Debating the Freshman 15 with Lucille

You text Lucille to see if she’s started on the Writing Seminar assignment.

“Was Rome built in a day?” she writes back, a minute later.

“Obviously not. So… that’s a yes?” you ask.

“This assignment pales in comparison to Rome,” she writes. “All circus, no bread.”

“But all roads lead to Rome,” you text.

“Well then, that means you’re coming to mine in fifteen.”

It’s a statement, not a question. After that cryptic exchange, you don’t even know if Lucille’s started the assignment, but if she has, you don’t want to come off as a slacker. You spend the next couple minutes nervously trying to come up with ideas for the paper. You draw a blank. Then, as you’re on the way to her room, it hits you. She’s the one that has the lawsuit dangling over her head. What are you stressing over?

You get to her room just as fifteen minutes tick by. The blackout curtains, the skeleton posed as Rodin’s Thinker, the MCR and Derrida posters on the wall, it only takes Lucille dressed in all black to complete the picture. And in that goth dress with a smear of purple lipstick, you catch yourself staring at her just a bit too long.

“Uh-huh,” she says, sounding supremely unimpressed with you. She nods at the bed. “Come here for business?”

“Yeah… so… about the prompt,” you say, fishing for a continuation. “The Freshman 15, good or bad, what do you think?”

“Some guys never learn,” she laughs, sitting down on the bed. You sit down beside her. “Remember what you’re here for.”

“Yeah, the essay,” you say. “You’re dodging my question. You haven’t picked a side?”

“What about you? Have you?” she asks. “Or is the answer only going to mystically appear the moment I say mine, in perfect alignment with what I believe?”

“What? No way,” you say, and she raises her eyebrows. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you what I think. I think…”

You pause, thinking. What would Lucille think about the Freshman 15? On the one hand, Lucille seems to be a pretty sexually liberated woman, so maybe she’d like it. But then again, thinking back to your readings and her takes on them. Wasn’t the point of half of them that everything is socially constructed? You groan, rubbing your temple.

“As I said. Some guys never learn,” she chuckles, rolling up a joint. She takes a hit, exhaling slowly. “Here, let me throw you a bone. The answer’s yes. I think it’s good.”

Okay, but is that true, or is she just testing you now? Before you get caught in a bigger web of confusion, you remember: she’s the one facing the lawsuit.

“Well, of course I think it’s fantastic too,” you say, and you see Lucille narrow her eyes. You smile in return, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “I’m a red-blooded American man. If you told me a year ago that I’d have the opportunity to get with fifteen gals on this college campus, I would’ve bought a lottery ticket instead with that kind of luck.”

Lucille quirks an eyebrow. A little smile spreads across her face, and she offers you her joint. You gladly accept.

“Maybe there’s hope after all,” she says, watching you take a hit. “Let’s talk shop. You and I, we might not agree for the same reasons, but as they say… strange bedfellows.”

Lucille +15