“There’s nothing to it. You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.”
“Nothing to it? If there’s nothing to it, why do I always get Cs?”
“You’re afraid, that’s why. And you’re lazy. If you just started sooner and gave yourself time to perfect your work, you’d be fine. But you don’t. You let fear interfere — ha ha — interfear…”
“I hate your stupid puns.”
“Whatever. Just write it.”
“It’s easy for you.”
“Yeah, it’s easy for me, basically because I just fucking do it.”
“You’re always finished way before I even start!” She breaks into tears. “I really hate this. Every weekend a paper. EVERY single weekend! Doesn’t she realize we’re young and have LIVES not like HER.”
“That’s a decision you make. It’s got nothing to do with her or me. You’ve known about this for two weeks. It’s not her fault or my fault that it’s due tomorrow and you haven’t even started.”
“I hate you.”
“Whatever. Going to play soccer with the guys.”
And so she sat down at her laptop. Facebook called her incessantly. Her phone — turned on and running — sent her dozens of texts and updates from her friends, really important things like, “Dude, I just farted!” “Look at these carrot muffins I just made!” “Here’s a picture of my cat sleeping!” The afternoon wore on. Dusk fell. Lamont returned home, cut up, grass-stained and happy.
“How’d it go, sweet cheeks?”
“I don’t have any ideas. I didn’t get anywhere. I ended up really busy! How can she expect us to write three papers in a four-month semester! Maybe in her day people had nothing better to do but today? We’re a LOT busier!”
“I’m not. I go to school, work part time, play on a soccer team, but I got my paper done. It’s you, babe. I’m sorry but it is. Maybe you shouldn’t be in school.”
“It’s these stupid GEs. Who cares about a thesis statement, anyway?”
“Tell yourself whatever you want, but you know what? I’m sick of this. Every weekend is the same thing. We never do anything together anymore because you leave your homework until the last possible minute. Then there’s all this drama just over a stupid-ass paper for English and all you have to do is write it — but you spend a million hours bitching about it rather than writing it. I’m moving out. Then you’ll have time to do your homework.”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“Yeah. I can’t put up with this any more.”
“But we were talking about getting married!!!!”
“I know and I’m sorry but you know what? What if we have kids? You can’t put off changing the baby’s diapers, right?”
“What if they need help with their homework? You won’t be any help. Sorry babe. Going to move in with Larry.” He picked up his soccer bag, shoved his clothes into it. His school bag was already in his truck. “See you at school!” he said as he slammed the door.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed her phone and updated her status to single, Tweeted her broken heart, posted her suffering, Instagramed her unfinished paper, sending bits and bytes of pain into a world already choked with suffering.