Free In The Garden Of The North American Martyrs by Tobias Wolff

anything about her though, not even her last name. We finally abandoned what promise Tina held of suggesting an essay.
    What eventually happened was that I got up at four-thirty next morning and invented a fictional interesting person for Talbot. This person’s name was Miles and he was supposed to have been one of Talbot’s uncles.
    I gave the essay to Talbot outside the dining hall. He read it without expression. “I don’t have any Uncle Miles,” he said. “I don’t have any uncles at all. Just aunts.”
    â€œParker doesn’t know that.”
    â€œBut it was supposed to be about someone interesting.” He was frowning at the essay. “I don’t see what’s so interesting about this guy.”
    â€œIf you don’t want to use it I will.”
    â€œThat’s okay. I’ll use it.”
    I wrote three more essays for Talbot in the following weeks: “Who Is Worse—Macbeth or Lady Macbeth?”; “Is There a God?”; and “Describe a Fountain Pen to a Person Who Has Never Seen One.” Mr. Parker read the last essay aloud to Talbot’s class as an example of clear expository writing and put a note on the back of the essay saying how pleased he was to see Talbot getting down to work.
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    In late February the dean put a notice on the bulletin board: those students who wished to room together the following year had to submit their names to him by Friday. There was no time to waste. I went immediately to Talbot’s dorm.
    Eugene was alone in the room, stuffing dirty clothes into a canvas bag. He came toward me, winking and grinning and snorting. “Hey there, buddy, how they hangin’? Side-by-side for comfort or back-to-back for speed?”
    We had sat across from each other at breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day now for three weeks, and each time we met he behaved as if we were brothers torn by Arabs from each other’s arms and just now reunited after twenty years.
    â€œWhere’s Talbot?” I asked.
    â€œHe had a phone call. Be back pretty soon.”
    â€œAren’t you supposed to be at swimming practice?”
    â€œNot today.” He smirked mysteriously.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI broke the conference butterfly record yesterday. Against Kent.”
    â€œThat’s great. Congratulations.”
    â€œAnd butterfly isn’t even my best stroke. Hey, good thing you came over. I was just about to go see you.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œI was wondering who you were planning on rooming with next year.”
    â€œOh, well, you know, I sort of promised this other guy.”
    Eugene nodded, still smiling. “Fair enough. I already had someone ask me. I just thought I’d check with you first. Since we didn’t have a chance to room together this year.” He stood and resumed stuffing the pile of clothes in his bag. “Is it three o’clock yet?”
    â€œQuarter to.”
    â€œI guess I better get these duds over to the cleaners before they close. See you later, buddy.”
    Talbot came back to the room a few minutes afterwards. “Where’s Eugene?”
    â€œHe was taking some clothes to the cleaners.”
    â€œOh.” Talbot drew a cigarette from the pack he kept hidden under the washstand and lit it. “Here,” he said, passing it to me.
    â€œJust a drag.” I puffed at it and handed it back. I decided to come to the point. “Who are you rooming with next year?”
    â€œEugene.”
    â€œ Eugene ?”
    â€œHe has to check with somebody else first but he thinks it’ll be all right.” Talbot picked up his squash racket and hefted it. “How about you?”
    â€œI don’t know. I kind of like rooming alone.”
    â€œMore privacy,” said Talbot, swinging the racket in a broad backhand.
    â€œThat’s right. More privacy.”
    â€œMaybe that South American guy will come back.”
    â€œI doubt