Renold's Dilemma

         The room was dark - lit only dimly by the humming, blue computer screen that sat awake on the desk. Words and numbers danced across its face as it tried desperately to speak to the world in front of it; to communicate the urgency of the situation to those who had the capability to act. The screen flashed and clicked subtly as the electricity flowed through it, and the computer stayed silent, unable to make a difference. Sliding gently out from behind the monitor rested a cord that was attached to a keyboard, and attached to that was a hand. The hand was attached to a man. A sleeping man. The hand that was attached to him lay limp across the keys, stiff and overworked from excessive typing. His face pressed uncomfortably against the desk, he snored quietly, as if even the exertion of the sound was causing more exhaustion to his tired body. A dull, worn out lab coat was draped lifelessly around his shoulders and fell onto his chair, which stood amidst mounds of potato chip bags and napkins and garbage. The rest of the room reflected this same state - magazines overturned and folded messily around couch cushions, papers with jagged scribblings swarming every flat surface, and clothing tossed in every direction. The room was small, which of course is what made the mess larger. Everything was in a state of chaos, yet still and calm - unmoving and unchanged in the darkness of the small dormitory. Almost as if time had frozen this moment, and was waiting for just the right execution of events to send Renold whirling into a brand new way of life.

Renold's dreams were strange and tousled, like bits and pieces of various commercials, all with him as the lead.
"Sir, try this new moisturizer! It's what you've been waiting for!" "Mister, have you purchased our new hair-growth formula? It will change your life!"
The backdrops of his dreams were white, sterilized, gleaming with perfection and falsity. He lifted his hand in a slight waving motion, and his eyebrows curved upwards towards his forehead, as he sold products to the citizens of his imagination. Still his computer buzzed on.
"Excuse me madam, would you like a free sample?" "Yes, this one is top of the line!"

The computer whirred all-too quietly as its screens reflection bounced off of Renold's fingertips.

It wished it could get the message to him. It wished it could send it down the cords and into the keyboard and through the keys into Renold's fingertips, causing him to absorb the information and remove himself from his repose. Such a small message, really - nothing that would take a book or a speech to get across. Just a simple message. Its importance was unrelated to its size, however, and this is what sent waves through the computer, waves of unease and urgency. It had seen him set the alarm across the room, the alarm that now sat motionless, frozen, as if taunting them both with it's inactivity. It knew that the time Renold had set it for was about to pass, and that it should be ready to go off at any moment.

Renold had begun to dream a new dream, though one of the same theme, where he found himself standing in a pristine new lab coat, with fancy looking pens tucked into the front pocket and new shiny shoes, (which he wore very well, he noted). He stood confidently and calmly in the middle of another white chamber, and held delicately in his hands a small box of perfume. As he leaned forward ever so invitingly, he waited with a deep patience that can only come from contentment, (which must have itself come from the satisfaction of holding with him an exceptionally good product), for some lucky lady to trust him and purchase a bottle. The box glimmered very subtly as a few women walked past, their heels clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor of the chamber. Each one would glance politely in Renold's direction, a few would even stop for a moment to take a closer look at what he was selling, but none were interested in buying the box. He began to grow tired; not from standing or leaning, or even from the fact that no one had made a purchase, but instead he grew weary from thinking. He thought continuously about the product he held in his hands, about the women passing by and how they must at least be curious about it. He thought about how and why people sell things, how and why in fact they make them, and he began to question the point altogether.

"It is a vicious cycle," he thought to himself, "and these women all know that is all I am selling."

He was about to put the box gently on the floor and turn around, when suddenly he saw Kim. Kim was the girl that he had met at registration last year, the girl that sat in front of him in his general science class, the girl who always laughed at just the right moment, the girl who always smelt of strawberries. She walked gracefully yet purposefully towards him, as if on a mission of some kind, and grinned as she reached him. Her eyes held his gaze and she said to him, "I believe that belongs to me."

Now the computer was getting desperate; there must have been some way to get Renold's attention - some way to shake him from his slumber and catapult him back into his life, back where time mattered and deadlines had to be met. The monitor blinked dully as it watched the numbers flicker across the face of the alarm clock. Away they sped, as quickly as they had come, and just as they did the silence in the room remained. Minutes continued to pass and the clock sat smugly across the room, as if grinning with triumph at the computer on the desk. The computer whirred as it pondered the amount of time Renold spent studying. It replayed the sleepless nights and hurried mornings of the life of this dedicated, (if somewhat misguided), young genius. If only things could have been easy for him - if only his assignments took minutes instead of hours, if only the girl of his dream perceived him as the boy of hers, if only time would stand still while he slept, if only the alarm had gone off at its designated time.

"I…I'm sorry?" Renold brushed his forehead with his finger tips, casually hiding a bead of sweat that trickled down from under his hairline. "B-belongs to you? I assure you I-I've stolen nothing…" Kim laughed, as always, perfectly and calmly and she tilted her head to the side, causing her soft red hair to tumble over her shoulder. "What I mean is," she said, "I want to buy it from you. It's perfect for me!" Renold was taken aback - His product? Perfect for her? Had she not seen the same product that all the others had passed so effortlessly by? He reached the box gingerly toward her and spoke in his strongest, kindest voice. "Oh, then for you, on the h-house.." Kim stepped forward and wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders. As she pressed her head into his neck, the subtle fragrance of strawberries wafted up toward his nostrils…

*CRASH!*

         His head snapped upwards before his eyes had the chance to open, and Renold reluctantly but quickly forced himself to wake up from his dreams and assess the situation. Where had that noise come from? Had something fallen? Was someone at the door? He stood shakily from his desk chair, holding the back rest with one hand and supporting himself against the desk with the other. He looked down as he rose, and stopped - something was missing. As his brain acknowledged the reality around it, he knew immediately that it was his computer that was missing, and found it sequentially lying on the floor, its cords stretched tensely and its keyboard dropped stiffly alongside of it. "Shoot!" he whispered, as he reached down to pick up the mess of machinery from the aged shag carpet. Just as he was about to vault the heavy, old monitor back onto it's dust-free spot atop the desk, he heard a knocking at his door.
"Yep, hang on." he murmured as he gently released the screen where it was, prioritizing its rescue next in his mind, and turned toward the door.
Instantly he saw the red glowing face of his alarm clock - it's message clear and mocking - he was late. It hadn't gone off! As he hopped carefully over the chaos on his dorm room floor, he snatched up his book bag and took it to the entrance with him, completely forgetting the mystery knocker waiting on the other side. As he opened the door, his nerves switched gears and his face relaxed into shock. There she was, in the flesh and not in his dream - her sweet perfume emanating from her red hair and reminding him of her imagined embrace.

"Hey, Renold - I, um…I was wondering if you could walk me to my next class? I have something I want to talk to you about and…Well, actually I'm surprised that you're in - I thought for sure you would have had a class at this time!"

         Renold and Kim chattered cheerfully as they left, the door closing behind him as he pulled seamlessly on the handle. The computer could hear their muffled conversation disappear as they moved slowly down the hallway. It lay in silence, now, its cords and pieces a tangled mess on the ground. The flashing across its screen was more laboured now, with bigger flicks of light than before, but it knew that soon enough it would be lifted back to its place, and perhaps even set to sleep mode for a little while. As the machine quietly pondered the possibility of a new scenario for Renold's life, it glanced curiously in the direction of the clock. There it sat, the digital lines projecting the same message, time moving at the same pace - as if nothing had ever happened and nothing had ever supposed to have happened. The computer wondered, at that moment, if perhaps it had misjudged the alarm clock after all.