Sweet Home

“Look at Hitler. He was elected by a democratic vote, and for a time, he was what was right for the majority of the people who were livin’ in poverty with no real hope. But look how that ended… I’m just sayin’ that although it seems good in theory, the practical side don’t really pan out, now does it?”

I honestly thought a tumbleweed might come rolling through at any second, the room was that silent. Rome appeared more than satisfied with his little outburst and I felt my hackles rising. I instinctively moved towards the set of stairs, making sure he could see me for my tirade. Rising above his arsey comments went out of the open window.

I lifted my finger in the air. “For a start, do me the honour of letting me finish before rudely interrupting. What I agree with is the idea that individuals do, in many situations, live for pleasure over pain, at least for the most part. Surely you’d agree with that, Mr. Oh-so-fantastic QB. Don’t you make the majority of your decisions based on your illustrious football career, something that brings you pleasure?”

The students’ heads whipped back and forth like they were watching a really messed-up game of tennis.

“You’re right, I do, but I also do it for the spectators, for my teammates. They find joy in football, unlike some.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meanin’ that in Alabama, Shakespeare, football is the greatest pleasure there is—playin’ it, watchin’ it, coachin’ it. My trainin’ and therefore my success benefits both me and others. You seem to be the only one who don’t like it.”

“Then you’ve proved me right. In Alabama, the greatest good for the greatest number of people is football, as it brings pleasure to the majority of the population,” I replied, smugly.

He ran his hand over his stubbly, unshaven chin. “In this respect, you may be right, but it’s not always that simple.”

I folded my arms, eager to hear the response. “Go on.”

“You talk about individuals doin’ things for pleasure and to avoid pain, things they dislike?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“But many individuals do things that cause themselves pain or displeasure to suit other peoples’ wants and desires.” I assumed he was referring to his weird relationship with Shelly, who was currently scowling at our debate.

“Oh, I’m not sure they’re always that painful—doing certain things or certain acts that others want, I mean.”

Rome held his pencil between his hands and hissed through gritted teeth, “Be completely clear, Shakespeare. What you gettin’ at?”

I couldn’t seem to stop once I got going. This rage I’d felt towards him for days was exploding out of me.

“Well, let’s use sex, for example. One of the two people partaking in the act might want it more, and the second person may be altogether quite indifferent in their affections, but the second person ultimately gives in and does it anyway to make the first person happy. However—and herein lies the irony—the one that is unhappy still finds sexual release, therefore, doesn’t really experience displeasure at all. Do they?” I directed absolutely his way.

The pencil snapped in his hands. “Or how about a person decides it would be a good idea to kiss another, due to some weird, unexplainable pull but then, in hindsight, decides that it was a f**kin’ mistake. That they spoke about personal things for the first time ever with someone different, someone new, thinkin’, Maybe I can trust this person with knowing the real me? Only to realise that what you did was stupid and should never have happened at all. Cementin’ that people are just one big ol’ disappointment!” He threw the pencil parts to the floor and ran his hands aggressively through his hair. Quiet murmurs spread throughout the room.

Our gazes locked, both of us breathing heavily from the emotional exertion of our argument, neither of us knowing what to do next. The unfamiliarity of such raw emotion being a new sensation for us both to experience.

Professor Ross interrupted us with a cough. I turned to the clock on the wall, noticing that the lecture was almost done. “Next seminar will look at Bentham’s personal notes. The essential reading is on the course outline. Class dismissed.”

I scurried back to the safety of my desk, battling a sudden bout of nausea. I was more confused than the first time I read Freidrich Nietzsche in the original German.

Professor Ross came over fanning herself with her hand. “Well, that was different, Molly. It didn’t really have anything to do with the topic we needed to cover, was highly inappropriate, but it sure was interesting to watch you two sparring. You want to talk about anything? The atmosphere in here caused by the heat of you both was as electric as a summer storm.”