Today had been a fairly dull day, I'd returned to campus after visiting mum and dad over the break with Harrison and filming had wrapped for the movie prior to break, so the only thing I had to worry about were classes, which began tomorrow. The community college's classes began before the university's did, so Harrison was staying an extra week at home. Over the break I'd bought lots of athletic wear, since I'd resolved to start working out more. I'd never bothered making a resolution before, though I figured why the hell not this year. Might as well give it a go. The worst that could happen was I ended up quitting it two weeks in, like most people.
Mum had apologized profusely over the break, she said she didn't realize she was smothering me, she said she didn't realize how much I hated and if I wanted to transfer to the Community College of Allegheny County for the spring semester I could, since the movie had wrapped filming and she promised to not interfere with my living habits, promised to not be a helicopter mother to her seventeen, soon to be eighteen, year old daughter; she wanted a relationship, she wanted to be a friend.
I declined, simply telling her I was enjoying living with Harrison and Wilson and that it was probably too late to transfer.
The gym was fairly empty; the semester hadn't formally started and not many students thought, "Hey, you know what'd be fun at 6 am on a frigid January morning? Working out!" Including myself, there were three girls here who, unbeknownst to me, would become close. Right now, we didn't know each other, though we'd heard of each other in passing.
There was me, the blonde with a bob, running on the treadmill in a white off the shoulder tee and sky blue shorts: Veronica Colton. Seventeen, finishing up high school at the local community college, I starred in one minor motion picture that'd be premiering in June, a month after the semester ended, in Los Angeles. I lived with my brother, Harrison Colton, and his friend Wilson Cameron, who were both pre-med.
I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do with my life, I loved theater and acting, though I didn't know if that was what I wanted to do with my life.
To me, Lyla was the girl my brother was mildly infatuated with.
To me, Katie was the "friend that I grabbed lunch with.", since that's all Harrison told me when I inquired where he got Chinese from, a few months ago.
Next, there was Katie Dalton, the twenty-two year old raven haired girl running in navy capri yoga pants and a matching sports bra. A golden headband held her hair back like it did everyday; she loved headbands and she loved her hair, proud of her heritage, proud of the discrimination her and her family had overcome.
Dr. Marget Elise McCormick was the first African-American women to teach at the uni Harrison attended, she lived in her on campus apartment her entire life, becoming affectionately known as Doc McC, professor of American literature. She never married, not that she wanted to, and she never had children, not that she wanted to. She had a fairly large family, she was the eldest of four brothers and a sister, and every summer she'd let a relative, a nephew, niece, some cousin, a brother, an in-law, crash on her sofa. Every summer, she'd gain some idyllic, bucolic trinket, turning her apartment into an eclectic, homely, completely cluttered place.
The summer after Katie graduated high school, she came to stay with her great aunt McC, since she'd be attending the uni she taught at. She was the last summer guest, for, at the age of eighty seven, she passed, succumb to cancer. The cancer mourned Doc McC, who had left the apartment to whoever lived with her last; Katie inherited a home and with that, she'd inherited the history of the place, every summer you let someone crash on your sofa. Her first summer, she let her cousin Maxwell stay, her second she let her friend Alisha, her third she let her aunt Emmalinne. Now she was a senior, about to graduate with a bachelor's in business administration and a minor in American lit, a homage to her great aunt.
To her, I was just one of Harrison's, the boy who she'd gone on a few dates with, roommates.
To her, Lyla was just the noisy next door neighbor whose roommate constantly fought with her boyfriend.
Lastly, there was Lyla Leviathan, the twenty-one year old with a penchant for hair dye and galaxy print apparel. She flirted since it was fun, her dating history didn't contain ex-boyfriends as much as it did chances she never took and a few one night stands. She was a junior, psych major, and shared lab space with Harrison her fifth semester.
She never worked out; she thought it was dull, it gave too much time for her mind to wander free and analyze the others in the room. She went into psychology because she was an over thinker, constantly analyzing everything, everyone in the room.
Or at least, that's what her daddy told her.
Her daddy told her a lot of things, though. Her daddy told her that she needed to quit thinking and that she needed to be independent, needed to quit crying because her pops wasn't coming back. She had her dad and her pops and they'd lived in Massachusetts, legally wed the minute the law passed in 2004. In 2015, when all states recognized it, Lyla cried, wishing they'd done it sooner. Maybe if they had, pops wouldn't have left, fleeing to Alabama, where he was from. Daddy hadn't followed, he feared the homophobia, the harsh taunts Lyla might face from children in the school yard. He also wanted his marriage recognized. Pops wanted his family, which apparently didn't include his husband and daughter, but did include his racist parents, and to root for Bama.
To her, Katie was just the girl she occasionally caught a glimpse of in the hallway.
To her, I was just Harrison's little sister, who she'd never met.
We were all working out in the gym, the gym that was empty because it was the beginning of the year, but by the beginning of next year, we wouldn't just be working out and we wouldn't be three strangers. We'd know each other and we wouldn't just have our own personal backstories: the girl with helicopter parents, the girl with the professor great aunt, the girl with the fucked up fathers, we'd have new labels, because by next year one of us will have given birth, one of us will have gotten married, and one of us will have lost one of our roommates.
There's be a mother, a bride, and a mourner.
We just didn't know who'd be who, yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment