fenno

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Fenno was freezing. Where was everyone else at? Fenno had been camped out in front of the groundhog exhibit since 8 pm the night before. She’d had so much gin and tonic, not only would Garry Grundy have been proud, but Fenno had passed out before anyone else had arrived. Now it was almost noon and the sun was almost up, but no one else was around. Had Fenno missed the big moment?

“Damn! I must have overslept,” Fenno thought to herself. With a big sigh and the flipping up of her hood, Fenno began to pack her things up. Just as Fenno finished, Jason Gillum walked up. “Hey, Jason,” Fenno said with an excited wave. Maybe she hadn’t missed the big moment.

“Helloooo, Fennoooo,” Gillum said with a quick flash of his teeth. Fenno wasn’t sure it was a smile or a grimace. Sometimes Fenno wasn’t sure that Gillum was all too happy to see her, her and just about everyone else on Earth. “What are yoooou doing here?”

“I just came out here to see whether or not there are going to be 6 more weeks of winter. You know, Groundhog’s Day?”

Gillum flashed his teeth again, “Fenno, Groundhog’s Day was February 2nd. Today is February 16th. You’re two weeks too late. Hee-hee. Get it? Two weeks too late? That’s a pun. But seriously, since 1887 members of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club of western Pennsylvania…”

“February 16th?” Fenno asked, more to herself than to Gillum. “February 16th? How could I have lost two weeks of my life?”

Gillum continued to rattle off facts about Groundhog’s Day, “February 2nd is halfway between a solstice and an equinox. The English have a saying, ‘Half your wood, half your hay, you should have on Candlemas Day. Hee-hee. Candlemas Day is…”

Fenno knew he’d be no help. Gillum could go on like this forever. Fenno almost asked him what he was doing at the zoo, but she thought better. Grabbing her things, she wandered off home to find out were the last few weeks of her life had gone.

Fenno took the T home and searched around her room for her journal. The last entry was January 24th. Fenno remembered that day. Mere hours after running to hand in her winter term paper for Food & Drug law, Fenno had boarded a plane to Jamaica. Fenno definitely remembered that day. She’d run into Pammy P. screaming at Gordon Wittick in the middle of the Hark. Pammy was shaking her head and shouting something along the lines, “A woman’s body is her body and no man has a right to violate her! Not her date, not her dentists, not even the fucking, fascist President!”

Wittick, tall as he is, looked frightened and seemed to be shaking. However, somehow he summoned the courage to attempt to stand his ground, “Pammy, all I said was that I thought it was a smooth move. Some women may not have felt threatened. Some women may have just needed an excuse to go up to his room. The women I know from Rice would never initiate sex. Modest women want to be led to the trough, there they drink on their own.”

“Are you insane? I don’t know why they keep letting Texans into this place. You’re nuts and a woman hater. Right, Fenno?” Pammy was still screaming, and Fenno jumped in surprise. She’d tried to sneak by the commotion without becoming entwined. Fenno didn’t have time to argue the law, especially not with Pammy P. You could never get the last word with her and these kinds of conversations were always a no win for people like Fenno who just didn’t care either way.

“Hi, Pammy” Fenno stammered pretending not to have overheard their discussion. Maybe if she kept moving, they would see she was busy and leave her out of their mess.

Pammy grabbed Fenno by the arm. “Gordon says, that the creep in the Rusk case who stole his date’s keys and lured her into his apartment was just ‘smooth,’ and the stealing of the keys was a ‘smooth move’.” Pammy, like every good lawyer, used her fingers to shape quotation marks as she spoke. God forbid she take credit for someone else’s words. That would clearly be plagiarism. “The loser in that case had reached over from the passenger seat of the car, turned off the ignition, and removed the keys. The woman was then forced to follow him to his apartment. And anyone who would say that that was smooth is a misogynist and should be banned from speaking in class. So I started a petition asking Dean Kagan to bar him from speaking. Will you sign my pettition, Fenno?” she asked, shoving a sheet with two signatures in Fenno’s face. As she spoke, she’d gradually tightened her grip on Fenno’s arm. Fenno shook her off.

Oddly enough, Fenno remembered the Rusk case from Crim. Law, and she knew that saying anything would only delay her getting to the airport. Fenno looked at the list and saw that Pammy’s signature was first, and Clinton Dick’s signature, the only other signature, had been signed in pencil and was already beginning to smudge. That Clinton Dick was a genius! Fenno took out a pencil and scribbled “Alphabet Soup” in her sloppiest cursive. The signature wouldn’t be there much longer if Fenno was lucky, but Fenno wasn’t about to be associated with Pammy’s madness. Smiling tentatively, Fenno handed the make-shift petition back to Pammy–she didn’t want to incur her wrath and Fenno’s arm was already throbbing. Fenno hustled out the doors of the Hark, which some lazy able-bodied student had left open by using the handicapped button.From the Hark, Fenno ran to the subway station. Two hours meant two hours, and Fenno didn’t want to get to the airport any later than 7pm for her 9pm flight. It was already 6:15.

“Hey, Fenno. Want to go shoot some hoops?” It was Jeff St. John. He was tossing a basketball back and forth with Ryan Copus and Jerome Anderson. Anderson had on a headband that made him look like some old time professional basketball player whose name Fenno would never have been able to think of.

“Funny, Guys. Funny,” Fenno panted as she rushed on. Anyone who knew Fenno, knew she couldn’t walk and chew gum, let alone play basketball.

Fenno darted down the stairs at the T station. As Fenno fumbled to find a subway token in her backpack, she felt someone tap her from behind.

“Hi Fenno.”

At a glance, Fenno would have sworn it was Justin Guarini from American Idol. But after a better look, she could tell it was Stuart Young. “Hi, Stuart,” Fenno continued to dig for a token as Young passed on without offering any help. It was just as well. Fenno didn’t really know him anyway. “Finally,” Fenno thought pulling a token out of her bag. She dropped it into the slot and hurried on. She could hear the train and totally disregarded MBTA instruction not to run. “Contributory negligence, contributory negligence,” echoed in Fenno’s head as she slid on the icy platform before hopping onto the T.

After arriving at the airport two and a half hours early, Fenno began reading for the Spring semester. She didn’t want any kind of work hanging over her vacation. Fenno read during the flight as well, and was a little out of it when she stepped into the Jamaican taxi.

“Where will it be?” the driver said with an Italian accent.

“Golden Eye, please,” Fenno had responded drifting off to sleep. When Fenno awoke, she was not at the hotel, but the driver had pulled over in front of a small bonfire.

Pleasant smelling smoke billowed around the car. Fenno knew that smell. She’d lived in Gropius her 1L year. The driver stepped out, and opened the door. Confused and groggy, Fenno had stepped out of the car. Turning to ask the driver who he was and where she was, Fenno saw that it was Geoff McGovern. McGovern was sporting a dark Fu Manchu and a black suit. He was holding a cane with a large diamond mounted on the top.

Fenno recalled stepping out of the taxi and feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, but nothing else after that. Fenno didn’t even remember the flight home or how she’d gotten’ home. “Wow,” Fenno thought. “I must have had one hell of a good time in Jamaica.” In fact, Fenno didn’t remember anything about the last few weeks, except fo
r being at the Inn the night before. Where could you drink your own body weight in gin and not get kicked out before passing out on a sticky leather couch with your skirt over your head? Fenno thought she’d head back to the Inn. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday was the start of most 3L’s weekends. Fenno was beginning to see the light at the end of the Harvard Law School tunnel, and it was good.

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