Any Coincidence Is | Page 6

and failure had passed - and after she made it to her car.
Wiping her face with her sleeve and pretending to look as bored as
everyone else, Alona hoped that even if her roommate were around, she
would be fooled long enough to prevent her from starting any more
rumors. Unfortunately, Alona decided this just after her roommate
spotted her across the vestibule, noted the tears and false-face anxiety,
and immediately deduced out loud to several of her closest
acquaintances that Prof. Sigger had made a move on the
all-too-innocent waif. The rumor spread across the hall and up the
elevators by the time Alona was weaving through the cars that stalked
the parking lot for open stalls. It seemed nearly everyone in the
building had heard a whisper by the time Alona reached her father's
rusting Gremlin.
She made her way to it without getting hit by the over-anxious drivers,
unlocked the driver's side door, threw her bag into the back seat and
herself into the driver's. Then she let go and sobbed and sobbed, hoping
that if she got a "C" in Freshman Comp that it wouldn't turn out to be
the excuse her parents needed to stop paying her tuition. They wanted
Alona to work in the town's newly renovated theater, an investment in
which they owned a small percentage.
Alona's sobs lasted for some time, and she knew, just knew, that her
water-proof mascara had run, so she opened the glove compartment to
find a Kleenex. Out fell a letter.
Her sobbing stopped as she picked it up from the dusty car floor.
"Alona" was written, almost scribbled, on the cover. In Kurt's
handwriting. She hadn't seen him in weeks, not since he began playing
regularly in the band. She couldn't help picturing him the last time he
was in her car, brushing back his long hair and scratching his hand in
that nervous way of his.
"You're breaking up with me?" he asked, staring vaguely at the
floor-mat.
She had nodded. What else could she do? Even she had finally
admitted that he was just a good-looking loser. Sure, he could play the
guitar and write songs, but she wouldn't be able to face her parents once
they found out his most popular ballad was "Love Turds".

"This sucks," he muttered. Somehow, that had helped her keep her
resolve, although in the weeks that had passed, her memory of that
lonely quality of his, the one that had attracted her to him in the first
place, had grown to almost god-like proportions.
Alona sighed and opened the letter.
Alona, (it read, unnecessarily) O.K. I've had time to think about us.
You shouldn't have broken up with me, but you're still cool, O.K.? I
mean, even if you don't let me go all the way with you, your cool. So,
like what I'm asking is should we get back together?
I know you don't think your parents will like me. But I'll grow on them.
I'll write them a song that they'll like. Like "Love Turds" but with
different lyrics.
Any way, that's not what I wrote about. I mean, youre cool and all and I
want to get back together with you but there's something else going on.
I'm probably going to loose my dayjob at Osco. Doesn't matter.
Screwm all. But I think I know what's been in those weird boxes Osco
orders that end up in Denny's car! Something big is going to happen
and I think that all of those freeaks who picked up the white lab coats
are in on it. You remember them? Anyway-
Denny let it slip that some of that stuff was going to Seltzer or Sesame,
or whatever. This all adds up! I'll let you know as soon as I can find out
what's in them! Then I'll see if Tom if can get off his butt long enough
to come with me to search for Seltsame- Call me tonight after eight.
(I mean if you want to call me after eight. You don't have to but I shure
would like to talk to you again about us and all of this and stuff, you
know?)
Love, Kurt.
PS. If you arnt getting back with me, can you give me back my Ugly
Kid Joe CD?

8. The most effective form of rhetorical persuasion ever devised "If at
first you don't succeed, try, try, and try again. Then give up. There's no
use being a damned fool about it." - W.C. Fields
"Hello!" cried Prof. Sigger, his voice drained of masculine resonance
with panic. No one seemed to be around, except the long haired kid
sharing his cell. The boy was hunched in the corner, arms folded
around his stomach.

"Hello!" bellowed Prof. Sigger. "I'd like to