CHAPTER THREE: INTRO TO PHILOSOPY
My alarm went off at six. It's only the second week of classes, but I'm proud because I haven't caved and hit the snooze button yet. Instead, I'm sitting on the floor in between Stephanie's and I's bed stretching my legs.
Stephanie didn't end up making her bed until the first day of classes last week. Even though we tend to have opposite sleep schedules, her hot pink comforter matches mine because there's a big light blue pinwheel of flowers decorating the center. The rest of her stuff also happens to carry a pink and blue theme like her hair. From the corkboards she hung over her bed, and the makeup she currently has strewn over her desk.
Stephanie's curly hair is the only thing I can identify about the lump she's currently making in her bed. I'm glad my early alarm hasn't bothered her yet. My first class doesn't start until nine-thirty, but my nerves and fear woke me up the first day. My nerves and fear of the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.
The toilets aren't bad. I appreciate the fact that the stalls were made properly. There is no big underwear exposing crack on the right side of the door when it closes, and I have yet to see any pads and tampons stuck to the walls. The sinks are all linked together by a single counter and one large mirror.
My fears stem from the showers I have yet to feel comfortable in. I don't care that the water pressure isn't the best, or that the tile grout is uneven. What I do care about is the fact that the white curtains resemble the translucent toilet paper hanging in the stalls at the opposite end of the room.
An early morning run helps to get rid of my early morning nerves while an early morning alarm helps me avoid feeling naked and afraid in front of all the girls on the third floor, their bathrobes, and their beauty products.
I shove my earbuds in my ears as I close the door behind me. The summer humidity is still coating the air when I step outside, but the wisps of sunrise poking out of the tops of the dorm buildings make the sky dim and the air cool enough for me to wear leggings, sneakers, and the blue university of PennBrook t-shirt I got at orientation a few weeks ago.
My music blasts in my ears as I walk to the other end of campus. I go out of my way to avoid the geese poop on the cement pathways but can't avoid the wet morning dew on the grass. The tops of my grey sneakers have a halo of darker material as the water sinks into my cotton socks and chills the tips of my toes.
Once I deem myself far away enough from my dorm building, I turn around and begin jogging back. Sometimes I like hearing each pound of my footsteps. Other times, like today, my music pounds in my ears. Either way, I relish in the way my heart pounds inside my chest. It cheers me on, and it's that cheer that propels me through the rest of the day.
I keep my phone in my hand, but discreetly pull my student ID out of my bra. Although it's slicked with some sweat, I didn't trust my hands to keep it from being slicked with morning dew somewhere on the grass. I creep into the room the same way the hallway lights do, but luckily, I'm able to close the door and shut them out. Unlucky for a still sleeping Stephanie, me and my rustling can't be shut out.
I gather all my toiletries. Towel, shower shoes, extra towel, shower gel, hair towel, shampoo. The list goes on, but it's all stuffed inside my tote bag. I stuff my underwear down in the bag, but the rest of my change of clothes is haphazardly thrown on top. The precarious pile teeters on my bed while I send a text message to my little sister.
Have a good day! <3
****
I cringe when the chalk squeaks against the chalk board. Some guys sitting all the way in the back verbally emit their groans, hisses, and winces. Professor Collins doesn't even flinch. Instead, he throws us a grin over his shoulder before he finishes writing the word P L A T O in all caps in the top right corner of the board. It's only been a few classes, but with each class his handwriting gets even more precarious. He's the kind who talks and talks but will stop for questions. He writes down the key words but doesn't erase the large green chalkboard board until he's filled every nook and cranny with his writing. He'll write diagonal, sideways, and overlap. And when he finally erases, he only erases one half of the board at a time. One side of the green board is coated in white powder, while the other half is still coated in words, and he only continues to add more precisely where he sees fit.
He's standing on the small stage like he's been standing there his whole life. A tiny piece of chalk in one hand and nothing but his words waving around in the other. He doesn't even need a microphone. He projects. He usually wears a pair of slacks and a button up, but I can picture him and his shiny bald head in an ancient Greek philosopher robe.
"Gazuntite," Professor Collins responds to someone's sneeze before continuing his sentence as if he were never interrupted. My pencil's flying across my notebook at lightning speed, but Professor Collins always talks as if he's making a speech. He goes point by point, piece by piece, and ties it all together with a nice little bow.
We didn't reach the bow-tying today, but another reason Professor Collins gets away with his evil chalk squeaking smiles is because he doesn't mind letting us leave ten to fifteen minutes early.
I flip my notebook closed and push back my chair to grab my backpack. I glance up and catch someone's gaze in the most natural way. The same way a flower stretches its petals to the sun, or before two squirrels duel for the same nut. Of course, my biology-oriented brain will conjure up such images in a time like this. Anything to distract myself from thinking the green eyes that meet mine are the same green eyes that met mine in a grocery store a few weeks ago.
I can accept that the Earth's atmosphere is made up of seventy-eight percent nitrogen, and yet we and all the mammals on the planet are all currently breathing the twenty-one percent oxygen. I can accept that oxygen in the air is composed of two oxygen atoms, yet hundreds of miles up ozone is composed of three. I can even accept the fact that too much oxygen can kill you just as much as not enough oxygen.
But I refuse to believe that the random guy, who may actually not be so random in my hometown, but I met at the grocery store under a completely random circumstance is in the same class as me. I know philosophy is all about possibilities, but I'm one hundred percent sure I imagined everything.
****
"Stop!"
"No, you stop!"
"You stop!"
Normally, that is what you'd hear echoing over the television in the living room when Layla decides to stretch her legs out over mine on the couch. Or when I'm clicking my pen as I do my homework at the kitchen table, and my little sister says that's the reason she can't concentrate. Not the fact that she has her phone poised in front of her textbook.
Today, though, the same routine is being played out by Stephanie and her older cousin, Savannah. Both are sitting on Stephanie's bed with their backs against the wall, laptops on their laps, and their feet dangling off the sides. Stephanie wants Savannah to stop wiggling her feet. Savannah wants Stephanie to stop clicking her nails against her keyboard. Both claim the habit is unavoidable. That's why the silence is interrupted every few minutes by yelling and shoving.
Savannah's black slide on sandal smacks against the floor. I guess it lost the competition with the other sandal. A few beats of silence pass that aren't counted by Savannah's toes before she flicks her right foot and allows the other sandal to smack against the floor.
"You're so obnoxious," Stephanie mocks, but receives another shove to her shoulder. She reciprocates the shove before silence falls over the room again.
Savannah came like a package deal with Stephanie, and Megan, Savannah's roommate, came like a package deal with her. Savannah and Megan are in their second year at PennBrook, and they are the definition of opposites attract.
In the few days that I've known Savannah, I've learned that she's not only a political science major, but also that she's on the girls' volleyball team. I've only seen her decked out in PennBrook related comfy attire. Her long, dark brown hair is always slicked back in a high ponytail, and her long white socks are always pulled up over her shins or the cuffed ends of her sweatpants.
"I'm thinking about changing my major," Megan cuts into the silence.
"Again?" Savannah grunts.
I swivel around in my desk chair to find Megan's seated in a similar position. Her jean covered legs are crossed and hanging out of the side of Stephanie's wooden desk chair. Her right arm is slung over her notebooks as she bounces the end of her pencil against the paper.
"No, that was my minor. I was considering minoring in philosophy, but now I think I want to major in it instead of psychology."
In the few days that I've known Megan, that's probably one of the longest sentences I've heard her say. She's not standoffish. If anything, she's the least intimating out of all four of us with her petite stature, but she always looks so deep in thought. I can never bring myself to interrupt her. Even if she's tapping away on her cellphone, I feel like she's doing something important.
She also is always so put together. Her lips are always glossed, she's always in a pair of jeans, and her light brown is always styled and hits just below her chin. Stephanie has even called her out on her nonexistent sweatpants a few times, but each time Megan laughs it off and says she feels more comfortable in jeans. While I've been meaning to ask her if she uses a curling iron to get such effortless beach waves in her hair, or if it's natural.
"My mom always says that if you're considering changing something, that means you should. Otherwise, you never would've considered changing it in the first place." I throw my haphazard advice into the room because ever since Megan opened her mouth, her eyes haven't left Stephanie's comforter.
"That's a good point." A beat passes before Megan turns and flashes me with a quick smile.
"What's your major again, blondie?" Savannah asks.
"Biology," I say around my thumbnail.
"Ew." Stephanie shutters. "Science." Her mass of curls is thrown up in a bun on top of her head, and she's got the pajamas to match the evening homework session.
I turn my attention back over to the biology lab in front of me. Week two, energy utilization continues. I purposely left my phone on my pillow to avoid getting distracted. However, a couple consecutive chimes gather not only my attention, but also the other girls.
"Sounds like someone's popular," Savannah mumbles.
I don't even flinch. Her tongue is just as sharp as my little sister's, and I find it more amusing than irritating.
"No." I huff out a laugh. "It's just my little sister."
LACIE
HELP!
Layla's rocking the text caps. I'm still scrolling through all the different versions of help and crying emojis as more texts continue to float in.
I CAN'T DO THIS
I HATE IT
HELP
MY TEACHERS SUCK
THE PEOPLE SUCK
IT ALL SUCKS
The crying emojis are now replaced with sobbing emojis. They flood in three at a time. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to keep up.
I WISH YOU WERE HERE.
"I'll be right back." I stand back up from my perched position on the end of my bed and begin shoving my feet into my sneakers.
"Ooh, it must be a lover." Savannah's back at it again.
I throw her a look over my shoulder, but my glare softens when she only sends me a wink back. Stephanie jokingly wiggles her eyebrows and it only takes a second for Savannah to notice before she shoves her shoulder again, and the moaning and groaning continues.
"Will y'all quit it with the hissy fits," Megan mumbles as she adjusts her papers. "Some of us are trying to read."
Savannah and Stephanie share a look before their heads turn to Megan at the same time. "Y'all!"
Megan just shakes her head.
I stuff my ID in my sweatshirt pocket before closing the door behind me.
I trot my way down the three flights of stairs. It will probably take me a couple more weeks before I'm not breathless when I reach the door, but I still push it open. I walk around to the side of my dorm building and stand next to the brick. The orange and pink light from the sunset sears through the clouds, spills over the tops of the buildings, and cuts between the leaves of the tallest trees.
The cement pathways cut through the patches of grass. Some zig zag while others square around. The trees pop up every so often. The same way the buildings do. The brick buildings that are all the same faded peach color yet are distinguished by the different names engraved into the cement above the doors. It's all picture perfect, but it's still not home.
Home is movie nights with my family and too much popcorn. Home is dinner conversations that either end with screaming and yelling over who's going to wash the dishes, or spit takes and hyena laughter over the impressions my dad does of our grandparents. Home is the bed that my sister loves to jump on and wake me up when it's a Saturday morning and I wasn't planning on moving.
Home is the first day of school. When you wake up and the dread fills your bones and weighs down your skin. You walk into the building with butterflies even though you've been through this same routine since you were five. The humidity sticks to your hair and your skin, but summer is now a memory instead of reality. When you finally come home, your plan is to eat a snack, maybe even take a nap. But the second your parents ask how your day was the dam breaks. Tears stream down your face, snot drips down your nose, and you can't remember how to breathe.
Your sister is beside you the whole time, lying next to you on your bed as you both stare at the ceiling. The same red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. The same dread for tomorrow that doesn't go away for a few weeks.
But this year I wasn't there when I had to go to my first college class. I couldn't go home to my mom and her reassuring words that usually turn into bone crushing hugs. I'm not there right now as my little sister lays down on her bed wishing she didn't have to wake up and go to school again.
The terrible feeling will fade in a few weeks. It always does.
But it hasn't faded for me yet.
I still wake up some days and forget where I am. I have to sit up and remember I'm in a dorm room. Not the bed I grew up in. It's a second's worth of recollection, but something about it still stings. It weighs on my chest when I breathe, and I have to swallow before I speak.
It will fade.
But right now, the dam I've built since my parents' car pulled away is breaking. One by one the water bursts through the cracks. I swallow but it's no use. I slide my back against the building until I'm crouched on the cement. My head falls between my knees. I will myself to breathe.
The words are blurry as I type them on the screen, and the tears leak from my eyes before I even hit send.
Me too.