Fractured 5

I crack open the soda and sit at my laptop. Taking a cautious sip, I notice a thin texture sweetened like cough medicine. A cough escapes my mouth and I feel like my skin crawls. I set the can down, thoroughly finished, and look over the piece I have written. The prose reads one-sided and more like a complaint about a man I know nothing about. A brief exchange in his office doesn’t really amount to knowing someone. Especially not enough to form a rounded opinion of my advisor. An hour passes as I attempt to change the content of the piece into something more palatable. I close my eyes resting my forehead on the edge of my desk.

Waking up at my desk, I notice a few lines added on the bottom.

You are one crazy girl. Keep the window closed if your allergies are bad. -Em

Emma had checked on me and I didn’t even notice. The window is closed and a light blanket loosely wrapped around my shoulders. She even turned out my lights. Health freak or not, she cares for others. I forgot to ask what her major was in, I’d guess early education or maybe nursing.

I look over at my clock, the harsh green numbers produce a 3:00AM in the dark. I stretch trying to undo the aches in my neck and shoulders. I decide on a quick shower before bed. The water swirls into the brass drain at my feet. I wonder if the other dorms have personal showers or if it’s because this is a new building. Luck of the draw so I am told but we don’t get a choice for roommates until senior year. Emma seemed pretty alright and Tori was kind of crabby. Maybe I’ll meet Hayley tomorrow.

I step onto the plush carpet next to my bed, cool and fresh from the shower. I look at the laptop and close the screen, deciding the prose I was working on can wait. There is no way anything more is getting done tonight. My bed welcomes me with its comfort and soon I drift back into sleep.

 

The first week of classes I lovingly name “hell week”. Everyone is getting used to the new workload and how all our professors grade. Templeton ignores me through his classes, which I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. I don’t bother speaking with him after class either. Instead, I find myself looking forward to my other classes, history and psychology.

Not many students visit the offices aside from residential assistants. I carve good portions off my homework. By Friday night, I flop onto my bed and trace the blocky Aztec patterns of the blanket my grandmother had sewn. My mom had found the pattern too cultural for her taste and I ended up taking it from the donation bin. There’s something about the patterns that seems warm. My fingers run across each stitch and smile at the uneven mistakes. My grandmother found enjoyment in her sewing. She always said to love what you do and do what you love. And I love books.

I decide I want to treat myself tomorrow.

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