The Man Who Would be the Real Indiana Jones

"You got your calculus mid-term back." I finally realized where Brian's comment was really coming from. He’d never be an IJ, I kept thinking. Poor Brian.

Brian sighed. I took that as an affirmative. Still, the guy kept his calm. He didn't move a muscle, didn't bat an eyelid.

"Don't beat yourself up about it." I told him. "It's over, right?"

"It's all Christine's fault." Brian sighed, all at once crushing the end of his cigarette into the dark glass ashtray. "I mean, didn't I spend plenty of time with her? What does she mean by walking out on me, and right before my mid-terms? Now what do I do with that stupid thing I got her for Valentine's?"

Oh no, not Christine, I groaned inwardly. We were not going to have another Christine discussion. IJ’s never got hung up on women, not for long, anyway!

"Who knows? Maybe she just has a thing for economists." I laughed, hoping to diffuse the negative energy swirling around Brian even thicker than the smoke.

"No loyalty at all. It kind of sucks, you know." Brian said evasively, and bitterly.

"What does?" I was almost afraid to ask him what he meant.

"That all the girls who are supposed to fall all over the IJ's of the world end up with future business majors and doctors and lawyers in real life."

I sighed. First of all, I didn't agree with him, and second of all--since when did Brian care about anybody this much? He was a habitual player; we both were, in all honesty. And I could count more girls that Brian had dumped in one quarter than the number of doughnuts your average cop eats in a month.

But I knew I was going to have to be diplomatic with Brian. I started racking my brains for something really intellectual to say, something really timely and useful, and maybe that was how I digressed just a little from my usual self. Something told me it was different with Brian this time, being dumped by a girl for a change. Maybe the atrocious weather had something to do with his bitter attitude, too. Everyone all over Chicago was in a homicidal mood. The temperature had not gotten above 0 degrees Fahrenheit in more than fifty days. Nothing could survive in that kind of cold for long.

"I think I loved her." Brian said quietly.

"You didn't." I said, perhaps too smugly.

"I didn't?" he threw back. "Explain that one to me, buddy." Brian just stared hard at me; there was no way of interpreting what he thought at that moment.

"What did you love about her, then?" I asked, sounding as blasé as Indiana Jones at his worst.

"I don't know. She was sweet... and strong and independent." Brian said with unusual sensitivity.

"Ha!" I laughed lightly. "You only thought she was."

"Hey-"

"Think about it," I said, blasé again. "She attached herself to you and complained that you didn't pay enough attention to her, then dumped you and didn't miss a stride before finding a guy with a large future earning potential."

"Yeah, but she was sweet--" Brian's façade of impermeability was beginning to disintegrate with alarming rapidity.

"So sweet she's probably wearing the lingerie you bought her to entertain John Masterson."

"Yeah, right after she said she loved me." Brian's tone had now grown indignant.

"Trust me, Brian, you're better off without her." I commiserated, with light-hearted IJ indifference. And then-