KatieAtlas

Grease and cheez whiz dribbled down their fingers as Pat, the purported king of steaks, watched them through the window.

Katie Mac and Clyde Thornton happily discussed their holidays as they attempted to finish their massive cheese steaks.

“You met a vagabond in the middle of the desert?” Katie asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, he was asleep at the top of a sand dune in the Mojave. He seemed like a pretty cool guy,” replied Clyde.

They departed the Philadelphia landmark, driving down the dirty alleyways of south Philly, the sky dusting the air with dandruffy snow. It seemed like a moment appropriate for a remixed Beatles ballad, or perhaps some Creedence Clearwater Revival. But the radio remained silent, and the two chattered on, occasionally interrupted by the creepy woman narrating the GPS directions.

South Campus seemed eerily quiet when they arrived at Villanova. Few students roamed the grassy knoll or slushy sidewalks. The street lamps illuminated the falling snow like Christmas movies often do. Clyde grabbed Katie’s luggage and followed her to the dormitory.

“You lost your wildcard. Your banner ID is 00692443, if they ask. You study biology here. You are not a freshman,” Katie coached him before they walked in the door.

“Got it,” Clyde replied. Does she honestly expect me to remember that? thought Clyde.

The automatic door swung open with its familiar malaise.

“Howdy folks,” said the security guard upon their entrance into the building. They tried to keep walking in, but the guard stopped them. “You’re going to have to sign him in,” he said to Katie, gesturing to the grizzly Clyde.

Stupid all girls dorm in a Catholic school, she cursed for the thousandth time.

“I lost my wildcard,” Clyde said. “Here’s my driver’s license.”

The security guard was not amused.

“Are you confused? I know the rules are confusing. All guests, especially males, need to be checked in,” he stated coldly.

Clyde and Katie glanced nervously at one another. Of course there’s a problem, Katie thought.

The guard took another look at Clyde, back to the identification card, back to Clyde. Begrudingly, he took out the sheet of paper and began to sign Clyde into the dormitory.

“You know,” he said with a sly ‘I know you’re lying’ tone to his deep voice, “you really don’t look like someone who goes here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Clyde replied in disbelief.

What is that supposed to mean?

“Well, obviously I can’t know everyone. I don’t know everyone. But I know I’ve never seen you around here before, and you really just don’t look like someone who goes here.”

Really now? What the fuck has gotten into this guy?

“Wow,” they said.

“So, Mr. Thornton, where do you live around here?” The guard would not stop.

Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t tell him what dorm he lives in!

“Uh.. I live off-campus.” It was a save, or at least as quick of a save as they could get. Whatever.

“Mhmm,” nodded the guard, as he handed Clyde his ID back. The two continued to walk down the hallway, silently.

A flight of stairs and the usual fidgeting with the lock to her room, Katie exclaim “WHAT THE FUCK?” with some notable exasperation. ”I had no idea there would be so much red tape to get you in here.”

They discussed their options. Clearly, Clyde needed to get the hell out of there once midnight rolled around. That guard was watching. A couple beers later, they emerged from the room, game plan set.

*******

She looked at Katie with wide eyes, pink Blackberry pressed to her cheek, mouthing “what are you doing?”

Don’t give me that, Barbie.

Katie knew she need not explain to the curly haired visitor. That chick knew exactly what was going down.

Katie opened the window to the laundry room, gazing back at Clyde, who carried a 4.5 inch hunting knife. It looked like a murder weapon, but apparently Clyde had already checked with the police years ago if that was the case. Clearly, it was just a weapon used for breaking and entering.

“You might want to move back,” he said as he thrust the dagger into the heavy-duty screen.

Their spectator looked on for a minute, then pledged to stand outside the door to keep a look out. She kept talking on the phone with her mystery friend about pie or something tragic.

Clyde was no match for the screen. Within two minutes he had sawed a gaping hole into it, his passageway into the building. Even John Madden would’ve been rendered relatively speechless (at least for John Madden standards) by Clyde’s dexterity with the knife. “Brett Favre is a guy where, he puts on his contacts and he can see better. But this Clyde– he doesn’t need any contacts!”

Clyde hoisted himself over the ledge, hopped down, closed the window and brushed himself off. It seemed like the perfect moment for the Mission: Impossible theme song to play for the near-celebration. Katie couldn’t believe their little plan had actually worked. He was inside (not a sex joke.)

Wow, that was easier than I thought (also not a sex joke.)

Now to just get him upstairs.

Before they made their way into the hallway, Clyde noticed a rip in his shirt.

“My favorite shirt! My Mom gave me this,” he said dejectedly. (Even rule-breakers love their Mamas.)

It took a while to creep Clyde up the stairs to the dormitory room. After all, anxiety rendered Katie half a moron.

There has gotta be another set of stairs, she thought a hundred times. (After twenty minutes, she found them.)

Clyde did make his way to Katie’s for an evening of card playing, boozing, and other stories of their respective adventures. He even got to take a hot shower to wash off some of that mountain-man.

Morning crept up on them like Christmas to a Jew, but it made no difference. No one ever suspected Katie of the torn screen, and the snarky guard never came to beat Clyde’s ass. (Like anyone could do that to Clyde– kid’s like Wolverine, Batman, and the Fantastic Four rolled in one!) Clyde completed his road trip, Katie finished her calculus homework, and no one died in a freak accident involving falling library books.

It was such a good day with good feelings, it would’ve inspired Katy Perry to write a song.