My Kind of Woman

41. Payphone Blues

AN; One chapter left... I will be sad to let this one go : ' (

I moved into the dorm building on campus, taking with me only a single suitcase full of my belongings. My roommate was a very reserved German girl, who was a few inches taller than I was. She wore a pair of thick glasses either regularly on her nose or perched on her head and lived in tracksuits. We respected our opposing sides of the rooms and remained civil. I suppose she thought I was miserable. I slept badly and sighed a lot. I didn't make much effort at the introduction gatherings, nor did I go with her to make impressions with our neighbours on the floor. But we stuck together at freshman meet-ups as we didn't know anyone else.

I was miserable. I was drained, and I remained that way for the first two months. I moped and sulked when I was alone, barely paying attention in the first few weeks. And when my mood was lowest, it only plummeted further once I realised, I had no one to call and no one to talk to. I'd left everyone and everything behind. If they hadn't come and separated us, I'd be on the phone to her, I'd be visiting her off-campus, I'd be content in the fact that I would always have her. But I didn't. Her number was still disconnected. I hadn't spoken to her in months, and that fact was what pushed me to try and be better in my new surroundings. To bury my past, I had to accept that she was not going to contact me - and hoping and wishing wouldn't force her to. It was over, and out of my control.

But burying was easier said than done, I had to first distract. So, I threw myself into swimming again, and whilst it made me seem more distant than ever, it worked. The campus had a pool that was accessible, especially towards sport majoring students. I swam in my every free and each night to tire myself out so that I slept well. And eventually, I tricked myself into thinking that things were improving. Life started to flow on.

In the fall, I turned nineteen. It was a lonely birthday, one I felt no one knew about. Celebrated in silence. That morning before classes, I went down to the payphone outside the dorm block and called my dad. The November air was crisp and fresh, but cool enough that I had to go out in my coat over my pyjamas. I dialled the number and twirled the metal cord around my index finger stiffly. The line opened and crackled. I wondered if I would be able to hear my house, anything about it, anything.

"Hi, Dad," I said, watching my breath form around the receiver.

"Norah... good morning." His voice came through sounding gruff and gravelly with sleep.

"Morning."

"What's wrong?"

We didn't call often. To call him, meant something had to be wrong, not that I just wanted to talk to him. Our hug the first day he dropped me at college had been stiff, but the brightness of the tears in his eyes had been genuine. Whether they had been because I was leaving, or because he felt as if he had already lost me, I didn't know. He had been treating me like I was fragile all summer, like I was a stranger in his home and one that was made up like a glass jigsaw.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong," I assured him.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just yawned into the line, muffled with the obvious cover of his mouth. I was waiting for him to say it, but my patience was running thin and my disappointment was rising.

"It's my birthday," I said, "today."

He sighed. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Norah. It's very early. You know, I would've called you later, I haven't forgotten. I wouldn't have, I mean."

"I know... I just wanted to talk before my day began. Yeah," I said.

"Happy birthday, darling. I'm sorry." He kept sighing like he was exhausted.