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humbing over the dull yellow pages of Lolita the words begin to blur as the story continues about the justification of pedophilia through the life Humbert Humbert.  Motes of dust flicker into a stray beam of sunlight in the dark room.  It’s an intense strain on the eyes trying to read in such limited visibility; Reading is totally out of the question, rest is what’s needed - a little more darkness.  Turning the familiar corners down the hallway a shadow crept by the doorframe.  Somebody was in my bedroom.

     Slowing down to a few quiet shifts I took note of a brass candlestick holder just across from the door ahead.  Quickly, I glance around the open door and a wave of confusion sets in.  The old lookers must be playing tricks because, for some reason, my friend Walter Kerin is standing in front of the mirror wearing the 2007 Homecoming King sash and crown.  He turns and looks for a sign of approval with teeth bared into a nervous grin and thumbs raised.  The light crashing through the window is briefly blinding and masks some of the finer details to this already strange situation.  The mess of green, blue, and white separate and all becomes clear.  Sweat glistens on Walter’s brow, neck, and chest outlining every twinge of a tendon and movement of muscle.  A single bead ran slowly down his tilted chin; The whole frame shaking in a fine vibration waiting for some reassurance.  I just stood in the doorway with eyes pacing from one object to another trying to hold on to what little sanity remained in this bizarre turn of events.

     “Well?”  Well?  Is that all he has to say?

     “Well what?”

     “Well? - How does it look?”  His eager eyes starved of the reaction he so very desired.

As we stared at each other my eyes opened from a weary, confused squint and a feeling of anger caused on to lower and twitch with the realization that Walter broke into my house, opened the dusty cellophane bag and put on my crown and sash while I was too distracted by reading to notice any of this.  “Damn you, Lolita.”

     “Wait - what?”  Not quite the answer he was looking for but Walter was in no position to argue.  Shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the mirror he began to adjust the large, obnoxious hat to another angle.  One more bead of sweat rolled down past his left eye which was quickly sneaking looks to anticipate my next move.

     “Nothing, forget about it.”  Losing focus, my vision moved past the white lump on the pale skin and went to the sponge-painted green walls.  Just pick a spot, find a random design and get lost for a few moments in the two-tone chaos.  I relaxed a bit and snapped back to reality.  “Walter… what are you doing?”

     “Isn’t it obvious?”  His eyes widened.  “I’m seeing how the crown fits.”

     “Yes, I see that.  So… why exactly did you break into my house and put on my crown?  I mean, couldn’t you just have called?  I would have let you wear it.”

     “Your crown?”  Walter was slowly gaining a maniacal look on his face.  “This isn’t your crown; This is my crown.”

Now, obviously Walter was a little delusional because in October of 2007 I won the title of Homecoming King.  Why else would the crown be in the very cellophane bag that now lay deflated in a lump of shiny plastic on my bed?  “Are… are you high?  You helped to make posters for the campaign, you voted for me!  Take a look at yourself, that is not your crown.”

     He turned back and slowly looked into the mirror analyzing what he saw.  Starting from the bottom, his eyes strayed up his torso and read the sash, “Homecoming King 2007.”  He looks straight into the mirror then rolls his sight back so that his sockets were mostly whites with small broken capillaries.  “Well, this sash certainly says that I’m the King and I am wearing the crown… so I guess it’s official.”  Another grin cracked across his face but not the same as earlier - no, this smile did not seek approval.  Walter believed in his mind that he was right and no one was going to tell him any differently.

     “Walter, get out of my house.” I had a full grasp on the candlestick and brought it in front of me.  He turned quickly and charged the meager nine feet to try for a tackle.  As he lowered his head the crown slipped off and exposed a prime target.  Bringing down the brass onto the other crown let an explosion of crimson fall to the floor.  Leaving the room I go to the kitchen to use the phone.

     “Mr. Kerin, it happened again.”

     BY: SAM WEINBLUM

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