She Was The One

Samson was slumped in front of the television, playing Halo, when his roommate came home. The girlfriend was with him. They had been going out for almost a month. His roommate had his hand around her waist, and he was whispering into her hair. She laughed and shoved at him. They smelled of beer and pot. His roommate nodded at Samson without letting go of the girlfriend and crossed the room to the hallway that led to his room, the girlfriend glued to his hip. Samson wanted to warn her, but there were some things you didn’t do to a friend, and some lessons you could only learn by experience. Music pulsed out of his roommate’s room, then dwindled to a reasonable level.

Samson turned the television volume up. The bed started creaking, springs audible even over the music, even over the noise of the game, even over Samson’s determined humming. He did his best to ignore it. He played for fifteen minutes, and the sex noise grew louder, then cut off. Samson tensed unhappily.

“MORTALLLLLL KOMMMMMMMBAAAAAAATTTTT!!!” came from the hallway. The girlfriend wailed like a banshee. Her feet thudded to the floor and ran out of the room. She burst into the room, topless, wild-eyed.

“He’s a maniac,” she shrieked, and fled. She left the front door open. His roommate came slowly into the room, hair tousled, wearing a bathrobe. He threw himself on the couch next to Samson.

“Not the one?” said Samson.

“Not the one,” sighed his roommate. “Someday, man. Someday.”