“Biology major,” I told my new roommate.
“Oh, that’s . . . not my style, but sounds cool,” she said, dragging her suitcase to her side of the bed. She did get there first, so I didn’t have much of a choice when it came to choosing sides of the dorm. “I’m an Art major.”
I nodded, “Oh, that sounds nice . . . um,” I tried to read her nametag they gave out to all the freshmen. “Debbie.”
“Yeah, it’s an interesting one. My parents aren’t too big on the idea, but hey, I got the scholarship that it paying for it, so otherwise, it’s my choice.”
I just smile. I wasn’t too great on making friends, I didn’t really know what to say to people. Most of the time, I had my nose in a book, or finishing homework, or hiking outside with no one around. But, I did promise my mother before I left to actually make some friends.
“What type of art do you do?”
“Sculptures, mostly. Hey, you could be a model for me. Would you like that?”
“I can keep my clothes on, right?” I asked, turning red.
Debbie laughed. “Yes! Of course,” she looked at my name tag, “Pe . . .Pe . . um.”
“Persephone, but call me Steffi.”
Debbie laughed, “Oh thank god, that’s so much easier.”
I just nodded, and put my suitcase on my side of the room. I don’t have as much as my new roommate. She has posters of bands I’ve never heard of, and weird art with weird . . . blankets? Hung on the wall. She had doc martins, with ripped blue jeans and black shirt. She had heavy eyeliner and bright purple hair. I felt so plain compared to her.
“Where is all your stuff? Is it just that?” she pointed to my suitcase.
I shook my head. “No, my mom is coming up with my box right now. Though, I really don’t have that much,” I said. I started to unpack my suitcase, hanging up clothes already in the very small closet they gave us. We both had our own desk, own closet, own bed . . . but that was about it. It felt so small in that room.
“Persephone?” my mom called out from the hallway.
“In here mom,” I shouted.
She came through the door, smiling at me. She had been doing that a lot in the last few weeks coming up to the start of school.
“Oh good, you found your room. And you have a roommate,” mom said. “What is your name dear?”
“I’m Debbie,” she said, jumping off the bed, and walking to my mother. It would seem that my roommate looked more like my mother than I did. My mom had a hippie vibe thing going on, with long blonde hair, always putting flowers in it, and always wearing those hippie skirts. She owns a shop, selling crystal rocks and other odd items.
When I was 15, she tried to get me to help in the shop, but all these people would ask me questions, and could see I wasn’t as confident as my mom. People seemed to know her for years, trusted her advice, and came back.
Then pluck a frizzy red hair, big coke bottle glasses, weird looking girl in the front, and people will think that they stepped into the wrong shop.
Now, I was 21, and starting a new life in college. I felt a little older than the rest of the freshmen, since I took a few years to start. It wasn’t really my choice, but it was no matter. That was all in the past, and I could look forward to my future.
Debbie kept looking at my mom as if she were a painting. I guess for her, that would be her thing.
“I’m about to get going, honey. Just remember, I am only two hours away,” my mom said, hugging me. She’s always been . . . clingy (I suppose that’s the nicer word for it).
“I know mom,” I said, hugging her back. It was actually a miracle that she let me leave the house, to live in the dorms. She tried hard to get me to go to the community college in town, but truth be told, I just wanted to get away, even if it was for a little bit.
“I love you, Steffi,” she said, tears in her eyes.
I felt bad, but my mom needed to leave and just let the bandage rip off. “I love you too, I’ll call tonight.”
I closed the door, and was able to breathe. The way over to the campus, she was partly crying, partly guilting me and partly crying some more. Debbie returned to her unpacking.
“Is your mom going to be okay?” she asked.
“I sure hope so.”
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