Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #7

There are times when I can slip into the past. It's like peeling a photograph off my wall, the tape on the back making it gummy and difficult, but it's still possible. I hold it just so in the light, and a tear appears on the edge. It's just the right dimensions for me to slide into the memory seamlessly.

This time, the photo I pluck was from before her. I'm grateful because I'm not sure I can bear thinking about Clair right now. (To be fair though, I'm also not sure if I can bear to not think about her. It's a painful game of Catch Twenty-two.)

So, there you are.

The first day of college was a pain in the ass for you. Your mom goes crazy over these things. (Who's your roommate, who are her parents, do you need a rug for your room...?) And besides the onslaught of questions, she sizzles with nervousness. It rolls off of her, and all you and your dad can do is wait it out.

So she's in charge. Mom helps you set up the room (desk and dresser under your loft, here's your underwear drawer...). You're used to it, but your cheeks still flush as your roommate and her family witness your quiet argument about where your bras should go.

Your dad, having had more experience in escapes, has exited stage left and down the hall. You make excuses to your mom before trailing after him.

"You made it, huh?" he asks, his mustache twitching with his smile.

"Barely," you say. It comes out a little snottier than you intended. To get past it, you ask, "Where are we going?"

"I forgot an Allen wrench. Need it to set up your futon, so I'm looking to see if anyone else's got one." He points to a likely looking room with its door ajar.

"Right," you say. You can vaguely picture the wrench but also not really.

Your dad takes initiative, knocking on the open door. A pair of heads pop up from configuring an oversized TV. You try and work out if the TV is so massive or if it's just that the dorm room is so small. Verdict: hard to tell.

Anyway, you've mostly missed your dad's inquiries (although you tune in briefly when he reminisces about nailing up a dead fish on a tree outside this very dorm when he went here).

"You like it?" the smaller, stockier guy asks. He's referencing the TV, but it's taken you a moment to figure that out. You make a non-committal noise in the back of your throat. Apparently this isn't good enough, though, because your dad elbows you in the ribs.

"Ow, uh, yeah."

The taller guy seems unperturbed by your impoliteness. "We're having a movie night tonight. You and your roomie should come."

Shorter Guy nods enthusiastically.

"Sure, sure," you say, mimicking the nod. "See you...?"

"Seven." A pair of identical grins are flashed your way.

The conversation over and Allen wrench obtained, you and Dad meander back to your room. You're relieved; it almost feels like safety with your pictures and posters tacked to the wall. Almost like your own home. You decide, despite the close quarters, that you like it. It's yours.

Well, not quite.

Your roommate has introduced herself ("Lacy Loveless. A cosmic irony." You forget to ask what that is supposed to mean). Mom tears up while you and Lacy chat, and has to turn away from the pair of you and dab at her eyes. Really, you're lucky. She was so much worse when your brother, Tyler, moved out.

Dad puts his arm around her and pulls her in tight. You like them like that, side by side, united. The moment is snapped though when Mom needs to get in a few more jabs.