True story: Late one night my sophomore spring, I was working on a paper in a study lounge in McLane, when a black girl tried to throw herself out the window of whatever that dorm is across Tuck Drive.
She was screaming out to the streets about how racist and hopeless Dartmouth is, and screaming at her friend, and climbing in and out of her fourth-floor window, and generally making it difficult for me to do my homework.
She was hollering about how awful it is to be a woman, and to be black, and how disgusted she is by our false pretense of diversity here when
Twitter update from MyToddelmog: "Natalie Portman just walked down my block." Humph. Really need to plan weekend in New York. Am accepting applications from slampieces with vehicles.
So where was I? Right, racist, oppressive, terrifying Dartmouth. Ugh. I'm so hungover. Twitter update from Gawker: "Trend of Unskinned Monsters Washing Ashore Continues With Cowbeast of Death (link)."
Cowbeast of Death! That will be the name of the protagonist in my next great American novel: "Cowbeast's skull protruded at odd angles from his face, but it was impossible to tell whether he was atrocious or beautiful, the smoke and mirrors of his Vineyard inbreeding..." I can see it now.
Right? So she is screaming and crying and throwing herself from her window, and I'm wondering, like, what? No one seems to be doing anything about this, except occasionally someone else yells at her out their window to shut up.
Should I call Safety and Security? Tell them to grab a net, or a trampoline or something? A tranquilizer gun? Like,someone roll that womanhead a xannyblunt and put her to bed.
Twitter update from MyToddelmog: "Houston St. reeks of Holister cologne." Ugh, exnay trip to New York. Full of terrifying beasts who will try to leave their scent on me. Must stay in nunnery where I belong.
Except for the occasional girlchild throwing herself from her window, shit is so lovely here! I'm never leaving. I mean, the trees. I fcking love the trees, and I fcking love it here.
But still, homegirl is convinced she "just can't fight it, any more, any any any more" and that it's time to make roadkill of herself on Tuck Drive. I am looking at my friend Tomas like, whaaaaaat. And we are listening and watching from the window as shit gets so real.
Some drunk frat boy is walking by below her window and she's screaming at him, "It's people like YOU who make me want to KILL MYSELF." And he stops, and looks up at her, and says, "Do it."
And then Cowbeast of Death stumbled off through the blue rapelights, borne back ceaselessly into the past. The girl is weeping now, not screaming.
And then both her legs are back inside the window. And then the window is shut, and the street is quiet.
And my Twitterfeed reads: "Writing a paper. F*ck Gertrude Stein. Whiskey + Redbull. Did not hallucinate suicidegirl Tomas says so."
And maybe her Twitterfeed reads: "Crying myself to sleep." And if I followed her, maybe I'd know how that feels.
