Pygmalion
"Hey Jase, your dishes are piling up in the sink again, man. I'm not doin' 'em this time!"
"Can you do me a solid, dude? I've got practice." Jason Thorne slung his tennis gear over his shoulder and rushed out the door, letting it slam behind him.
A visibly irritated Mike Hartree yelled a quick "Goddammit!" at his roommate's back, just before the door closed. If he heard "do me a solid" one more time he was going to lose his shit! He and Jason had been been roommates for half a year now, both of them in their third year at UVA and it was clearly not working, at least for Mike. Still, he had a great room in an upscale ranch-style house, the rent was really low, less than he would ever find elsewhere in Charlottesville for anything close to this nice, and he just couldn't afford more.
But Jason! Jason was a self-absorbed, entitled, narcissistic jerk from a rich family who never lacked for anything and clearly hadn't been raised to have any concern for anyone else's feelings. It wasn't that he was an actively bad guy, he was just oblivious to anything but himself. His wealthy parents had insisted he rent out a room of the house to help out another student, partly out of altruism but mostly out of concern that their irresponsible son might get up to no good if he lived alone.
Jason was on a tennis scholarship, easily the best player on the team, and was coasting through school and through life without a care in the world. Mike had cleaned up behind Jason for the first few weeks just to avoid living in filth, and Jason had clearly decided that was the way things should be. It was Jason's house after all, or at least his Dad's house.
Mike mused about the contrast with his own upbringing. The youngest of six boys from a lower-middle class family in Atlanta, his cab driver father had died in an auto accident when Mike was a toddler, leaving Mike's mother to raise all six boys alone on her income as a nurse. She had always stressed hard work and discipline, and he had learned from her at an early age that the old cliché "cleanliness is next to Godliness" was not at all a cliché to
her.
Mike's numerous chores growing up had revolved around keeping the small family home tidy and orderly amid the chaos. His mom had carried her emphasis on hard work over to education, and Mike's stellar scholastic record and the subsequent academic scholarship were the only reasons he could afford to attend the University of Virginia. But the scholarship didn't cover everything. He was barely scraping by on his salary as a librarian's assistant and his stipend as a teaching assistant in the Psychology Department. His summer landscaping job back home made up the shortfall. It was a shitty job but it paid well and was responsible for his lean, muscular physique and fading tan.
Mike got up from the sofa with a heavy sigh and went into the kitchen to start washing the dishes. With no classes today, he was looking forward to heading in to Gilmer Hall after lunch to continue working on his research project. He was eagerly awaiting the collection of his first research data soon, perhaps he'd have enough data before long to get a publication out of it. For an aspiring psychologist, getting published as an undergraduate could lift his prospects for getting into grad school, if that's the route he decided to take. "God knows," he thought, "how I'm gonna pay for it, but one thing at a time."
*****
"How'd the match go?" asked Mike when Jason returned Friday afternoon. Jason had been bragging all week about how he was going to take his upcoming opponent apart.
Jason scowled and grumbled, "Ah, I had it in the bag, and then things kinda fell apart. I was up 5-3 in the third and I started getting distracted, something in my gut was off. Must've been something I ate for lunch, but fuck, I couldn't concentrate. I ended up losing four games straight to blow the match. Coach was pissed, we needed my match to win the tournament. Sucks to let everybody down, and now my gut is feeling stranger than ever."
Mike grunted sympathetically, though he didn't really care about the outcome of the match that much. He could see that Jason was having trouble, while sprawled on the sofa he kept shifting around, trying to get comfortable. Finally he gave it up, and hoisting himself off the couch, he said "Fuck, I'm going to bed." Mike called after him "Hey, can you get your clothes out of the washer before you turn in? I've got some laundry to do." "Oh, do me a solid and throw 'em in the dryer for me, will ya? I'm beat," said Jason as he limped down the hall to his bedroom.
"Sure! Of course! Why not?
Asshole!
" grumbled Mike under his breath.
*****
Several days passed, and Jason was looking more and more haggard. His eyes looked sunken and bloodshot, and his attention to his appearance, normally a narcissistic flawless, had vanished. He looked and sounded like he hadn't slept in weeks--or like he had started doing meth.
"Christ, I just can't shake this shitty bug!" he whined to Mike. "My gut is still all fucked up."
"Still having cramps?"
"Naw, that's just it, it's not cramps, it's just a constant itch that's driving me mad!"
"An itch? In your gut? Weird! Have you seen a doctor?"
"Yeah, went to Student Health. They were no help, the Doc says there's no nerve endings in the intestines that can cause this kind of itching this high up. She suggested an enema, which I just finished." Jason gave an exaggerated shudder. "It's the first time I've ever stuck something...something up...anyway, it was gross and it just made things worse. I can't function, I can't play, I can't think, I can't sleep, it's driving me
fucking CRAZY
!" His voice rose to a half-scream as he finished, throwing himself face down on the sofa and punching the pillow with a muffled groan.
"She didn't give you any drugs, anything that could desensitize your gut?"
Jason slowly sat back up. "Naw, it was pretty clear she thought it was all in my head. She gave me a referral to a shrink, but that's just bullshit."
"Dude, I don't think it can hurt to go see a professional. If there's something you're dealing with that's causing this, they can help get it out in the--."
"I said it's
BULLSHIT
! Sorry, I know you're a budding headshrinker, but this isn't in my head, it's real!"
"Okay, okay, fine! So if not a psychologist, what're you gonna do?"
"I don't know, man, I don't know. Shannon is freaking out, she thinks I'm dying or something, and I'm trying to reassure her but I can't 'cause I don't know what the hell is going on."
"Shannon? I thought you were hooking up with Paige."
"Naw man, I split with Paige a few weeks ago, I'm seeing Shannon now, Shannon O'Reilly."
"Is she the redhead with the freckles and the big...personality?" He had cupped his hands in front of him at chest height, fingers spread wide.
Jason gave him a sheepish grin.
"Jeez, that makes, what, three girls so far this semester?"
Jason's grin widened and he shrugged his shoulders, then grimaced again as he held his stomach. He let out a loud groan and shuddered.
"What do your folks say about your gut trouble?"
"Haven't told 'em. Mom would just have a meltdown and Dad would tell me it's nerves and to just suck it up. Fuck, I guess I'll try to crash, though I don't think it's gonna work."
"Thought about weed, or getting wasted? Might help you sleep."
"Yeah, I've thought about it, but I'd lose my spot on the team, and I can't risk that. I'm already playing in second spot, I just lost my number one rank."
"Alright dude, try to hang in there. It's gotta get better."
"Hope so, thanks man. I'd do
anything
to make this fucking itch go away!" And he headed off to bed, shuffling dejectedly.
*****
"Wake up, man!
WAKE UP!
"
"
Whaaaa
--what,
what!
?" Mike looked up toward his roommate groggily, his hand fumbling blindly for the lamp switch. The lamp suddenly bathed the room in light, causing Mike to blink stupidly at Jason, trying to get his bearings. Jason was pacing back and forth in his pajama bottoms.
"Fuck! You're gonna think I'm a fucking nutcase, but you gotta help me man, you've just
got
to!" Jason grabbed Mike's bare shoulders, a wild look on his face. He looked manic, but there was hope in his eyes.
Mike finally climbed his way out of his deep sleep and said "What's up, man?"
"I figured out how to fix my gut problem! I've got it!" He sounded triumphant.
"That's great, dude! How'd you figure it out?"
"It just
came
to me. I was dozing, so exhausted that I was finally drifting off, and the answer just jumped into my head! I know that sounds fucked up, but I'm sure it's right!"
Mike looked skeptical, but after a pause he asked "Okay, what's the answer?"
Immediately Jason looked away, abashed. He looked too embarrassed to say it. "Well, uh, it's a little fucked up--" he caught himself and chuckled nervously. Mike eyed him warily and waited for him to continue.
"It's, well, it involves you, and I know it's asking a lot, but you just
gotta
help me, man."
"Of course I will, what do you need?"
"Well, I, uh, I don't quite know how to say it."
"Just spit it out, man, don't leave me hanging!"
"Okay, okay, it's, well, it involves..." he laughed nervously again, "i need you to, uh,..."
"Jeez, c'mon man, just fucking say it!"
"You're gonna think I'm certifiably insane!"
