I was shocked. I thought he would have at least come up with a more creative term, maybe one directly from the nineteenth century like the majority of his words.

“You don’t mean that, Tristan.” I could barely hear Melvin’s voice trying to console the frazzled and angry Tristan Lincoln. “She was sleepwalking. Really. I must say, I am surprised at your uncouth tongue, though.”

“Sleepwalking my ass. She’s lucky she’s got a plane to catch.” He composed himself and returned to his old-fashioned rhetoric. “And please remove yourself from your position on my abdomen. Although not corpulent, you are heavy and I cannot breathe well with you sitting on me.”

I stopped at the top of the stairs, eager to hear the rest of the conversation. I was curious as to what kinds of threats Tristan could come up with, but Melvin succeeded in calming him, so I skipped the rest of the way to my room.

Thirty minutes later, Melvin and I waved goodbye to our taxi driver at the airport and pulled our mini-suitcases behind us to the baggage check. The plane ride was uneventful other than the turbulence that made me rise from my seat a couple inches, and the mechanic who hit on me in his bouncing Southern drawl, and the drawing pen that leaked in my pocket, and the flight attendant who confiscated my tweezers. Dangerous weapon, I was told, which made me think of all the sinister ways in which I could use the tweezers. I can be pretty sinister if I want to be.

Three days later, Melvin and I waved goodbye to the taxi driver and pulled our mini-suitcases behind us to our rooms. Mine lost a wheel going up the stairs, of course. I dug through my purse for the keys to open my bedroom door.

“Where the hell did my keys go” I muttered. “I thought I brought them along.”

“Looking for these?” My door opened and the lousy, lanky Tristan stood on the other side of it, jingling my keys in his hand, just out of my reach. I hated his height. In his other hand he held a piece of paper with “Proclamation of Justice to be Served” written at the top in large, bold calligraphy. I snatched it from his hand and marched past him, “accidentally” ramming my suitcase into his knee. He deserved it for sneaking into my room.

I hopped onto my bed to examine the document. Underneath the title were the following words, written in the same calligraphic hand: “We the inhabitants of the Disunited House of Trauma, in order to form a more perfect home, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves, do ordain and establish this Constitution. We hold firmly to our ideals of Life, Liberty, the Pursuit of Happiness, and the right of Nights passed in Undisturbed Sleep. We hold these truths to be self-evident: that however odd, we are all equal (to an extent) and attempt to be productive citizens in society; that when one such citizen of our home behaves in such a way as to impeach upon the Higher yet Unnamed Power-given rights of a fellow housemate, he or she should be punished in a manner worthy of his or her crime. Let it not be said that perpetrators of violence and/or malicious mischief escape unpunished or unrepentant.”

I threw down the paper before reading any further. “This is your doing, I presume?” My words were icicles pointed straight into Tristan’s eyes.

“You would accuse me? Such malice, such spite I hear in your voice. You really must look into those anger management classes, my dear. They have done wonders for Adrian, and you may not be beyond all hope.”

“Oh just shut up." I punctuated each sharpened icicle. "What were you doing in my room, anyway?”

“Waiting for you to come home, of course. I couldn’t bear the days I didn’t hear your obnoxious sarcasm, so I slept in your bed, used your toothbrush – which I can’t believe you didn’t bring with you – and looked through your sketchbook. Oh yes, and I also officiated the meeting wherein we decided your punishment.”

This was not happening. I slapped my leg. It hurt. Damn. I wasn’t dreaming.

“Now, if you would just skip through the introduction, there, you would see where I penned the punishment we unanimously voted to bestow so graciously upon you.” He bent down and picked up the paper. His knees cracked when he stood up and sat next to me on my bed. I scooted over to the edge until I almost fell off it. He leaned closer to me, holding the paper in front of my face.

“I’m not nearsighted, Tristan. Get that out of my face.” I grabbed it from his claws. Well, OK, they’re not claws, but they might as well be.

“…laws…refused to obey…tied up…” I mumbled random words on the page until I got to the part where Tristan held his grubby pointer finger. “You want me to read this outloud, don’t you.”

“Oh, please do, I want to see if your reading skills are still lacking or if you’ve managed to improve them in some way with all those doodling classes you’re taking.”

I ignored the bait, but seethed inside. He would die. Soon. And I had bought another pair of tweezers. So I read aloud his old-fashioned handwriting.