The New Guy

I wore monkey slippers. One little monkey face per foot. I wore monkey slippers at home, and by "at home" I mean that I wore monkey slippers in my apartment and on the porch and when I took out the trash and when I walked across the driveway to go to P or E's apartments. I wore monkey slippers to the pick up Chinese takeout or rent videos sometimes, too. I wore monkey slippers to go up the stairs and introduce myself to the new guy and invite him to the party a few of us in the apartment complex had planned for that night.

It's strange that I already thought of him as "the new guy" as I climbed the stairs to knock on his door. It wasn't really his door. He was subletting from the girl who normally stayed there. When Nora was about to leave for the summer, she made sure to let the rest of us know that she had found a renter for the summer.

"He's an archaeology student," she said. We were all standing in a circle in the driveway, sharing news from our days. We nodded and filed the information away. A few days later, he showed up in a tiny car. I watched from my perch in my bedroom window as he carried his few belongings around the side of the building. I could hear him on the stairs. I could hear him moving around in the apartment above me. I thought he'd be a lot quieter if he invested in some slippers.

That's all I knew of him when I padded up the stairs and knocked on his door. It took him a minute to cross the small apartment, and when he opened the door, he did so quickly, like he was going to take whatever was knocking by surprise.

"Hi, I'm your downstairs neighbor," I started. I stuck my head inside the door, which made him step back. I kept on chirping while he took a look at my monkey slippers.

"We're having a party out back tonight," I said as I stepped inside the apartment. I took a look around. Nothing in the apartment had changed except for the few items scattered across Nora's coffee table. Well, two items: a passport and a very large knife.

I stood next to those items in my monkey slippers and explained how much fun the party would be. "A lot of people from the English department will probably be here," I said. "And a bunch of folks from the campus radio station. We'll have a fire and a keg. You should come."

"Um, I'll think about it," he said. Then I remembered that it's polite to let the people who you're inviting to your party know what to call you.

"I'm M, by the way," I said. I waited for him to tell me his name, once he was finished scrutinizing me.

"S," he said, as way of introduction.

"Well, S," I wrapped up, "Hope to see you tonight. We'll be right out there," I said, gestured to the backyard, and then stepped toward the door. "Nice to meet you," I said.

He mumbled something along the lines of "You, too."

I wore my monkey slippers down the steps and across the driveway and up the steps of the other building. I opened P's door, and when I noticed he wasn't in the living room, walked over to knock on the door of the computer room. I heard the wheels of his office chair roll along the hardwood, and then he opened the door. He and K were watching something on the computer, but paused it to hear my quick story.

"So," I start. "I just met the new guy."

"Yeah?" P said.

"And I invited him to our party tonight," I said.

"Yeah?" K said.

"And I went inside the apartment," I said.

"Yeah?" P and K said in unison.

"Yeah," I said. "And the only thing he's got in there is a passport and a giant f'ing knife."

P looked back at his computer screen, completely disinterested in how other people may or may not decorate their apartments. But K's eyes grew wide. He looked at P and then he looked at me and then the shouted his realization.

"He's Indiana Jones!"

I wore regular, run of the mill flip flops to the party that night. I sat on the back step and drank cold beer and stopped what I was doing when I saw the new guy try to walk to his car without notice. He stayed in the shadow of my building, his building, and almost made it past my car to his own. I glanced over at K just as he noticed the new guy trying to get by us.

"Jones!" K yelled at him. The new guy kept walking toward his car.

"Indiana Jones!" K yelled again. The new guy looked over at K, who was waving his arm at him, signaling him to come on over. I saw the new guy glance up at me and then take a step toward K. He was hesitant, but he came over. He accepted K's offer of a cold beer. And he sat in our circle.

I don't think K knew his real name for weeks. That night, he told everyone at the party, "This is Jones!"