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The campus was crawling with students carrying boxes and lugging baggage. Most forged ahead quickly while a parent or two followed behind with stricken faces and red-rimmed eyes. The weather was perfect – sunny, about 80 degrees, with a light breeze rustling the leaves of the cherry trees lining the walkways of the Quad. The electronic bells of Rooke Chapel announced 2:00 pm as we left the Registrar’s office and headed for the van. “According to the map, Swartz is just to the east of the Quad. Why don’t you two walk and I’ll go get the van.” Dad loved a mission, and for the time being, navigation and logistics were his specialty.
Since the abrupt end to our family night, Mom’s mood was noticeably different. She was quiet, reflective and calm. I had expected the trip to Pennsylvania to be replete with Mom’s bubbly, false enthusiasm, but it was actually an enjoyable drive. We talked on and off about the scenery and the weather. Then Mom and Dad got going on their own trips to college, which of course put both of them into a “remember when” extravaganza. I was tortured with bad fashion nostalgia, an oldies sing along, and tall tales of risky adventures. I pretended to be more annoyed with it all then I really was. It was comforting to see them laughing and joking together, and to sense that it was all very sincere.
So my walk with Mom toward my dorm continued in this relaxed atmosphere. She walked with one hand loosely gripping the purse on her shoulder, and the other arm swinging slightly at her side. Her dark, straight hair blew pleasantly in the breeze. There were fine lines around her eyes, which were each like little historical markers, memorializing the joys and worries she had experienced. I was looking at her as if she was a stranger. Maybe she was.
We reached the dorm and found my room. The cinder block walls were painted in “Bucknell white”, which looks an awful lot more like tan. I didn’t know what should concern me more: that an institution would feel the need to patent their very own color, or the apparent color-blindness of whoever named it. At any rate, I was very pleased that I had not gone with the blue and real white motif. It would clashed terribly. The warm red and gold that I had chosen was a perfect compliment to the Bucknell white, and the tones echoed the color of the rampant campus brick. I was off to a well-coordinated start. Perfect!
I have found that moments of self-satisfaction are short-lived. This particular moment was no exception. The door to the dorm room burst open. I turned, prepared to help Dad with the first load of boxes from the van. It wasn’t Dad. That realization came as quickly as the flash of bright pink through the room. Dad didn’t wear pink, and he certainly didn’t have an ear-piercing squeal.
“Catherine?” More squealing. “Hi, ROOMIE!!! I can’t believe we’re actually here, you know what I mean? It’s, like, WOW! We’re really college students! I can’t wait to get the room set up, can you? I brought all my favorite things from home. I hope you like pink, ‘cause that is my favorite color. I do everything pink. I know, I know, I’m a real girlie – girl. Do you really want that bed? ‘Cause I need a lot of natural light. I prefer to wake up to natural light instead of an alarm, don’t you? I hope you don’t like to sleep with the blinds drawn, ‘cause I like to go to sleep looking at the stars and wake up to the sun. So is it ok if we switch?”
The dryness of my mouth pulled me back to reality. I snapped my gaping mouth shut and swallowed hard. So this was Veronica. Oh, joy. “Umm, hi, Veronica. Nice to meet you. Sure, take that bed, I haven’t really started to unpack anyway. My Dad is getting my stuff from the van.”
On cue, Dad’s muffled voice came from behind a stack of boxes in the doorway. Mom and I ran to him with admittedly undue haste. “Hey, now that’s what I call prompt response!” Dad smiled. “Now that I finally have you trained to jump at my command, it’s time to fly the nest, ‘eh, little Kitten?”
“Aw, Dad. Come on in. My roommate’s arrived. Veronica, I’d like you to meet my father, Joe Larson. Oh, and I guess you really didn’t meet my mom, Genevieve.”
Veronica rushed at both of them with arms wide open, squealing. “OHHH! Mom and Dad Larson! It’s so nice to meet you! My mom’s looking for someone to help with my bags. She’ll be here soon. Look at you guys! What a good-looking family! I can’t wait to get to know you better. I’m sure there will be lots of time for that, you know. Fall break, Christmas break – even the summer! Oh, this is just perfectly wonderful, isn’t it? Say, Catherine – are you an only child? I don’t remember reading that anywhere. Imagine two spoiled little only children in a room together! Ha! What a hoot!”
Veronica tossed her long, straight blond hair and blew her bangs away from her eyes. I guess she finally needed some refueling. She apparently forgot her question as she began rifling through my boxes, tossing clothes and accessories all over the bed she had rejected. Although irritated that she was touching my stuff, I was just as happy that she had been distracted from her inquiry into my family life. That was a topic I was not ready to unpack.
About 30 minutes later, most of my side of the room was arranged and looking collegiate. We were just breaking down the empty boxes when Veronica’s mother arrived, or perhaps more appropriately, I should say she “descended” upon us.
“Veronica, darling, what ghastly service. Do you know they don’t have anyone
assigned to baggage? I had to hunt down these gentlemen.” She waved her arm gallantly in the direction of two freshman guys in the hall with dopey grins and leather suitcases hanging all over them. “Boys!” Ms. Veronica’s Mother commanded, “in here.” The boys dutifully entered and began stripping themselves of their burden as Veronica began smoothing her clothing and hair. I couldn’t be sure if the primping was for her mother’s benefit or for the guys.
“There now, boys, here’s a little something for your trouble.” She pressed bills into their hands and pushed them out the door. “Thank you, young men. I’m sure Veronica will be seeing you around campus. Bye-bye now.” She closed the door and turned toward us, rubbing her hands together. We must be her next victims.
3 comments:
I hope I'm supposed to feel a bit of fondness for this affected little roommate...I'm picturing this perky theater kid I know from school who begins everything she says with a palms-forward, windshield wiper motion and a beatific, ear-to-ear grin. ("Mom and Dad Larson!" I loved it!) I'm also glad to see that you decided to use Bucknell as the setting...good move. I wish I had the earlier pages so I could give them a fresh read for clarified context, but I really enjoy what I see here. My only question might be how Catherine would be privy to the concept of "Bucknell white" within her first moments on campus, but that's really a minor point. Will there be another installment this summer? I'm clamoring for more!
The tour guide from her first visit to campus, of course.
Of course! The tour guides! I'd completely overlooked their underestimated but substantial informational powers. They are out in full force on my campus, trained even to walk backwards (facing the crowd) while gesturing expansively at buildings, construction, and passing professors. If our institution was so advanced as to have a color named in its honor, I'm sure the tour guides would gesture expansively at that, too. Thanks for setting me straight.
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