#3

I hadn't gone ten steps into the Union before Bat spotted me, and we made eye contact. I gave him a nod, he returned it, and we made our way towards each other while wading through the teeming masses of fellow students that were on their way to and from classes.

Bat's a good friend, not my best friend, but a good one still. His eyes looked a bit weary, poking out from under his blue "BASS Pro Shops" hat and his step was off; his boots kept walking but they seemed out of alignment, like he'd strained a few muscles in very recent history.

His girlfriend, Katie, was not there, as usual. Bat and Katie are a strange couple. I've known both of them for about a year now, and they have both acknowledged their relationship as a serious one, but I have never seen them together. Not once.

He was smiling. Not the giant "hello" one, mind you, that he normally beamed, but rather a diminished form that, when coupled with the softness in his eyes, poured out a powerful, sappy apology.

It was a good start. Bat was supposed to meet me the night before for a few beers in Aggieville, but didn't show. I wound up sitting alone in a bar for an hour, looking rather pathetic with my glass of Budweiser while happy couples, frat brothers, and the help gawked at me with pity, thinking some girl had tricked me into waiting for her there.

The waitress lost all chance of a tip when she reassured me there was "plenty of other fish in the sea."

We walked next to one another for a good twenty feet and were taking a seat in the food court before he said it.

"Hey, Alex, I'm sorry I didn't show last night," he said. "Katie and I were down at the lake in Council Grove yesterday and I got a flat. You know how that flint is."

Ah, yes, flint. I'm afraid this is going to require back-to-back lessons in Geography and Geology.

Think of the state of Kansas. If that's too hard or boring for you, think of a rectangle that is almost twice as wide as it is tall with the upper right hand corner nicked off.

Now, imagine a lopsided kite that's between the middle of the state and the eastern border and almost as tall as the whole thing, stopping just short of the northern border and reaching across the southern one into Oklahoma. This is the approximate shape of the area covered by the Flint Hills, and Manhattan is near the eastern corner of it.

The area is characterized by the presence of a very special rock called flint and the large, rolling hills that defy the stereotype of "flat Kansas." If you haven't realized why they call it the "Flint Hills" yet, well, there's no hope for you.

I learned during my semester of Geology lab that there is no scientific explanation available for the presence of flint, or chert as many uptight, self-righteous geologists call it, in the Flint Hills. Flint is made of silica, a volcanic mineral, but Kansas rock is mostly limestone, a sedimentary rock made up of dead sea creatures.

Or at least that's what the GTA said. You should never totally trust someone who gets paid that little.

Thus, there should be no flint in Kansas. Countless tires should not be falling apart every year because they should not be getting sliced to pieces by the sharp stuff, and countless tire shop owners should not be raking in barrels of cash from the sales of new tires that should not be replacing old ones.

But things still fell to the ground before Newton discovered gravity; the lack of a scientific explanation doesn't change reality. I thought this might mean we didn't really need scientists, but before I went too deep into that thought I realized Bat was still talking.

"... and we were pulling back onto the highway to come back to Manhattan and meet you when it went," he said, trying to assuage my anger. "The tire didn't even stay in one piece, it just flew apart before we could stop."

I inquired about the extra tire most cars carry in case this happens, and both his and Katie's cell phones, which I'd tried to reach on several occasions.

"As luck would have it, the spare was flat and both our phones were dead," he told me, "apparently we'd called each other earlier in the day and the two of us forgot to hang up. I had to collect on quite a few favors to get back to town by midnight. I'm really sorry we stood you up like that."

I wanted to curse him out. I wanted to abuse him with all the mean words I knew, to use a few of the things I know about his past to humiliate him, to drive his self-worth into the ground. I was going to rip him apart piece by piece with language... but something stopped me, much to my chagrin.

"It's all right, Bat," I said. "It could happen to anybody."

I pushed my anger down somewhere into my mind where it would not affect me, and the conversation moved on to lighter things.

"Have you heard the rumor about what they found in Justin Hall?" Bat inquired. I had never seen a more desperate attempt to change the subject.

He correctly guessed from my face that I hadn't the slightest sliver of an idea what he was asking about, and filled me in.

"There was a fourum comment in the paper about a mess in Justin hall..."

My eyes popped out of my face so hard they could have slapped Bat across his face as I remembered my pre-nap reading.

"Yeah!" I interrupted. "It was the very last one, sounded like someone went crazy with some TP or whatever."

"It wasn't toilet paper, Alex," he mused. "It's not even funny." The apology in Bat's eyes was gone, and unease took its place.

I stared at him for a beat. I was afraid to let this go any further, but I had to know.

"So what was it?"

"I don't know, but I've been hearing all kinds of rumors," Bat explained. "I don't know who to trust for information."

"Well, what do you believe?"

"Well, you know Willie, the mascot?"

To not know of Willie the Wildcat is an impossible thing if you are a K-Stater. The fur-headed jersey-wearing feline is the beloved leader of the University's fans at games and recruiting events. Local businesses have him in their advertisements, prospective students see him visit schools from time to time, and there are some who believe he even has his own harem of choice sorority sisters. It's only a theory.

"No, who is he?" I shot back. I couldn't keep all my frustration locked up, and he asked a dumb question.

"Well, they found his head stuffed in one of the toilets, or so I'm told." He sighed.

I mentally picked my jaw up off of the table and stared him in the eye for a few seconds.

"Wow, was it another school, or are they talking about an inside job?" I almost stuttered.

"No idea."

"Wait," I paused, and a terrifying thought entered my mind. "Are we talking about just the mascot head here, or did someone actually die?"

Bat looked down at his feet, he didn't want to have to spell out this answer.