, although at times it seemed to go out of its way to make things sound extra-negative, it was an interesting read all the way through. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest TheDames7 Report post Posted July 5, 2002 Well, fellas, I appreciate all of your comments and especially the fact that you took the time out to read all of that. I just wanted to give you guys a little tidbit of information. I started it in June of last year and since then, I've given up on it. I'm very hard on myself and I just didn't have the motivation to keep going, I don't know why. The mood of the story was supposed to be extra-negative because what happens in the story, or my life if you will, is that I eventually quit school, come home, meet this girl that I end up dating until about 3 months ago and everything in between. I was trying to set the mood so that you can understand why I made the decision to leave and so that my depression could be something that doesn't come out of nowhere. One day I might finish it, who knows. Dames Share this post Link to post Share on other sites