Jonah and his freshman year roommate were complete opposites. Donnie was a Japanese/Korean hybrid from Atlanta, who wore a John Deere cap and boasted the largest collection of confederate bumper stickers east of the Mississippi ("Heritage not hatred," he would tell Jonah). He thought anim‚ was the greatest, and secretly lusted after Sebastian's Little Princess. He also had an unnatural obsession with Dawson's Creek, hanging a poster of the entire cast over his bed and setting his alarm clock to play Paula Cole's theme song. Every morning: "I don't wanna wait for my life to be ovaaaaaah."
"I can't wait for your life to be over, you ass-pirate," Jonah would mutter into his down pillow.
Their room was like a shampoo ad: split straight down the middle, Donnie's side filthy and crusted, was covered with an unidentifiable black substance, Jonah's side, clean and tidy, smelled faintly of CK-One. Jonah's mother, after a surprise visit, had to be talked out of flying their maid, Magdalena, out to Philadelphia. Although Jonah secretly wanted her to come, he thought better than to put his mother through all that trouble and unnecessary stress after her recent rhinoplasty.
Overall, Donnie proved harmless. Since he wasn't too good with the ladies, Jonah was rarely exiled to the hall way. And Jonah rarely asked that of Donnie, since he was still hung up on Sara, the only girl who accepted his invitation to Prom -- even though he wore a neck brace for most of third quarter, Senior year. Consequently, they quickly developed a routine. On weekends, Jonah would return to the room early. Lonely and dejected from a night of trying to impress the frat brothers at ZBT, he would compose hyper-critical drunken emails to himself, complete with Radiohead references -- which he felt reflected his maturation as an intellectual. Then he would masturbate to some GAP ads and go to bed. Donnie would return soon after -- drunk off beer horded from some off-campus keg -- to stagger to his bed and pass out fully clothed. They would then sleep until Paula Cole's voice pierced the morning air. One Saturday night, however, this was not the case. Jonah returned to the room, early as usual. Stumbling in drunk, he came face to ass with what can only be described as the most clumsy, pathetic display of humping. Yes, humping. There is no other word graphic enough to explain the poor excuse for coitus, he had encountered. Their sweat drenched bodies writhed in syncopated bliss. His roommate, with furrowed brow and determined stare, ironically thrusted with the spastic rhythm of an epileptic having a grand seizure. The sorry victim, the girl of course, was buried into...Jonah's PILLOW? They were on his side of the room and she was defiling his Fortress of Solitude, his Holiest of Holies, the one physical possession with which he had an extremely intimate and personal relationship. Jonah, being thoroughly inebriated and confused, closed the door and walked down to the lounge where he fell asleep on a couch.
The next morning, sober and livid, his anger augmented by his throbbing hangover, Jonah walked in to his room, swatted the girl on the rear and told her to get out. Donnie looked at him like a dog caught with a steak.
"Are ya gonna wash my sheets at least?" Jonah asked.
Donnie was stuttering. "I had to use your side of the room, mine's a mess." Jonah did not know what to do. He was a pacifist by nature, that is by the genetic inheritance of cowardice, but he sure wanted to beat the shit out of Donnie. I mean, his mac-nasty girl-toy had slobbered her love cooze all over his pillow. So obviously, he told Donnie it was okay. And that was the end of it, or so Donnie thought and thinks to this day.
But Jonah planned his revenge. The next week, he returned to the room earlier than usual. He stole some beer from the ZBTers while they were purposefully ignoring him and brought it back to the dorm. He began to drink and drink. And when he had to go to the bathroom, he relieved himself in Donnie's shower bucket sans the shower utensils. When the bucket was full, Jonah started using the real bathroom. "Beware the wrath of a patient man. - Buffy" Jonah wrote on a small note and slipped it under Donnie's pillow. Finally, the roommate appeared, stumbled in and passed out on his bed. Clothes on and everything. Jonah waited twenty minutes, and then emptied the contents of the shower bucket all over Donnie's crotch. In his usual coma, Donnie did not even move. Then Jonah set the alarm clock for five minutes away, sat on his bed, and waited.
"I don't wanna wait..." Donnie snapped awake and slapped the alarm clock off, then he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He noticed his little "accident" immediately. "Oh my God!" Donnie was in tears. He was actually crying. In perfect dramedic counterpoint, Jonah was laughing so hard he almost wet his pants. "Jonah, you can't tell anyone about this!" Jonah shook with laughter, but above all with power and a new found respect for vengeance.
