Before you read this story you should read The Rory Story.
Back in September, on the first day of class, I wandered into the library to waste some time. I immediately went to the cozy chairs next to the window and found that I was in luck - two chairs were vacant for my lounging pleasure. One chair had somebody’s crap on it so I opted for the chair across from it. I whipped out my computer, played some tunes and worked away casually. Half an hour later, the owner of the stuff across from me returned to claim their crap. Of all the chairs in the library I could have picked to marinate in, I chose the chair across from Rory.
@!%$^&*#@$%&*%#
I should have noticed the jacket, the one that Rory comes and goes in, but prudent I was not. Rory graced me with conversation, asked how I was doing and told me how much he hated our class last semester. That class was my favorite. After a few minutes of mindless dribble, I asked Rory what classes he was taking, in order to find out if I would have to deal with him again. Rory regurgitated his schedule:
Expository Writing. Been there.
Fundamentals of Speech. Nope.
History of Islam. Nope.
Concept Development. Fuck.
Since I knew Rory would be in my class, I prepared myself. I went to class a few minutes early so that I could nest comfortably and prevent Rory from protruding into my personal bubble. I was one of the first in the classroom, so I sat next to some kid.
ME: Hey, I’m going to sit here. There is this kid in this class that I can’t stand and I don’t want him to sit next to me.
HIM: No problem.
ME: What’s your name?
HIM: Ryan. Yours?
ME: Ryan.
Both Ryan and I didn’t realize we shared the same name; we both thought the other said “Bryan”. As a Ryan, introducing yourself to someone can be quite the nuisance. No matter how clear a Ryan pronounces his name to someone, they always think you said Bryan. This fallacy is an ordinary hindrance amongst Aryans.
With Ryan on my right and this girl, Katrina, on my left, I was boxed in and assured that Rory wouldn’t be able to sit next to me. The classroom filled up quickly and by the time ole Rory made it to class, there was only one seat left and that seat was far, far away.
Throughout the semester, Rory continued with his tardiness and unexplained absences, but for the most part the class was spared his tedious idiosyncrasies. Most of the class became aware of Rory via stories myself and others told, but Rory failed to live up to his reputation. Until, the last day of class.
[duhn...duhn...DUHN...]
The final for Concept Development was a short film treatment, a simple screenplay of five to ten pages. The last day of class was devoted to reading our screenplays and providing feedback. Professor Pants started class by asking us to move our desks around, she wanted a circle, however this simple task proved to be very complicated for some reason. Joe, the cattiest bitch I’ve ever met, (this is a compliment to Joe) took it upon himself to sphere-head the creation of our circumference comfort zone. The configuration of the room evolved from lined rows to some sort of retarded rhombus. Joe was not pleased. Eventually the semblance of the room was that of an egg. But Joe, as a gay man, did not want Professor Pant’s requested circle to parallel any sort of female reproduction. Shades of breeding, if you will.
Professor Pants was more than satisfied with an egg or oval or whatever we had created by moving the desks around like it were a game of Chinese Checkers. Joe was not satisfied. He had far surpassed displeasure and became a complete circle jerk. I’m sure Professor Pants would have been open to annulus negotiations but since she is the professor, she settled with what the class had formed and Joe quickly got ovary his objection. Finally, class began. With Professor Pant’s permission, I led the class with some warm up exercises, which were met with as much enthusiasm as a new episode of “Joey”. Professor Pants asked everyone to assign their parts so that class would be expedited. I preferred to keep my parts private.
I went first, with my disturbing story of a girl who hates mayonnaise yet encounters mayonnaise. It was delicious. Most of my classmates enjoyed my disgusting story that ends with a beautiful young woman falling into a giant vat of mayonnaise. I think only one person threw-up in their mouth; maybe two. One by one everyone read their scripts, as class went by smoothly, like mayonnaise spread on white bread. Joe’s script was especially entertaining. It was the story of a man, Richard Daly, who realizes that he is gay at the age of 40. I personally don’t understand how someone named Dick Daly could not have already known this.
Rory eventually showed up to class and, just like the previous semester, was shocked to learn that class went on without him. Rory wasn’t alone either. He came straight to class from the airport, where he picked up some girl from Norway. She, along with her luggage, joined us for class. Why she was there, or why she would associate with Rory was never explained to the class. She was quite attractive, but the simple fact that she was with Rory raised too many questions.
Class broke for fifteen minutes so everyone could tinkle and get a hot cup of Joe; and by Joe I mean coffee. Everyone returned to class after break and the readings continued. As the final hour of class began, Rory and a few others had to read, but time slumped quickly. Since it was unfair for him to get his turn after he dwindled into class late, Professor Pants made Rory wait. Rory grew restless; you could tell he had something amazing planned. It would change our lives forever, and not for the better, for the funnier.
When Professor Pants called on Rory, he had to delay progression because his parts had not been assigned. Much to Professor Pants’ surprise, Rory wrote a full-length play, not a short film treatment. I don’t know how much of this play he was going to read out loud, but Rory nearly assigned every part in his opus before he was stopped. Rory walked to the front of the class, the girl from Norway joined him. Every single person in the class stayed in their seat while reading their script, but Rory is special. One of the benefits of a circle is that everyone can see you and vice versa. Rory’s radical radius required reserved rotation reluctantly. More than half the class adjusted to accommodate Rory. Finally, we were read to em(neck)brace his ineffable presentation.
I would compare the ten minutes Rory wasted to the commercials that play before the previews when you go to the movies. Also, just like when you go to the movies, Rory had a sort of trailer for us. Rory showed us a PowerPoint presentation about the earthquake that rocked Turkey. The class was shocked. The presentation was impressive, fully equipped with ominous music and chilling pictures. As statistics displayed across the screen, Rory chimed in to correct the extremely outdated information. Convinced Rory had little or no hand in the creation, someone asked him if he made it himself. No. A friend of Rory’s made it, and it was more than six months old. Professor Pants asked Rory repeatedly to turn off the PowerPoint presentation but Rory pressed on. We neared five minutes of antiquated data before Rory finally conceded to Professor Pants’ outcries. Now, it was time for Rory’s play about the earthquake in Pakistan.
Two screams came from two of Rory’s readers; they played children that had just experienced a whole lot of shaking going on in India. Rory, as the narrator, read and the play went on. Everyone in class was lost. The material wasn’t bad, but it obviously wasn’t something Rory wrote for this class. I doubt he wrote it himself. It seems far past the capability of someone who can’t even pivot his own neck. About five minutes into the play, Rory, as narrator, introduced a new character. My mind was wandering but the character’s name sounded a lot lik, “Dr. Christa Mcauliffe”. This went on for another fifteen minutes and I was almost certain I knew what I had heard.
Professor Pants stopped Rory, he would have gone on forever, but we were almost out of time. Everyone was silent. You could tell the same question was on everyone’s mind. Professor Pants asked, What was the name of the doctor?”
“Dr. Christa Mcauliffe,” replied Rory.
That’s what we all thought. Professor Pants went on to ask Rory if he knew who Christa Mcauliffe was. He did. She asked Rory if he knew what happened to Christa Mcauliffe. He did. She asked for an explanation. Rory explained that he used her name to symbolize how challenging the earthquake that struck Afghanistan was. Professor Pants told Rory to change the name, but he argued back. “Rory, you can’t resurrect Christa Mcauliffe from the dead!” Professor Pants proclaimed. The argument ended, and class moved on.
Rory created a character with the name of an American hero that died in tragedy. Was it artistic expression, or was the character simply the zombie Christa Mcauliffe. If Rory was going for the zombie approach, he should have included a prologue that explained where the zombie, Christa Mcauliffe, found time to acquire a PhD. Last time I checked, Zombie University only offered a master’s program.
Rory’s preposterously predictable plight precisely prompted perpetually patient Professor Pants’ perfectly profound precipitated protests!
The Weekly Dig has a fairly 