Vince was undoubtedly odd, as Catherine thought about the past, but she had much sympathy for him, then everything got misunderstood. She was never sure how to handle it after that. How to handle him. No one really noticed Vince until that one night at that one party little over a year ago. They all lived on the same floor in that sanitarium of a freshman dormitory called Harden Hall. Almost everyone in sight got stoned or drunk on beer, wine, liquor, then came the news that spread like cheap gossip does in the undergraduate library study hall.
“What?!” “Yeah, Vince said he’s got only a few months to live.” “Nah, he was just blasted off his gourd.” “I don’t believe it. How in the hell did he get in if he’s got some terminal illness? You have to get a physical when you apply.” “I don’t know but that’s what he said.” “No, he said that he’d just heard about it from his doctor.” “Bullshit!” “Gedatta here!” “He was just drunk, that lying son of a bitch.”
After that Vince was permanently labeled. A good number of people who lived on the floor thought that he was a quiet, brooding type or was a pathological liar of some sort. One Saturday night, a few weeks into the first semester, Vince just sat in the hallway gulping down an entire case of Bud tallboys, one after another. They just watched him or ignored him completely, going about their usual weekend business, but there lingered a hidden consensus that Vince needed some serious professional therapy, since very few wanted any personal involvement.
Then there was Catherine who felt compelled to help his troubled soul and volunteered herself for counseling him. In doing so she came to know her current boyfriend, Steve--white, blond, athletic and aiming for Wall Street. Steve was Vince’s roommate then. He felt sorry for Vince but thought that he needed professional help, instead of the attention his soon-to-be girlfriend was giving. After both of them dated each other exclusively, his disagreement became disapproval to the point of jealousy.
“Do you really think that you’re doing any good?” Steve asked.
“I’m just trying to help him. What’s wrong with that?” Catherine retorted.
“You’re not a psychiatrist, not yet anyway. Just ’cause that’s your career goal, doesn’t mean you should take this upon yourself. Besides I don’t think you’re doing this out of some altruistic motives.”
“Jesus, I was hoping that it wasn’t true, but you’re jealous of him getting my attention. You men are such babies. All right then, let’s hear your analysis of my motivations, doctor,” Catherine said deflecting his pointed remarks.
“You’re helping him for yourself, Cat, to make yourself feel better. Don’t even try and tell me that you don’t feel some satisfaction in knowing that he needs you or that people see you as this wonderful, caring, empathetic soul. People do not act for the pure good of helping another person, unless there is something in return. Come on, Cat. Humility and modesty are quite overrated,” Steve flashed his green eyes directly into hers, “You know that I am right.”
Catherine did not like being wrong at all, no matter how trivial. She tried hard not to sound defeated in her voice, “You obviously don’t understand at all. Sure, I admit feeling good about helping people. So what? You gonna hold that against me? You’re accusing me of some sort of self-gratification?” She knew, however, that he was partly right and looked away from his eyes, but she could feel his gaze upon her. She lowered her head letting her dark brown hair obscure her eyes.
Steve stroked back her hair with his right hand and touched her cheek. “I care for you, Cat. I want us to have more time together. If that’s being jealous, so be it.”
She couldn't be certain whether he was being sweet or condescending. The whole argument wreaked of selfishness and guilt. Nevertheless, Catherine liked that about Steve who could be as tough as her when it came to taking a stand. She respected and admired that about him. She began to spend less time with Vince and more with Steve, but there was no need to feel guilty about it. After all, who could fault her for being with the guy who cared for her, maybe even loved her?
As she got closer to her dorm and away from the cafeteria rumor mill, she told herself, I couldn't have helped him, no matter what. And he couldn’t have helped me, either.
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