I came home from school yesterday to find Crunch on my couch. Crunch has been staying at my house for the past three days. He looks taller than he is because he has a lion-like mane of lanky dreadlocked hair that hangs down to his mid-back. He was perched on my overstuffed olive-colored couch, one dirty brown boot propped up on the coffee table. He was gently tapping the keys on a shiny-looking laptop, and I was sipping my fourth americano of the day. From what I know, Crunch is a nice guy. He knows who he is and he is who he says he is.
I didn’t know him well, but now he was sitting in my living room, and we were alone in the house, so I was thinking avoiding conversation would be awkward.
I sat down, and he withdrew his sullied boot from the table. He must have forgotten I was up this morning when he was curled up on the living room chair, laced up dirty boots and all. I didn’t say anything then, and I’m still biting my tongue in the name of hospitality. Even if my furniture is destroyed, at least my guests will be comfortable. Then maybe they’ll want to come back and ruin more of my stuff.
In the days he was here, Crunch didn’t take his boots off once. This is not an exaggeration. I try to be hospitable, but if there’s one thing I won’t allow it’s sludgy boots in my shower. You can do the math from here.
Anyway Crunch wanted to know what I’m studying in school.
“Public relations,” I told him.
Crunch told me has one class left to take at Hampshire College, but the woman who teaches the course hates men, he says. So he has to wait until she retires.
At this, Crunch began schooling me on Babylon.
“Babylon is working in a cubicle,” he told me. “It’s participating in nine-to-five society. It’s commercialism,” he said, with an air of proud, practiced wisdom.
Crunch hit a few more keys on his Compaq and ran his fingers down one of the long brown ropes of his overgrown dreadlock mop.
He sunk further into the couch.
His Babylon comments made me uncomfortable. I looked down at my Italian leather boots, my coffee and my overstuffed, olive-colored couches.
I started to ask myself, Am I Babylon? Does Crunch hate me, and everything I stand for?
I looked at Crunch. Stroking away at the keys on his laptop. He appeared to be sinking deeper and deeper into the couch.
The sun was shining outside, and it had been raining for a month, so I decided to finish my coffee on the front steps. The light reflected off my porcelain mug and my boyfriend’s brand new SUV across the street. Ahh, Babylon. The weather here feels great, even if I am spoiled and in a constant state of wanting more.
I peered in the window at Crunch, tearing down Babylon in cyber space from my couch. Oh well, at least it’s sunny in Babylon, and the espresso beans are dank.
