It startled him, genuinely, it did, when she asked for a shirt. He had forgotten she was there. He woke up naturally, au naturel, on his regular side of the bed. And then a voice, small and clean, from right behind him. A T-shirt to visit the bathroom. He was happy to oblige.
Stretched he lay atop the tousled sheets, the backwards and inside out sheets, the pillows in their strange arrangements. Stretched he waited for her return and the return of his shirt. He wasn't sure what they'd do, if they'd do that again, if maybe he wanted to go back to sleep.
It had been minutes and minutes now, and he held his breath to check for signs of struggle. Only voices, back and forth, on the other side of the wall. He stood and walked and opened his door, clad in briefs and a scowl and looking like a man. He glared at his roommate, eating cereal from the box, sharing it with her and she sat beside him. Had she washed her hands?
Come over here, she said. Yeah, man, we were just talking about you. She looked over, a little too quickly for anybody's decent taste. It was all a bit much to deal with before noon, and it occurred to him that he should never have gone out the night before.
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