Lina's Behavior

I don't recall how long I had been sitting there after class had ended. My life was a mess. I had joined the military in High School during my parent's divorce. I thought it would help me maintain a sense of consistency, but I was lost. I got into a lot of things I had sworn I would never do, but they gave me a reprieve from the horrible truth about my life. When not in army fatigues, like today, I wore black—black like my heart, like my soul. I was nothing like the good Christian boy I had been raised to be.

In my hand was a pen, on the desk my notebook. Ever since the divorce I would lose myself in what I was thinking and just write. I've never gone back to reread what I have written, just write it and leave it alone. Now I hold the pen, hovering above the page. I couldn't write anymore. Though I still felt I was in my isolated state, able to write whatever thoughts ran through my head, my hand refused to move. The classroom blurred as I stared at the white board.

'Where am I?' I thought. 'It must be time for another cigarette.' Shaking my head to try and clear it, I didn't hear the door open.

"Keith," a woman asked, "are you all right?"

My gaze fixed on the door and my hand automatically moved to my waist for my gun. It wasn't there. Of course it wouldn't be there, I was on campus.

"Keith?" she asked again.

"Lina, is it?" Her writing was how I knew her best, forced to be her critique partner in our Creative Writing class.

"That's right," she replied.

"Don't you have a Bible class right now?"

"That was yesterday. Are you okay? You don't look…."

"Don't look what?! Up to your standards?"

"What? I didn't…."

"Leave me the hell alone, Lina." I turned back to my notebook.

More things about her came to mind. She was the only girl in the school that I knew of who was still a virgin. No one ever asked her out or talked to her unless they needed something. Even then they would try to ask someone else, if at all possible. Lina always clung to her Bible as if it were the only thing that could keep her safe in a world of drugs, sex, and violence. It was about time someone opened her eyes. As for school activities, she never attended those. She would be seen in class then she would hide in the library or in her dorm.

The door creaked slightly as it opened then it closed again. Lina was still there.

"What do you want, Lina?" I asked in frustration.

"I just came in to see how you were doing, Keith. You haven't seemed yourself lately." She never turned from the door.

"Why do you care? You and your Bible hugging ways. Why, after two years of attending the same college, do you finally give a damn about how I am?!"

"I..."

"You what? Thought that I may be open to what you believe?"

Lina shook her head.

"Then what?"

"I just had the thought to ask. Sorry for intruding." She left, joining all the students standing in the halls, waiting for their professors to come unlock the doors.

10 am. 'One more class then I can party,' I thought.

My last class of the day was Introduction to Writing Fiction. It wasn't a bad class, but the discussions were boring. The only fun thing about the class was being able to write, to express my ideas no matter how off the wall or grotesque they may be. The other thing that made it fun was watching Lina squirm as she read my writing. The professor had paired us up at the beginning of the class to critique each other's stories. After in class critiques, Lina would pull out her Bible and read for the rest of the time.

Our professor had assigned editing partners so the critiques could be more thoughtful and objective. It also allowed us to start on our partner's work once both people arrived in class. When it came to the revisions, the professor expressly wanted to see an improvement from the first draft. As for myself, I always got a kick out of Lina's attempts to soften the tone, make the main character more sympathetic, or cut out how much swearing and sex were in the pieces. I didn't write like that, since that was not how I was. I didn't care if someone was gay, lesbian, bi, or straight. I didn't care if your dog or grandmother died. Life was all about pleasure and forgetting one's past.

When I walked in, Lina already had her Bible out, head bowed, chin resting in her hands.

"Starting early, I see," I commented, sitting next to her.

She never moved, never flipped the page.

"Hey, you awake?"

Lina didn't respond.

"Hey," I said, pushing her.

Finally she looked up.

"Here," I said, placing my story on her Bible.

She looked at it for a minute before moving stiffly to pull out her story and a pen. Her story was a lot shorter than it should have been, not even three pages long.

"What, got writer's block?" I teased.

Her head and pen lowered as she began her comments. Each movement was slow as she carefully read the text. Rolling my eyes I quickly glanced through her work. It read like a two year old trying to write a Sherlock Holmes mystery. All shit. Even her first story had been better than this. Nothing about it was worth saving. It would be better for her to trash this and start over. Still, I filled up the margins and the backs of each page with comments. Actually, more questions than comments.

Just to watch her reaction, I interrupted her reading by sliding her story under her pen. Her expression didn't change this time. Lina just slid it under her Bible before continuing to read. Usually, she had paused for several seconds and sat up a little as she barely concealed her surprise. But today there was nothing.

"Now who's not acting like themselves?" I whispered.

Lina flipped the last page over and began to write furiously. Each letter flowed from the pen with a perfection that I could find nowhere else. No matter how fast she wrote, nothing could make her writing too scrawled to read. With the final period dotted, she set my story aside, gathered her things and left class early. The door shut audibly behind her. I laughed silently. Now that was a reaction I had never thought I would see. Picking up my story I looked forward to reading what petty comments she had for this piece.

I had scarcely read through the comments on the first page before I stopped. Whoever had written these comments was not Lina. They were as rough and course as my own. There were no Bible references, not stupid suggestions about making the main character more sympathetic, or suggestions for milder scenes. No, the comments made here were to make the character more hateful, add more detail to the scenes and make them even bloodier. I looked around, not sure what I was expecting to see. All the students had their heads down still reading their comments, the professor was reading through stories from another class.

I doubted it would do any good to bring up Lina's comments to the professor. All he seemed to care about was improvement between the first and final drafts. Those were the only two he collected, though he expected us to revise each story at least twice. Looking at the comments again, I still thought that whoever had written them was not Lina. It had been her physically sitting next to me, but the one who wrote these comments was the not the Bible hugging Lina I liked to tease. No, this Lina was a hardened soldier, like me, who didn't give a shit.

Bible hugging Lina would rock the boat and always voice her thoughts about certain subjects when they came up in a discussion. She was firm in her stance and didn't give when all the students railed on her. When there were no open discussions she remained silent, always reading from her Bible. I knew I had never cared for her comments. I even complained to my barrack buddy, Brad, about her. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about the sudden change. There was no warning, no signs of slipping that even hinted that such comments could be so thoughtfully given. I didn't finish reading her comments. Instead I opened my notebook and wrote until class was over.