It was late, later than it should have been. Soon the campus would contain only be me and an handful of others unfortunate enough to have homes too far away for it to be worth the trip. I already knew my time in the abandoned dorm would be spent on the many projects and assignments which had been generously heaped upon me by a myriad of PHD laden members of the society against free time. I was engaged in planning the layout of what was to be a credit to the race of amateurly designed micro processors. My partner in this joy-filled exercise was twirling his short brown hair with a pencil, his blue-green eyes not quite focused on the multiplexer he should have been drawing.
That night we talked well into the night. He told me about "the best friend he had ever had" and a youth pastor who had almost turned him away from the church. I don't even remember what I told him. Hearing the word best friend from him hurt me in a way I hadn't imaged it would. I had grown to feel so close to him in the last few months that the thought of some one closer sent a short silent stab through me. Somewhere around two AM he offered to take me to Walmart and I agreed to go.
It shouldn't have meant anything. Nothing. Midnight visits to the lofty super store was a ritual which inmates of colleges everywhere practiced religiously in groups of all sizes. But somehow I felt more than knew that something between us had shifted. An invisible balance had swiftly and silently tilted.
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