February

[bonus points to anyone who can guess which part I drafted in my head.]

The most important things in life often happened by accident, by chance, be fate—by whatever supernatural forces, governed or ungoverned by law, that have puzzled many great minds over the centuries. Things came by unexpectedly this way: being lost, confused and alone amid the bewildering torrent of events and choices and finding a friend there beside you, as lost and confused as you are, but still ready to help you; living your life one way for so many years, believing yourself happy, only to suddenly discover that it was another life style that you craved—and that it was right within reach. It was the unexpected and unquestioned moral support, the prank and lewd jokes slipped between the pages of his dullest political science reader. It was the foil-wrapped candy bouncing off the back of his head whenever he’d been studying for too long (he seldom needed any other encouragement to take a break), and getting together and abruptly deciding, between your friends and the rest of your floor mates, to build a barricade across the entrance to the lounge with the lounge desks and chairs and attack all those who passed by with rolled up balls of socks and crumpled sheets of notes. It was unruly. It was undignified. It was unexpected. It was fun.

“Hey Gary,” someone shouted. “How many socks do we have left?”

Gary looked at the pile in front of them. Someone owned a pair of green socks. Someone else owned a pair that looked like it got chewed on. They were haphazardly rolled—or crammed, as the word would be more appropriate—into vaguely ball shaped things that piled up like grenades before the first charge. Most of them who were gathered here didn’t have the habit of rolling socks. Most of the rolled socks weren’t paired. They would have some problems sorting out the socks later, but currently, no one cared.

“A lot!” He called back, then added, with a theatrical arrogance that he had trained himself to, a not quite second nature that became, inextricably, part of his sense of humour. “And that’s Captain Gary for you.”

“Oui, capitaine,” Nick gave him a cheerful, if sloppy salute the same time a ball of sock rebounded from the point just between Gary’s shoulder blades. There was some general snickering.

“Alright,” he stated, twisting around from where he was crouched behind a desk even as his lips fought to break into a grin. Mike was trying to look innocent. Everyone was trying to look innocent, but Gary knew from experience that projectile weaponry was the specialty of Michael Reynolds. He asked the question anyway, because that was part of the game too. “Who did that?”

“Why’re you looking at me?” Asked Mike, with an expression of injured innocence on his face, executing his role in the joke flawlessly.

The most important things in life were also the most elusive, the permanent serendipity factor appearing when it was least expected, like a joke and like all jokes, unexplainable.

Gary opened his mouth and was about to say something about suspicion when someone else—keeping watch over the window—yelled—

“Someone’s coming!”

Immediately, despite of the momentary aside, they quickly retook their respective positions.

Zach stepped in front of the second floor lounge of Schrödinger’s Hall, at approximately 16:23, Pacific Time, Saturday afternoon, and was promptly attacked by a trolley of crumpled paper and……socks?

After pausing for a brief moment, under fire and under complete shock at the sudden unexpected development of the situation, Zach did what any sensible being in his right mind would do—which was to duck around the corner, out of the way, and contemplate why the hell it suddenly became necessary for him to fish out balled-up sheets of “The Fundamental Theories of Economics” out of his jacket’s hood.

“Wait. Wait! Halt!” Yelled someone.

Sighing, Zach glanced about him and tossed the notes in question into the nearest recycle bin. He recognized that voice, as well as few of the other voices that immediately rose in question and, after so many incidents within the category of inside-out backpacks and sporks on New Year’s, he might as well have guessed that at least one—if not all three—of his friends were behind this.

“Hey Zach!” Sang out Mike who, Zach recalled from the almost surreal glimpse he’d caught between the storm of socks, was located somewhere behind a desk and a chair, both of which were upside-down. “You okay?”

Warily he poked his head around the corner and inspected the not unimpressive barricade blocking the entrance to the lounge.

“Yes,” he answered. “Tell me, is there any particular reason why I was attacked by flying socks and paper-balls?”

“Tell me, is there any particular reason why I was attacked by flying socks and paper-balls?” Asked Zach blankly, cautiously stepping out from behind a turn in the hallway that separated the walkway from the lounge.

“Oh,” Mike grinned, feeling mischievous and rebellious at the same time. “No particular reason.”

“No reason,” echoed Nick, clambering out from behind a mountain of stacked-and-sideway chairs.

“For sho’” Gary picked up another ball of socks, balanced it experimentally in his hand, and peered hopefully down the hall way.

“Oy,” muttered Zach, a faint frown of disapproval crossing his face, gingerly poking at a pile of furniture with his fingers. “I was afraid of that.”

“Lighten up,” Mike suggested. Zach’s eyebrows lifted in mock confusion.

Right, almost forgot who I was talking to.

“What’s up?” He attempted, instead.

“You asked if we wanted to do something Saturday afternoon,” Zach reminded him. “We agreed that we wanted to do something Saturday afternoon, so I came over to see if you guys’d figured out what that ‘something’ is that you wanted to do this afternoon.”

“Wait. When was this?”

“Yesterday afternoon, or evening, to be exact—during dinner, right before—”

“Alright alright I got your point.” Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or groan, so he did neither and sighed instead, turning and looking at the others. “So what’d you guys wan’ to do?”

Gary shrugged, a noncommittal gesture. “I’ono.”

Zach was still looking at him, waiting expectantly, so he turned to Nick. “Say something.”

“Err.” Said Nick.

“No, not that, you idiot,” grumbled Mike, remembering too late that perhaps asking Nick wasn’t that good of an idea. “Um.”

“We might try to restore some semblance of sanity while we decide,” said Zach.

Mike was tempted to make a comment on the questionable state of sanity regarding themselves, but Zach had turned away and was now attempting to dislodge a chair from the top of the barricade. The entire section collapsed with a clang.

Nick laughed. Gary laughed. Mike rolled his eyes at the ceiling and went to take down the other chairs before Zach could kill himself or accomplish something else equally detrimental. The other followed the suit and started, with a few grumbles, to dissemble the Great Wall of Lounge Furniture.

“Ten-hut!” Someone shouted. Everyone who lived in the dorm and was therefore acquainted with the tradition sprang to a mock salute at the residential advisor who had chosen, right at that moment, to wander by. She eyed the sock and paper covered floor, eyed what was left of the barricade and wisely decided not to say anything. It was easy to see, however, that inside of her mind she was saying to herself: BOYS.

The roar of laughter started before she was even fully out of sight.