The Brink of Destruction
The Gothic Sandbox
You know that feeling you get when you're in an elevator, and it drops too fast? Your stomach lurches up into your throat, and you feel like you drank a quart of cold oil. That's exactly how I felt standing in front of Canterbury dorm, looking up at five stories of Gothic intimidation, with nothing but my backpack and pillow, and a few beat-up boxes to protect me.
Fucking gargoyles...
I was stupid--or newbie--enough that I had even brought my acceptance letter, just in case someone stopped me to ask if I was really supposed to be on campus. What a loser. But what the hell do you know when you're a freshman?
I couldn't tell yet if I'd brought too much stuff, or not enough. It looked as if some people were setting up to be here the rest of their lives, and my few little boxes looked pretty pathetic. But at least I didn't have much to schlep, which was good.
The room was blah blah blah--what can you say about an off-white box with two beds? But it was, as George Carlin said, "a place to put my stuff," so whatever.
My roommate, however, looked to be more interesting. I admit I've never seen anyone with lime-green hair, and the little gold rings in her nose and lip look better on her than I would have imagined. She has an amazing music collection, mostly punk rock, and from the peek I had when she was putting away her clothes, she must have a knack for putting together really creative outfits. She said she found a lot of the stuff she has at thrift stores--why can't I ever seem to find things that look that cool?
After I finished putting things away, I went down to the quad to wander around a little. Since it was Saturday, there were a lot of people sitting out on the grass or throwing Frisbees, but it's hard to start a conversation by just walking up and saying "Hi!" They tend to look at you like you're nuts. So I got my class schedule out and tried to find the buildings. God, this place is HUGE!
I keep telling myself I'm not going to get homesick, and I'm pretty sure I'm right. But some things will take some getting used to. Sitting alone in the dining hall, eating spaghetti, I felt like the only person at the university who didn't have anyone to talk to.
I hope I don't spend the whole semester like this. It would have been good if someone else from Eastover had decided to come here, but no--I had to be the only one. I wanted to try to get into medical school, so this was my first choice. I just wish it had been someone else's, too.
Sounds a little desperate, but I called Dustin as soon as I got back to my room after dinner. I guess I just needed to hear a familiar voice. We didn't talk very long because he was going to a movie with some of the guys from his dorm--see, even he's making friends already, and he's shy! I'm trying not to even think about how we're going to see each other, with 400 miles between us. And my sister was no help--"Gen, you do know that 90% of all long-distance relationships fail within the first three months, right? You need to get to know people as soon as you can, so you're not moping around when you two break it off."
Real breath of stale air, that Rae is.
I was just hanging up when Wynn (you know, the new roomie) came in, carrying a shopping bag. She has a friend (naturally--who doesn't have friends? Oh, that's right--ME!) who's a sophomore, and is allowed to have a car on campus--lucky git. They'd been out to the mall, and she'd bought a gargoyle mister to hang on the wall. The damn thing has a blue light that shines up into this hideous face that looks just like the statues on the outside of the building, so I can stare into its reptilian eyes as I fall asleep.
She named him Geoffrey.
What am I in for?
For some reason, evening seems to be the hardest in an unfamiliar place. I guess during the day you can tell people you're just wandering around aimlessly by yourself because you have an interest in Gothic architecture. But after dark, it's kind of expected that you have some sort of life to keep you busy. It's also when I think about home the most--you know, like what movie they're watching tonight, what Mom fixed for dinner, that kind of thing. The kind of stuff I used to think was so dry and boring I wanted to scream every time I walked out of my room and saw them all gathered in the living room like the Cleavers.
That was a long time ago, though. Like yesterday.
Tomorrow I'll probably get up at a decent hour and go get breakfast at the Pit. I might go to services at the chapel after that; the thought of doing the same thing I'd be doing at home seems comforting. Not that I need comforting, you understand. Just that it helps me keep my stress level down.
The bed is comfortable, and I've got my pillow with the Monkees pillowcase and my new purple paisley sheets. But it doesn't feel the same as my bed at home, so every time I turn over, it's like bumping into someone. And it's weird to know there's someone sleeping in the same room with me that I don't even know. Isn't that the kind of thing your parents always warn you to avoid?
Of course, for all I know, she may not even be a crazed, psychotic ax murderer.
Sweet dreams!
Fucking gargoyles...
I was stupid--or newbie--enough that I had even brought my acceptance letter, just in case someone stopped me to ask if I was really supposed to be on campus. What a loser. But what the hell do you know when you're a freshman?
I couldn't tell yet if I'd brought too much stuff, or not enough. It looked as if some people were setting up to be here the rest of their lives, and my few little boxes looked pretty pathetic. But at least I didn't have much to schlep, which was good.
The room was blah blah blah--what can you say about an off-white box with two beds? But it was, as George Carlin said, "a place to put my stuff," so whatever.
My roommate, however, looked to be more interesting. I admit I've never seen anyone with lime-green hair, and the little gold rings in her nose and lip look better on her than I would have imagined. She has an amazing music collection, mostly punk rock, and from the peek I had when she was putting away her clothes, she must have a knack for putting together really creative outfits. She said she found a lot of the stuff she has at thrift stores--why can't I ever seem to find things that look that cool?
After I finished putting things away, I went down to the quad to wander around a little. Since it was Saturday, there were a lot of people sitting out on the grass or throwing Frisbees, but it's hard to start a conversation by just walking up and saying "Hi!" They tend to look at you like you're nuts. So I got my class schedule out and tried to find the buildings. God, this place is HUGE!
I keep telling myself I'm not going to get homesick, and I'm pretty sure I'm right. But some things will take some getting used to. Sitting alone in the dining hall, eating spaghetti, I felt like the only person at the university who didn't have anyone to talk to.
I hope I don't spend the whole semester like this. It would have been good if someone else from Eastover had decided to come here, but no--I had to be the only one. I wanted to try to get into medical school, so this was my first choice. I just wish it had been someone else's, too.
Sounds a little desperate, but I called Dustin as soon as I got back to my room after dinner. I guess I just needed to hear a familiar voice. We didn't talk very long because he was going to a movie with some of the guys from his dorm--see, even he's making friends already, and he's shy! I'm trying not to even think about how we're going to see each other, with 400 miles between us. And my sister was no help--"Gen, you do know that 90% of all long-distance relationships fail within the first three months, right? You need to get to know people as soon as you can, so you're not moping around when you two break it off."
Real breath of stale air, that Rae is.
I was just hanging up when Wynn (you know, the new roomie) came in, carrying a shopping bag. She has a friend (naturally--who doesn't have friends? Oh, that's right--ME!) who's a sophomore, and is allowed to have a car on campus--lucky git. They'd been out to the mall, and she'd bought a gargoyle mister to hang on the wall. The damn thing has a blue light that shines up into this hideous face that looks just like the statues on the outside of the building, so I can stare into its reptilian eyes as I fall asleep.
She named him Geoffrey.
What am I in for?
For some reason, evening seems to be the hardest in an unfamiliar place. I guess during the day you can tell people you're just wandering around aimlessly by yourself because you have an interest in Gothic architecture. But after dark, it's kind of expected that you have some sort of life to keep you busy. It's also when I think about home the most--you know, like what movie they're watching tonight, what Mom fixed for dinner, that kind of thing. The kind of stuff I used to think was so dry and boring I wanted to scream every time I walked out of my room and saw them all gathered in the living room like the Cleavers.
That was a long time ago, though. Like yesterday.
Tomorrow I'll probably get up at a decent hour and go get breakfast at the Pit. I might go to services at the chapel after that; the thought of doing the same thing I'd be doing at home seems comforting. Not that I need comforting, you understand. Just that it helps me keep my stress level down.
The bed is comfortable, and I've got my pillow with the Monkees pillowcase and my new purple paisley sheets. But it doesn't feel the same as my bed at home, so every time I turn over, it's like bumping into someone. And it's weird to know there's someone sleeping in the same room with me that I don't even know. Isn't that the kind of thing your parents always warn you to avoid?
Of course, for all I know, she may not even be a crazed, psychotic ax murderer.
Sweet dreams!