Jake and Wilbur lived in the same dorm, on the same floor as me, my sophomore year of college. I'll cut to the chase and tell you right now, they were real sickos. I may not be speaking the truth in love but I promise you this, I am speaking the truth.
Some folks thought they were brothers because they both had buzz cuts the color of straw. Jake was taller though, his eyes the color of blue copier paper. Wilbur 's face had known acne and his eyes were the color of a puddle.
When Jake and Wilbur were bored and/or drunk, they'd drive around Morgantown, looking for roadkills. They kept a coathanger in their car at all times. Whenever they saw a roadkill they'd pull over and get out of the car with the coathanger and a camera. Wilbur would lift the roadkill as best he could, using the coathanger, and Jake would get a picture. There was a corkboard on the door of their room and it was covered with roadkill candid camera shots.
It was for this reason I renamed Jake and Wilbur. I called Jake Warped and Wilbur Twisted. The names stuck. Pretty soon, everyone in our dorm was calling them Warped and Twisted.
One day, Warped and Twisted turned their attention to me. I don't know what got into them. Not sure if they did what they did because they liked me, or because they didn't.
It was almost dark. Seems like most bad stuff happens when it's dark or pert near. I walked off the elevator and into the common area and there they were, waiting for me. They were not in their usual attire--jeans and flannel shirts. That day they were both dressed in camouflage gear, like they were going hunting or something. They had a weird look in their eyes, like the zombie dancers in Michael Jackson's Thriller video.
Without speaking, they positioned themselves on either side of me. They each grabbed one of my arms, firmly but not gently. They led me over to, then down on, a chair they'd placed nearby. Using electrical tape, they secured me to the chair.
Next they sprayed me in the face with whipped cream. When I opened my eyes I could see little white puffs on my eyelashes. Then they shook bottles of beer and opened them, using their teeth, a favorite party trick of theirs. As soon as the beer started spraying out, they pointed the bottles at me and doused me from head to toe. I felt my flesh pop out in goosebumps as the cold beer soaked into my clothes.
I decided early on that stillness was my best strategy. I didn't think I was in danger, per se. My guess was they just wanted to do a real good job of humiliating me. If I whooped and hollered for help, it would attract a crowd which was probably what they wanted and definitely not what I wanted.
Warped knelt down and fished a string of Christmas lights out from under the sofa. Twisted laughed but to me it sounded like a donkey choking. Warped walked around me, wrapping me in the Christmas lights. I looked at my knees.
Warped and Twisted then pushed me across the floor of the common room. I kept waiting for the chair to hit a crack in the floor or a snag in the carpet. I envisioned the chair falling forward. There would be a loud thunk as my head encountered the floor. Surely my nose would break and blood would spray everywhere.
Warped and Twisted continued inching me in the direction of their goal. I looked from under my whipped cream lashes and saw they were heading towards an electrical outlet. My broken nose concern was replaced by the possibility that fluids and electricity might kill me. Snap! Crackle! Pop! Smells like chicken!
They plugged me in and I waited. Twinkle, twinkle! Sparkle, sparkle! I picked a spot on the ceiling and stared at it. Would my death be fast or slow? It was neither. Something, God's hand maybe, spared me.
Warped and Twisted weren't finished yet. They pushed me back across the common room and onto the elevator. My broken nose fear returned with each jerk of the chair. The guys leaned down and in and grabbed the underside of the chair seat. I could smell beer and chili dogs with raw onions on their breath. I held mine and shut my eyes tight. I will not cry. I will not cry.
"Uh, uh, uh," came out of Warped. On the third 'uh,' they lifted me up and into the elevator. They held me for a minute, a foot off the floor, then dropped me. My teeth made a snapping sound.
Twisted kept his finger on the open door button. Warped produced the roadkill coat hanger from his back pocket and handed it to Twisted. He stepped backwards off the elevator and reached into the cargo pocket of his pants for his camera.
"Lift her up," Warped said. Twisted hooked the hanger into a beltloop of my Levis. He pulled up, using both his hands. The waistband of my jeans cut into my belly.
"Smile," Warped said. He grinned, showing big yellow teeth. I turned my head as far as I could to the right. Flash! I blinked several times, trying to get rid of the spots on my eyes.
Warped and Twisted started laughing--a choking donkey and a goose on coke. The guys pointed at the floor under my chair.
"Looks like she wet herself," Warped said.
I wondered if I had, then realized it was beer dripping off me.
Warped stepped back on the elevator. He leaned across me and hit all the buttons--G-9. We rode up, the door opening at each floor, people staring, and we rode down, the door opening at each floor, people staring. Then we did it again.
The whole whipped cream, beer, Christmas light, elevator nightmare made me appreciate Jesus because like him, I was abused, mocked, stared at and not rescued. People looked away so they wouldn't have to be responsible. Some even laughed. And me, I remained silent. Lamb led to slaughter, no sound does it make, silent.