Max made it for art class and it hung on our wall for two years back in Wales. It was a silent witness to the beautiful choreography of our room and the people in it. It was boys room (Max, Robin, Mohammed and I) and naturally, a colourful rotation of girls. They flew in and out. Some staying for longer some not. The teacher's would be around of course, checking in on us at ten thirty every night. But some point it was a welcome reprieve, like a the drawing out of the ocean before the next wave.
And everyone was in step. Just minutes before a teacher would come in, the girls would dissolve into other parts of the house and as soon as the teachers left they were back, they might as well have just stepped into their shadows how close the timing was.
Max was the center of it all. He was older than the rest of us - nineteen when he started. He was unfairly handsome too, strong jawline, muscular body. Some people just get lucky with the genetic lottery. I think the girls that came to worship him wanted some of that luck as well.
Lina and I woke up one morning and after a good ten minutes of talking I noticed some movement from the other side of the room. I pop my head over her shoulder like a soldier in a trench and I see a girl sitting completely topless on Max going up and down. Bobbing on a sea of abs.
I lower my head and tell Lina what I saw. Her eyes look like they're going to explode out of her head. I pop my head up again and look at Robin - he's asleep hugging a bucket and then at Mohammed. I have to crane my neck a bit but I see him in a foetal position with his eyes wide open. I think he was praying to himself. I don't think he was facing mecca though so I don't think it counted.
The girl appears satisfied and I think she goes to the shower. She walked right out of there topless like she lived here. Lina asks me if she can turn around. I nod and we both look at Max. He's asleep now, spread like a starfish, a snoring starfish.