It is loud. It is not loud in the sense that the sounds are loud in volume, but in the sense that as I try to think my mind refuses to concentrate on anything but the noise. It crowds my head. Everything is loud, possibly because I’m concentrating on it. The water runs in the other room as my boyfriend does the dishes. I can’t see him, but I hear the constant running water (the water sounds light, as if it’s steaming hot. When it is cold, it beats the metal of the sink with an irritating harshness.), the occasional clang of pans or clink of plates. I can still smell the burgers we had for dinner. The grill tends to fill the apartment with the rich smells of whatever it is that we decide to cook on any given night. The lingering smell of our burgers is so deliciously spicy and barbeque-y that it would make me hungry again if not for the fact that I’ve only just finished eating one of them.
The TV is playing on the other side of the room, not visible to me through my macbook’s screen. In this whirring, noise-filled state, my mind barely picks up the sounds of the television show that is playing, though it is likely a crime show of some sort since that frequently plays here.
My roommate, Michelle, is here; her boyfriend is my boyfriend’s roommate, Ty. They are sitting on the couch adjacent to me. They’re eating some strange pasta-type food that I’ve yet to identify. It smells both Asian and Italian at the same time and her “chicken” looks more like lumpy, regurgitated oatmeal that has been compacted, rolled in moldy breadcrumbs, and squirted with orange juice. Fortunately, it smells much better than it looks. I would ask them what the pasta creation is, but I don’t want to interrupt their oddly-uncomfortable-to-non-mushy-onlookers dinner that they seem to be having. She looks oddly put together today, compared to her usual haphazard disheveledness. Her hair, usually thrown into a snarly, poorly managed ponytail, is brushed and down her back, reaching her hips. She is talking about her class schedule; she has to find another four credit class in order to be full time, the light schedule this week explains her clean, tidy appearance tonight. Ty, on the other hand, looks more stressed than I’ve ever seen him. His nursing scrubs are wrinkled and uncomfortable looking, surprising to me as I’ve in the past always thought that they look comfortable. He’s been wearing the same ones since I saw him yesterday; that exhaustion and stress is what makes them look much less comfortable. Bright blue and adorned with the Lansing Community College logo, they make him look so proud, yet so tired. A few days into the semester and his eyes already have large bags underneath them and I caught him sleeping for a moment just a bit ago, while he was eating. He is cheesy-love talking to Michelle and mirroring her smile back to her, but his slouchy stature and jittery foot tell me that it is taking him a lot to even remain awake and his contributions to their conversation seems entirely halfhearted.
My boyfriend has begun putting together the end table that he purchased excitedly today. He is moving the boards around and looking at the screws like they have fallen from Mars. His usually spiked hair lies flat today, likely due to my lazy begging him to pick me up and take me to class early this morning. He wears his usual ensemble: dark jeans, an Aeropostale shirt (really, it’s always Aeropostle—it’s the only store he shops at), the necklace that I got him a few months ago (also from Aeropostle), and the lip ring that he fiddles with with his lips while he pretends to read the instructions.
The conversations add to the sounds of the TV and the boards and though they’re quiet as well, the room feels loud. My eyes are strained and their lids heavy. I think my observing for the night has concluded.
