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She first meets him after their environmental science class. She’s putting her laptop back in its case, when he leans against her chair with a smile.
“Mendel,” he says, reaching out a hand. He’s wearing one of those knitted sweaters that she’s pretty sure stoners with dreadlocks appropriated from Jamaican culture. But he doesn’t have dreadlocks, so she figures he’s probably okay. Instead, he’s sporting a mess of dark, curly hair and a messenger bag is slung over his shoulder. He’s kind of cute, in a short, Jewish, pseudo-intellectual hipster kind of way. Which, she has to admit, seems to be her type. But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have the time or the energy for a relationship. She tried that her first two years here. He turned out to be a total asshole who could break her heart without batting an eye. He also turned out to be gay, but she almost considers that much a blessing. Gave them a reason to finally end it.
Trina takes Mendel’s hand and shakes it quickly, before returning to gathering her things.
“Trina,” she says.
“I know.”
Trina raises her eyebrow. “That’s… creepy.”
“No, no, I mean, I--” Mendel stutters. “I mean, I know because I sit right behind you. And we had English Comp together freshman year, too. And I sat behind you then as well. I didn’t like-- I mean we’ve gone to the same school for the past three years so-- I-- yeah, I know--”
Trina laughs. “Well, nice to officially meet you, Mendel.”
Mendel nods and grips the strap of his bag until his fists go white. “Do you, uh, do you have another class today or--”
“Pretty soon, actually. Just a few floors up.”
“Oh, cool! What is it?”
“Gender and Sexuality in US Politics,” Trina says. She nods towards the door and they start walking out together. “I’ve been wanting to take it since freshman year, but it never quite worked out.”
“Are you majoring in Poli Sci?”
“Journalism. You?”
“Psychology,” Mendel says. “But I’ve used most of my electives on environmental science or policy classes just… because.”
“Because you wanted to give yourself that much more work?”
Mendel laughs. “Yeah, maybe.” They reach the elevator, and Trina watches the number descend down to their floor. “Why are you taking that class? Can’t imagine it has much to do with a journalism degree.”
“Core requirements,” Trina shrugs. “Seemed more interesting than physics or chemistry or CS or whatever.”
There’s a ding as the elevator doors open, and they step inside. “You don’t have to walk me to class, you know,” Trina says.
“I know. I want to. Nothing better to do right now.”
“Okay.”
“Why journalism?” Mendel asks.
“I’ve always loved to write,” Trina says. “And, with journalism, your writing can really make a difference, you know? I mean, where would we be without journalists?”
Mendel grins at her. “That’s very noble.”
“Is it?” Trina asks. “My ex always thought it was naive. ‘Everybody wants to change the world. Few actually do shit.’”
“Your ex sounds like a jackass. No offense.”
“None taken. You’re right.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s naive,” Mendel says. “I think everyone inherently changes the world just by existing, and those who work to change it for the better are destined to make a noticeable impact on somebody. And even just one person is enough, honestly. If everyone thought the way your ex does, the world would be a damn shitty place.”
The elevator doors slide open and they step out into the hall. “I agree,” Trina says with a smile. “Is that why you chose psychology?”
Mendel nods. “I plan on being a psychiatrist. Smaller scale, but still making a difference.”
“And the environmental stuff?”
“Well, I’ll always be an advocate for the planet. But you can’t win an argument if you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Trina nods. “Fair point.” She stops in front of her classroom. People are beginning to filter in slowly. They’re still early, though, so she leans against the wall outside. “It’s been great talking to you, Mendel. Thanks for walking me here.”
“Of course!” Mendel says, his cheeks tinged with red. “I, uh, my pleasure. Great talking to you as well.”
“See you in class next week, yeah?” Trina asks.
“Or sooner maybe?” Mendel asks hopefully. “We could get a coffee or something?”
“Oh, Mendel, I’m not--”
“As friends, of course!” he blurts out. “Just, like, platonic coffee, you know?”
Trina suppresses a laugh. Clearly, he wants more than that, but he seems nice. And she enjoyed their conversation far more than she thought she would. So, she sighs. “Alright, a platonic coffee it is.”
“Tomorrow? At the cafe? Eleven?”
“Sounds great,” Trina smiles. “See you then.”
“Yeah!” Mendel says, just a little too loudly. “See you then!”
They start meeting for coffee nearly every day. When they have to work, they’ll sit in the little cafe and sip lattes while they study or write essays. If they have some free time, they’ll just sit and talk. Sometimes Mendel will take her to tiny concerts around the city to listen to artists that even he has never heard of. In return, Trina introduces him to the wonders of the experimental theatre productions that show in the little 50-seat theatres downtown. Needless to say, they see plenty of terrible acts, but every once in a while, they see something that neither of them can manage to stop talking about. They go to some of the seemingly endless array of marches, thinking up clever signs that Trina will make (because Mendel has the artistic talent of a toddler).
Mendel has an impressive record collection and a bookshelf full of books that he swears he’ll get to eventually. He plays guitar badly, as a way to destress, but has no delusions of musical talent. “I am destined to just appreciate what others can do with an instrument,” he’s told her. His wardrobe reminds her of a Brooklyn thrift shop, mostly consisting of “vintage” t-shirts and “ugly” sweaters. He wears ratty converse pretty much every day and keeps a stash of weed in his underwear drawer. He still wears his “Feel the Bern” t-shirt on a regular basis. He’s exactly as pretentious as he seems, but he’s also sweet and legitimately smart and passionate as hell. And Trina finds that he’s often the first person she wants to tell anything: good or bad, mundane or life-changing; he’s the first to know.
She feels comfortable around him. There’s no need for her to pretend to be someone else. There’s no need to pretend to be better than she is. There’s no need to put on a mask, like she does for every other part of her life. Around him, she’s able to just exist.
They’re sitting in the living room of Mendel’s on-campus apartment, listening to David Bowie on vinyl, while Mendel rambles on about his personal psychoanalysis of the worst people that world politics have ever offered. He’s smoking a pen next to the open window, which Trina has refused numerous times tonight.
“Obviously I’m not saying we should feel sorry for any of these assholes, or that we shouldn’t take them seriously,” Mendel says. “But, sometimes, it is good to remember that their psychology really boils down to that of a child throwing a tantrum. It’s narcissism and entitlement, combined with a feeling of rejection. You know, the classic straight, cis, white boy expecting everyone to love him as much as he loves himself. And then getting pissed when his cocky ass isn’t universally beloved.”
“Yep. Like frat boys,” Trina says, as she goes over her notes for their environmental science class. That was the reason she came over in the first place, but they often get sidetracked.
“Except frat boys who weren’t even accepted into a frat,” Mendel says. “I mean, Hitler’s best friend was a Jew until he got admitted into art school, while poor little Adolf was rejected. Rudolf Hoess’s only friend as a child was his horse--”
“Why can’t I seem to have a single conversation with you that doesn’t involve Nazis?” Trina asks.
“Sorry,” Mendel says. “Should I use Trump as an example instead?”
“Scott Pruitt maybe,” Trina suggests. “At least that has some relation to the work we’re supposed to be doing.”
“Ah, yes, the EPA director in the pockets of all the companies who hate the EPA,” he groans.
“Come on,” Trina laughs. “Let’s study.”
They’ve only been working for a few minutes before Mendel stands up again.
“You have the shortest attention span I’ve ever seen,” Trina says.
Mendel shakes his head. “I just… This shit makes me think, like, the planet is fucking poisoned, you know?”
“Um, yeah, I know,” Trina responds. “And, clearly, I care, but--”
“Right, but what I’m trying to say is…”
“What?”
Mendel looks around the room and takes another puff of his pen, before looking back at her. “I love you?”
Trina’s mouth falls open slightly, and she shuts her laptop. “Excuse me?”
Mendel’s face goes bright red, but he manages to keep talking. “It’s, like, the world is constantly at war and so many people are dying of malnourishment that could be prevented, and treatable diseases, and pointless wars. And not to mention the fact that the globe is getting warmer by deadly degrees, and-”
“And this is a really fucked up seduction,” Trina interjects.
“I know, just let me..” Mendel paces the living room a couple times, before sitting down next to her on the couch. “The planet? It’s pretty much broken beyond repair, but, what I’m trying to say here is that, through all of that, there must be something working because…. Because you exist and you’re sitting here next to me. And, look, I know Marvin was an asshole so you’re not doing relationships right now. I know that. Just like I know I’m a pretentious stoner and you’re… you. And I probably shouldn’t say anything at all, but I just can’t hold it in anymore.”
“Well, you definitely have some nerve, Mendel,” Trina says, looking at the ground. It’s not that she hasn’t thought about being with him. It crosses her mind a lot actually. But it took so long for her to recover from Marvin. And Mendel isn’t Marvin. Mendel is kinder and more attentive. But, when she met him, Marvin was kinder too. “But nerves is all I am. I can’t...”
“I know! I know all that,” Mendel insists. “It’s just that--Trina, look at me.” Trina does, but she makes a point to stare at his forehead. “Even when everything turns to dirt, even on the worst days, you and being with you, even just studying with you… it makes it all better. Sometimes, it’s the one thing in the world that doesn’t hurt.”
“I agree,” Trina admits, her voice catching a bit. “Yeah, I agree. But if it doesn’t work, it will hurt more than all the other shitty things in the world. And I’m not ready to go through that. Not again. Especially if it means I’ll lose my best friend in the process.”
“I can’t fix all the things that are fucked up,” he says quietly. “But the one thing I know is that you will not lose me. Even if we implode. You will never lose me.” He tentatively takes her hand then, and, for some reason, she lets him. “Trina, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. To make myself utterly perfect for you. And if you just want to stay friends, that’s fine, I’ll live, but I just had to--”
She cuts him off by pressing her lips to his. Because fuck if he didn’t just say all the right things. Mendel squeezes her hand and places the other on the back of her head, while she pulls him forward by the collar of the day’s sweater. It isn’t until she’s kissing him that she realizes exactly how badly she’s been longing to. And, for as long as her lips are on his, she can’t remember what the hell was holding her back for so long.
Eventually, they break away, each of them smiling like a dope.
“So, I take it that’s a yes? You’ll, uh, you’ll give this a shot?” Mendel asks.
“No, that was fully and completely platonic,” Trina says.
“Oh.” Mendel looks away from her.
Trina laughs. “Are you serious? Of course that was a yes, idiot.”
“Right! Sarcasm! I… yup.”
Trina shoves his arm and kisses him again, though more briefly this time. “Alright, with that all out of the way, can we finally go back to studying?” she asks.
Mendel smiles a wide, toothy smile and nods. “Of course. Whatever you want. Perfect for you, remember?”
Trina grins. “Perfect.”