Can Only Be Good

20 May 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in College, Friends, God, Remember, Sleep

Thursday night. Last night in the dorm, last night living the school life I’ve grown so accustomed to. Many things will be the same in August, when school begins again in
three short months. Mar and The Jen will still be two doors down, The Neighbor still between us. The four lovelies at the end of the hall, Nelle still in the middle. Things will be different, too. The Roommate’s an RA now. Two floors down is not far, but it’s not my room. New roommate, new floormates. New faces, new hearts, new stories. New sisters.

The last night of the school year should be memories, reminiscing, cherishing, we say to each other. But instead, the hallway is lined with boxes and doors slam shut as we rush up and down the crowded hall: it’s Room Check Night. Leaving tomorrow? Room must be spotless tonight. Packed, cleaned, as if you never lived there. But we did live there, and I paid $10 for the chipped paint above my bed, Mar another $10 for the unidentified black spot on her carpet.

10pm, Room Check Time, ticks closer. I throw extra bits of garbage into the near-bursting bag in Mar and Jen’s room. The Neighbor, pushing box after box into the hallway, calls my name. We work together to seal her storage bins: I sit on them, fighting to keep lids down, she work fast, hurriedly taping them closed, both of us praying that they stay shut.

Even at 11pm, when cleaning checklists have been completed and fines have been doled out, still we work. Boxes downstairs, garbage to the dumpster. Then it’s midnight and this last night, four of us sleep in the hallway-end room, on beds, on the floor, on cushions pulled from the lounge couch. Friday morning, I wake up to three alarms, none of them mine. We start awake, then sleep again through Mar’s, then Jen’s. Ellie Rose has the Newsboys as her alarm, and I jump awake, and stay awake this time.

Enthusiastic wake-up call aside, Friday morning feels funny, sluggish almost. I shower, with a borrowed towel because mine’s already at home, and then ride the elevator down to street-level. Yesterday, the elevator was slow, full. It’ll be busy later, too, but this morning, I ride by myself. Outside, the air’s beginning to feel warm, and a man in a flooring company truck yells good morning to me as I wait to cross the street. I’m tired, yet content, and I wave, smile, as the truck drives past.

There is more, of course. Friday afternoon, barely 24 hours after my last final, finds me curled up on a Megabus, off to Michigan for my first adventure of Summer 2013. I’ll tell you about that sometime, I’m sure. Before that, though, there are goodbyes, see you laters, hugs. We stand, four of us, in the hallway, suitcases and bags all around. We are quick, short even, maybe. We’ll see each other in August, we say. We’ll be in touch, we wave our phones at each other meaningfully, smile.

And the school year ends. Slowly, but suddenly. And the classes are no more, even though I find myself, often, thinking back to assignments due, project completed. I begin to remind myself, make a mental note, only to remember that there is no homework right now. I’ve thought, today, that the school life feels like the normal life. Classes, homework in the afternoon, open doors, calling for friends up and down the hall. That’s the life that feels settled, routine, normal.

But the school year’s over, and I’m home now. I’m not unhappy to be here, not discontent. But it’s different, really, and sometimes, I’m not sure what to do, what is my purpose, my rhythm, my routine here at home this summer. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, where I’ll be, who I’ll be with, talk to, befriend. But a summer is a big thing and God’s even bigger; this summer can only be good.

~Natalia

Midnight

06 May 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in College, Friends, Tired

Midnight, she said she’d be back from work, back on the floor. 10pm, I’m back. I sit in Nelle’s room; she’s gone. I write, there: the post you read yesterday, the day before. I don’t like thinking about my church dilemma, I don’t like writing about it, but I do anyway. I write thoughts I’d like to avoid, and I tell you about the weekly struggle that I’d rather not have, and when I’m done, I close the tab, lie back on that scratchy blue couch.

It’s 11pm- maybe later- but not the promised midnight, and maybe I’ll not stop by, not catch up, anyway. I lie there, feet tucked askew under the blue guitar someone left out. My computer is propped on my chest, I’m scrolling aimlessly; reading blogs, mostly.

But the post I wrote just moments ago- the prospect of another Sunday- weighs heavy on me, the headache of frustrated tears not shed builds behind my eyes. I’m tired, too.

The door swings in, Nelle and a friend trip past the miniature pink throw rug, burst into the room. I remain where I am, sprawled on the couch. I flip my computer closed, slide it under the black Ikea coffee table, on top of a pile of white computer cord. I don’t know this friend and introductions are tossed back and forth as she sinks on the other end of the couch, moves the blue guitar across the room.

I stay in the room awhile longer. It’s getting late- almost midnight- and the two girls are preparing for the night; it’s been a long day and I catch snippets as they rotate around the room. Nelle pins her hair back, washes her face, tells me about the bus driver who took a wrong turn, just for them. Our new friend brushes her own hair, rustles through her suitcase, pulls pajamas out, tells me about the hispanic man whose question they couldn’t understand.

I lie there, tired, and watch night settle into the city, settle into the room.

Soon, almost suddenly, I stand up. Leaving my computer cord, I take my computer; water cup, homework pages, highlighter balanced on top. Two doors down, I pass my room. It’s past midnight, she’s back from work now, and I decide I do want to visit. I leave my computer on the floor outside my door and the faint hallway light reflects dull off its scuffed cover.

She’s on her bed, somewhere under a pile of black pillows and purple blanket, when I push through the door, two past my own. She looks up when I come in, probably expecting me to be her roommate. But I’m not and she smiles, nods a welcome. I sink onto the bed on the other side of the room. I ask about her day, maybe, or maybe I say something else- I don’t remember. But I remember the day I first met this friend- we were sitting in the lounge, she wore a printed tanktop- and these two years have grown communication strong. So she’s up there on her bed, tall because of the bed risers, and I’m over here on her roommate’s bed, and we talk.

We talk about church and friends and God and knowledge and boys and food and summer plans. She reads a quote from Augustine- she loves theology, loves study and I love her for that- and we laugh, too. Later, her roommate comes in, sits on the bed next to me. It’s late, we realize: almost 1am, but we just keep talking, only stopping now and again to remind each other of the time, exclaim that it’s late, and roll into conversation once again.

1:30am I stand up. I click the little lamp off, the one by the window, wish the pair goodnight, and then step towards the door. I’m halfway there, moving slowly, when she calls me back. It’s a joke, but this exchanging of stories and thoughts is too inviting, and I don’t want to leave yet. I sit back down on the bed.

Sometime around 2- even then a little after- I get up again, tell them goodnight again, leave. Collect my computer, water, papers from the hallway, push quietly through my own door. I slide my computer onto my desk, toss the papers alongside, and collapse onto my own bed. I’m tired, of course, but the weight of worry, of frustration, of isolation, has lifted in those talking hours. No one’s alone in this, really. We’re all together walking, talking, living, breathing through life, one day, one night, one conversation at a time.

~Natalia

Coming Back

02 May 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Family, Friends, Happiness, Moody Bible Institute, Summer

It’s hot outside. Classes haven’t started yet but they will soon; another day, maybe two. It’s the middle of August, 2012, and students are slowly trickling back to this downtown campus. I’ve been here since Tuesday, so has The Roommate.

There are other girls here too; carting suitcases and boxes upstairs from waiting minivans, dragging bins out of storage. Moving into a dorm room stripped bare every summer is a long task, but we prop our doors open and the hot Chicago wind blows through the open windows, and there are people arriving, people welcoming, people shouting, downstairs in the Plaza.

The new students have already moved in. Seven of them. August, of course, means new friendships and new faces and new voices in the hall, and it’s funny to think that August has no idea what May will look like. But May looks back and August is hopeful, excited, anticipatory.

The new students are here, and the returning students fill in the empty rooms every day. There are more doors opening and shutting every morning, on the way to and from the shower, meetings, breakfast, New Student Orientation functions. There are more soft, padding steps on the flat hallway carpet. This floor is coming alive.

But not everyone is back. Ellie Rose lives across the hall, three doors down. At the end of last school year, I stayed on campus until the very end, until graduation, and that last night, four of us (Ellie Rose being one), we laid on that dingy hallway carpet, amidst the suitcases and Goodwill and garbage bags. Packing up is a hard thing to do; I don’t understand how everything so expands, grows, accumulates at school. So we laid there at one in the morning, taking a break from all that packing. Then in the morning life began again, and we went to graduation, finished packing, moved out.

But that was last May and now it’s August and Ellie is back. She’s brought Spider Boy with her, after hosting his highness all summer long, and working to unpack in my room, I can hear her voice, hear her music, hear her calling for me (she calls me Nataline) just down the hall.

Mar is back. She’s moved from next door to the end of the hall, just one more door down, and once again, May looks back at August and how could I know that I’d spend so much time in that end cap room? A year spent as neighbors, Mar and I have created memories, and her water-blue eyes and gentle smile feel like coming home.

The Neighbor’s not back, though. The Neighbor, whose real name is Krista. The Neighbor with that blonde hair, long down her back, and blue eyes. We get along, we always say, because we’re the only ones who laugh at each other’s jokes. But I think she’s hilarious, and she builds my self-esteem right up; people roll their eyes sometimes, because they can’t see just how funny we really are.

And she laughs at my humor, sends grinning emoticons on the group message that circulates our phone, but she’s not here yet. We’re not quite whole yet.

~~

She came later. Not the very last one to return, but close. With her arrival, she completed our floor. We were waiting for her, counting down the hours until we knew she’d return. She texted in the morning, at the gate, before take-off, after landing, on the train; we asked her for updates constantly. When will you be here?

I didn’t realize she had arrived. There were loud voices, exclamations, in the bathroom, Mar’s, Ellie’s voices ringing loud off the tiled walls. Elevator dinged up and I stepped off, tucking my keys in my pocket. I could hear the noise from the hallway. Three voices, I recognized them instantly: Ellie. Mar. Krista.

Krista!

I ran the last two steps to the bathroom, pushed through the swinging door. Two rows of stalls, a sink and the showers at the back, the girls are in the middle, in the center of the room. The Neighbor had her back to me, that white-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that brushed her back with every swing of her head. I said her name, must have, because she turned around and then those bathroom walls shook with echo because we were screaming and hugging and the other two were yelling, and we were all talking at once, and suddenly, everyone was back.

Everything was just right.

~~

The summer will change things, of course. The upcoming months will grow relationships, stretch them, change us all. And there will be new hearts on the floor this August, new friends, new family. And there will be old friends, too. Returning students, hearts I know, stories I’m familiar with, faces I love. And we’ll count down the hours until everyone’s back, and we’ll yell in the hallways, laughing, talking all at once when another sister steps off the elevator, makes her way down the hall. Things will be different, but they’ll be the same, too. Because these friends are family and these friends are sisters, and everything will be all right.

~Natalia

The Sky

30 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Chicago, College, Friends, UP

I said last summer, lying on the rocks while the lake lapped easily at the shore, that I don’t like looking up. Star gazing scares me, a little bit.

Not because it’s so big, not even because it makes me feel so small. It’s because it’s so close.

We went up on the roof tonight, the Jenny girl and I. Of course, there are taller buildings all around- this is downtown Chicago, after all- but ten floors up is pretty high. We brought her computer, for the purpose of watching One Tree Hill, but the rooftop Internet capabilities left something to be desired and then we were just lying there, looking up.

The clouds were fat, white, wispy and the sky it’s natural urban glow; I wondered if looking up would feel the same as last summer on the rocks. We could hardly even see any stars.

But while Netflix fought to load, the computer sat to the side, and I looked up and breathed in the orange Chicago sky. I waved my hand towards the sky, telling Jen something, and a second later saw that she imitated me. She laid there on the pillows we had borrowed from the lounge, one hand stretched up, reaching into the swirling clouds.

Do this with one eye open, she said, they’re so close. She opened and closed her fingers, and I imagined her grabbing the clouds, catching a handful of wet, puffy precipitation and twirling it in her hand.

I reached up, did the same.

And the sky is big, marvelously, shockingly so. It’s brilliantly created and beautifully painted, and when you lie on your back and reach hands high as they’ll go- the sky is vast and grand and stunning. And it’s so very close, too.

~Natalia

So Blessed

21 Apr 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in College, Friends, Moody Bible Institute

I spent the night at my house last night. Home time is a wonderful hodgepodge of delicious food, jokes with the father and brother, chasing three little munchkins around the house, and staying up late with the mother. I love those weekends.

Then I came back to school this afternoon; rode the red line all the way back to school and walked back to campus in the warm afternoon sun, up to a quiet floor. The Jen and Mar Bear, on their mutual quest to watch all the dramas, are on season two of One Tree Hill, and I kicked shoes off, shrugged jacket off and climbed onto Jen’s bed to watch an episode.

We had open house tonight, the guys came over to the floor and we played games and yelled and ate, ate, ate all the food. But in between Chad Michael Murray drama and open house, there was a delicious Guatemalan meal, sitting around circle tables in the student center, tossing English and Spanish back and forth across fried plantains and tacos.

Then open house, games, fun, treats. All the guys left at 9- that’s school policy- and it’s Katie’s birthday, of course, and all these girls, we sat around in the lounge and celebrated that sweet girl.

Now it’s 10pm and another week, only three more until finals week, begins tomorrow. I’m tired, right now; so very tired. But I don’t want to stop. Sometimes, Sunday nights are quiet, closed in my room, preparing for the week to come. But not tonight. Not tonight because this floor, these girls I live with: this time doesn’t happen again. Things change every month, every semester, every year, and the days of this school year are ticking down.

So I’m not stopping. Nelle’s room two doors down on one side, the JenMar room two down on the other side, with The Neighbor in the middle. On Friday night, The Neighbor and the Jen and I braved heavy April snowflakes for a Chipotle dinner, and then back and school, Di slept in that hallway end room. Mar came back from work late, found three girls almost asleep, One Tree Hill playing quietly while the snow fell outside.

The episode ended and the lights flicked off and we talked and laughed until it fell silent and when I woke up later, I realized that we had laughed ourselves to sleep.

And I burst into Nelle’s room after classes, toss book bag on her bed and we catch up. And The Neighbor and I are Target buddies; I’d never turn down Target. And Ellie Rose and those sweet ones at the end of the hall and of course, I could never stop now.

I’m tired, but sleep comes soon and then another week, and I’ll never have time to soak up this life, these girls, these relationships, times, blessings. I’m so blessed.

~Natalia

Remember College

13 Apr 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Chicago, College, Fear, Friends

It occurred to me recently that maybe I should spend more time in the library. I should be in the library, with my computer and my notebooks, and my textbooks and pens and pencils. I’d be productive down there in the basement library. There are people who do just that, people whose lives are class and the library, back again and back again. They work hard in that library: it’s a wonderful thing.

I thought about that this week.

Rather soon after this thought occurred to me, my mind argued right back that it’s not the school work that I’ll remember when I look back on my college career in ten, twenty, thirty years; it’s the relationships built. So I decided that a lifestyle at college marked by excessive and reclusive time in the library was a poor decision, and a day like today is just what’s needed to prove such an assertion.

I got up early this morning, when the sun was still working on rising and I was one of four people on the entire train platform. I got off just barely into the Loop and walked amongst the tall black buildings while tiny white snow pellets bounced off my coat and tangled into my hair. I signed into the front desk of one of these buildings, and I took a Praxis Test. Just to make sure I’m smart enough to be a teacher.

I sectioned off five hours of my day for the exam, but I finished ahead of time and after riding the train the rest of the way around the Loop and back to the Chicago Avenue stop, I arrived back at school before noon. All the free time I had! All the time to accomplish tasks! What about the homework- so much could be done!

So I perused Pinterest. Took a brief nap. Worked on my take-home quiz. Spent some time with the Mother and the baby boy she brought along for a visit. Ate a chocolate egg. Ate another chocolate egg. If relaxing was on my checklist, I nailed it. But if it’s homework, papers, reading, and a quiz that I was hoping to accomplish this afternoon, I fell sadly short.

But this evening? This evening was when I remembered what’s important; when I remembered exactly what it is that I’ll look back on in the years to come.

Sometime in the late afternoon, after the Mother and the toddler boy left, I swung my door open, shoving the clear doorstop under it with my toes. People walked back and forth, the hallway’s always moving, but an open door means come on in, and 5pm found Jen, Di, and I perched on my bed, while Mar leaned leisurely against The Roommate’s raised bedframe. I could have written then- a blog post, I was thinking. But those three in the room are the three I’ll remember anyway, not the blog post, so I didn’t.

And there was dinner downstairs, stacking bruschetta next to chicken breast, settling into that long SDR table, Mar’s on a cucumber kick, too. And upstairs again, more time for homework, but there’s voices coming from a bedroom down the hall, and I want to do what I’ll remember.

Mar and Jen share a room, we watched a movie, all lined up on Jen’s bed last night. And Ellie Rose kept her room open this weekend, white light from the window, shining square on the hallway carpet. Late in the evening, Nelle is gone but her room’s open and there were five of us in there, sitting on the bed, the couch, the floor. Talking, laughing, being together.

I could have sat in the room, computer on desk, type, type, typing away, but that didn’t feel right today. So I left homework on the side and I followed relationships that are growing, and I had a wonderful Saturday and these things? These are the times I’ll remember about college.

~Natalia

I’d Write

07 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Chicago, College, Friends, Train, Writing

After church and after lunch, this afternoon, these four ladies, we went to Starbucks. There was a lull in the moments between elevator dinging up, up, up from lunch, and clicking that elevator button again: down to street, down to train, down to the city. There was a lull and I’m not the only one whose eyes sank heavy; Sunday afternoon just feels right to be sleepy. But it was a small break, and soon, soon, we filled backpacks with computers, Upasses, books, and we rode that elevator down, right into that city lobby.

We took the train, four? Five stops? Into the circle, wrapping around the heart of downtown Chicago; the train said “Loop” on the side. We rode right into the Loop and we got off at Adams and Wabash, where the Art Institute of Chicago stands strong at the end of the street, and there’s a Starbucks right there facing.

The same Starbucks that The Jen and I found on Friday. Friday when we sat in the front window with our headphones in and typed, typed, typed those papers and watched the people of the city and the tourists stream back and forth on that Chicago street. We went back to the same Starbucks, and we brought Mar and Ellie Rose along, too.

We found a table in the middle; I sat on one side, three chairs in a row for those three on the other side, and we worked there in the Starbucks. I had a paper, the same paper that caused my back to stiffen tight from sitting, working, stressing on Saturday night. I had a paper to work on, but I was up late on Saturday and I made much progress, I’ve not so very much work to do now. So I listened to music and I worked on that paper, and when I couldn’t resist, I looked up, out the window, and gazed at Chicago happening there.

But we’re not there so long, there was an issue with the heater, or maybe the air conditioning, and they’ve got to check everything, verify it’s all just fine: they asked us all to leave.

So we bundled up notebooks, and slid computers into backpacks, grabbed drinks, and we left. Ellie Rose knew a place, the Chicago Cultural Center, so we walked up that wide, windy sidewalk, Jen and I in dresses that blew like feathers over cold feet in flip-flops; it really was warmer this morning, we tell the other two.

But the walk wasn’t far and we got there soon; it was warm and dim, and the wide marble staircase winds up, up, up, but we walked right under it to the big room with dark red carpet and all those work tables. Mar and Ellie are in front, because Ellie’s been here before, and with Mar, the two of them are conversing quiet in this place like a museum. Jen and I are behind, far, and we stop and look at art on the wall, and I found a water fountain; the first two’ve selected our table by the time we arrive.

It’s a long table, with plush benches that I slide right off of because my dress is slippery, and they sit on one side, Jen and I on the other side. And I put in just one headphone, because it’s quiet here and I want to drink in the still, even as I’ve turned the music up loud in the other ear. I listen and I write, working on that paper again.

But I’ve made real progress and my despair, that sick, sinking feeling I get so very much when it comes to these rather intense papers, that feeling is shrinking, and I feel light and hopeful, and it’s making me want to write more.

Jen on my left, Mar across, Ellie Rose next to Mar, I realize then that it’s these three who I’d write about. I can’t, don’t, because I’ve got that paper, and I wasted too much time fiddling with my music, but I wanted to write about them.

I’d write about Ellie Rose with those soft, pale fingers, and Spanish worksheet pages spread wide in front of her. I’d write about Mar, she’s reading C.S. Lewis, taking notes in a little journal, and she looks C.S. Lewis-type, too. She’s got a black dress and black tights, and her hair’s auburn straight. She looks gentle, professional. And I’d write about Jen, next to me. She curled her hair this morning, and that brown hair falls soft on her white cardigan shoulders. She has a green dress and shiny sandals: she’s wearing hope for spring.

I’d write about those girls until all the details I know, all the details that I think and see and breathe and live everyday were recorded, because there sitting in the Chicago Cultural Center, I want to take these three and write, write, write, until I’ve saved them perfect, and they’d never leave, because I have them there, in pages.

~Natalia

Rose, Bud, Thorn

05 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in College, Elementary Education, Friends, Work

We have a meeting once a week. In Nelle’s room. There are these six of us, plus Nelle, and we all have our spots, just where we’ve gotten comfortable over this year, and every Wednesday, 9:30, the bed is my spot. Someone else used to sit on the bed at these meetings. When there were different people in this group, and we planned events, prayed for, a slightly different floor. Someone else used to have this prized spot.

But they’re not here anymore, and every Wednesday, got my sweats on, I’m all tucked into that bed with the white comforter.

Nelle’s the leader, of the floor and the meeting, and she asks if we’d prefer business first and then fun, or fun and then business. We say business first, and in the end, it’s only the Katie girl and I who stay for the fun; sometimes these midweek meetings are hard to stick around for.

There’s a little pause, and we have to discuss if talking about our week, checking in, is business or fun, but the argument goes that we spend half the meeting always on this question, so it must be business. I voice my opinion, but I try not to boss, even though I’m sitting on the bed, taller than anyone else. I lie down and curl up, feel less bossy that way.

It’s always the same every week, I’m not sure why we have to discuss this week, because we always share, talk, pray to begin. And every week it’s always the same because Nelle’s a sweetheart, and she’d rather not say it, but these week check-ins, someone called them “Happies and Crappies” and the title stuck and every week, it’s an inside joke on repeat. Gwen, she sits in front of me, leaning back on that white fluffy bed, and Nelle says we’re sharing “highs and lows” from the week.

“We’re sharing what?” someone asks, always the same game. Gwen and I, we look at each other, and the smile hides faint around our mouths; we know it won’t be long. And Nelle, she knows our game now, of course, but sometimes we still get her and she’s clarified that we’re doing “Happies and Crappies” before she realizes it, and Gwen and I, we laugh. She said it.

But there’s a discussion more (everything must be discussed) and Nelle’s listing all these ways to talk about a week just had, and by the time she’s told us there’s another way, a tougher way, we’re listening close. Rose, Bud, Thorn, she says, ticking three words off with slender pale fingers. Good, Hopeful, Bad.

We like that. I even sit up from my bed lounging.

My Rose, my Bud, my Thorn, they come to mind instantly, but I wait the required pause before I raise my hand tentatively. I’m involved and comfortable in this floor girls meeting, but I still don’t want to monopolize, don’t want to dictate. So I wait just a moment, then shrug, quiet. I can go…

I work backwards, backwards, because the Thorn came chronologically first, fear in the night that I’m too disoriented, too unawake to confront head-on. Then a Bud, because three work days in a row is a wonderful opportunity with my sweet athletes, but it’s also six hours on the train, and did you know that the Jen, that angel of a friend, she came with me one day?

And the Rose is the last, and I can feel the giddy inside me just a little again, but I’m really not sure I can communicate the fun, the happy, the this is right of that lesson plan, and those Elementary Education classes. It’s not just the class, either, or even the homework: I taught with a partner last week, and me and this partner, we worked so well together, communicated so strong. And the professor who stands at the front? I’ve people here and people there that I want to be like, but this woman, she’s on the short, short list of people I want to be.

And then I’m done talking, and Nelle goes next, we go around to the right, but I like that Rose, Bud, Thorn, and I’m still thinking of this because thorns come with roses and roses come from a bud, and you really can’t have one without the other.

~Natalia

Meet The Floor

03 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in College, Family, Friends, Photos

I realized that you’ve never seen
floor1
these pics of some of the girls

floorbus
I call my family,

floorserious
because we’re all together on this dorm floor (and some others, too).

floortree
Well…
treesilly
Now you have!

~Natalia

A Life I’m Loving

03 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in College, Family, Friends, Moody Bible Institute, Wedding

The Friday night conversation is always the same. The Roommate is in bed before me, she props herself on one arm, reading a book, working on her computer. I shuffle around the room, brushing my teeth, pulling the day’s discarded clothes off my bed, onto my desk chair. Are you sleeping in tomorrow? she asks. It’s generally times when my head is in the sink, toothpaste swirling down the drain, when she asks such things, and I pop up, white fluff on the corners of my mouth. Eh? She repeats the question.

I tell her probably not, which by 9am becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she nods; I probably am. That’s the conversation, it’s the same every time. She sleeps late, I don’t. Small children have morning curfews, before which they wait eagerly in their rooms, confined to their space until the sacred hour arrives when it is permissible to stir, talk, move, get up. My Saturday morning is a self-imposed morning curfew, and I lie painstakingly still until there is 10:30am yelling in the hallway, then at least it won’t be my noise that wakes The Roommate.

This Saturday Moody’s drama group is doing Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Roommate talks me into buying tickets in the brief span between waking up and lunch time. So I agree and she buys the tickets online and 7pm, we’ve finished dinner and we walk downstairs to that classroom auditorium; the big one. I had forgotten that Shakespeare’s English is a little rusty, or maybe it’s the other way around, and I estimate 30% of my play-watching efforts are spent deciphering this Ancient English.

But people who saw the play Friday say it’s funny, very funny. Two hours are long enough for intermission in between, and it is an entertaining show. And there’s a fairy named Puck, and this small-campus school, of course I’ve seen this girl around. But walking past a stranger in the SDR at lunch is different that watching a girl invent a character onstage, and I’m captivated by her manner. I’m not the only one, either; she’s a strong actress, and the others on stage, too. There’s another dimension of entertainment allowed, when those stepping on stage are classmates and floor-mates and friends from around the school.

We like the play so much, The Roommate and I go back Sunday afternoon to sit in those auditorium seats and watch the second half all over again.

And after that Saturday play, we go right back upstairs, hurrying, because there are things to be accomplished this weekend. I do some of those things, I’m working on more, when they pound and the pound on the door. I say come in just a little, because they’re loud, won’t hear anyway, and eventually, the door opens. Nelle, Mar and Jen stand in the doorway, Nelle holds a small container of popcorn. They’re watching a movie, will we come over, too? But I’ve things to do and I say no, then watch The Roommate follow the three out our door. The second assignment finishes faster than others, and this thing I’m doing now can be done with company. So I unplug the computer, and balance phone on pink keyboard, and down the hall, four girls on the couch, I climb onto Nelle’s bed.

Jen’s sister is in town, an older sister attending a wedding, and she comes in behind me, fancy dress still crisp and bright. She sits on that couch, it fits five and probably more, and I’m working on my computer, but listening, too. They watch the film and then it ends and the five women on the couch talk and chat. This sister, she looks very much like our Jen, and she’s talking about study and Spanish and Latin American children, and my computer screen loses my attention rather quickly. She looks up at me, where I’m sitting on that soft white Nelle bed, You know Spanish, right? And conversation goes, goes, goes; I’ll remember this heart as one devoted to the Lord.

Sunday evening is Open House, the guys came to our floor. But Spring Break comes on Friday, and we’re rather short on time; I made 54 mini-muffins just like last Open House, but there were leftovers tonight. But the guys over or not, us girls, us sisters, we sit in the lounge, in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, and with all the doors open, it seems more like a home now than any day other.

And a million other things happened this weekend, which many I’ll not tell you here. But a snapshot’s a fair shot to get an idea, of the life I’m loving to lead.

~Natalia

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