Home and Away

8.26.10
Home and Away

I need to get out of here. I stare around at the flat, deadened brown earth surrounding me, my shoulders slumping at the only obstruction of my view; a single line of trees miles away. My spirits rise when I remember the host of trees and hills that occupy Bemidji, the ancient oak trees and the towering pines. Minnesota might not be near the Alps or the ocean, but the university overlooks a lake and there are several state parks I can walk around.


The sun begins to rise as the train of cars belonging to my best friend, my dad and I drive into Beltrami County. We crest a hill and groves of trees rise up around the highway. The pinks and purples of the sunrise flash through the rare gaps of trees. I roll down my window and smell the fresh scent of pines and stick my tongue out at my best friend as she pulls into the left lane, level with me. Euphoria courses my body, my fingers tingling as they flex from the wheel. Nerves keep my stomach tumbling. It’s not perfect, but it’s not home, I think happily. A change of scenery is all I want.


I smile at my dad as we walk back to the van.
“Are you going to be okay?” His voice is soft.
“Of course.” I hug my dad goodbye. “Thanks for helping me move in. I’ll miss you.”
He gives me a one-armed hug back. “I’ll miss you too.”
With that, he left. I turned back to my dorm and a feeling of awe swept over me. I am on my own. I get to decide when to wake up, what I have for dinner, where I go, what I do. The feeling of freedom bubbled up inside. I consider skipping back to my room.


I stare at the clock. 1:30 AM beams red, mocking my sleep deprived body. Closing my eyes for a moment, I sigh. Looking back, I rub my eyes. 2:30 AM.
I blink. 3:30 AM.
4:30 AM.
5:30 AM.
A squawking jolts me awake, and I fumble for my phone. I flinch from the blue screen and dismiss the alarm. A groan comes from my left, and I almost jump out of my skin. My roommate throws herself to her other side, an arm flinging a pillow to the floor. I stumble to the floor, pulling the sheets off the bed with me. I flip-flop across the room, shut the door so not to wake my roomy, and make my way to the communal bathroom.
I pull back the green shower curtain and step inside, my arms weighed down by my clothes, a towel, my shampoo and conditioner, face wash, body wash, and other toiletries. Hanging up my clothes on the two small silver pegs, I freeze. Turning back to the shower head, I snort in frustration. What, did I walk into the short person’s stall? I walk back out and peek into the other (unused) stalls. I return, my morning foggy head unable to see the point of a three and a half foot tall shower head.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something to make me recoil, making me tread on my shower caddy.
Hair. Another unknown person’s hair. Long ones, blonde ones, tiny ones that looked like--
I step on my shower caddy again, desperate for the nightmare to end. The too-loud radio caught my attention when the time was announced. I felt the grease sludge in my hair, my pores clogging with the beginnings of giant stress caused pimples. There was no other way. Curling my limbs close to my body I leap under the arctic pressure wash.


I power walk to my class, 50 pounds of books and notebooks digging into my lower back. The wet cuffs of my jeans rub against my ankles, sure to leave an irritated rash in its wake. I’ve no time to think up a more efficient way to shower because I’ve lost myself in Hagg-Sauer Hall. The maps on the walls make no sense—YOU ARE HERE is posted off to the side of the building. Sure I was on the second floor and not, in fact, floating outside, I start off again, not sure who labeled the classrooms but knowing I was going to hit them when I found them.


The day progresses and not only is 50 pounds of books digging into my back, but now I have the knowledge that I have 50 pages of reading to get through by Wednesday. Whoever thought high school was going to prepare us for that one . . . other bitter thoughts crossed my mind as I head back to the dorm.


Happy to have only one class in the early morning the next day, I begin my homework. Lost in underlining another sentence in my American Literature book, I wonder when my dad is going to call me down for food. My stomach growls. Looking up, I realize once again where I am, and I look at the clock. Wally’s is closed. Great. I crawl over my chair to get away from the desk and take out the stash of granola bars.


I stare into the shower. Day four of living in a dorm and I’m fighting to overcome my need for a hygienic shower for my need of a hygienic body. Finally, I go down to dinner, my hair smelling like shampoo again. I sit at a table and dig into my Chinese and salad. I don’t look around, I let the feeling of loneliness creep over my mind, and I can almost smell my dad’s home cooked food. I can see the gleaming hair-less shower.

There’s no place like home.



*Ideas for improvement anyone? Also, I need to find a way to post these papers without having to copy paste. . . it doesn't work very well!