Her roommate was standing in the kitchen when she got inside. Lynn was not her choice of living companions. In fact, Julia would have chosen just about anyone else she possibly could have. But it wasn’t her choice. The University made those choices. Unless you came to school with a ready-made roommate listed on your application and the roommate had a matching one naming you as her co-renter of choice, you ended up with whoever the hat of chance gave you.
It was probably actually a computer program that matched based on various factors, but Julia preferred to think the housing department just stood in an office somewhere with all the names of the various people available in hats, pulling out the names at random to fill the dorm rooms and apartments as they came up.
That would at least rid her of the uncomfortable feeling that she was anything like Lynn, or that even an emotionless computer could think they were compatible.
She tried to be friendly with her. She tried to get along and make the months ahead of them as easy as possible. That was why she agreed to lend Lynn her car even against her better judgment. But even that wasn’t good enough.
“You owe me thirty-six dollars,” Lynn announced before the door to the apartment was even locked.
“Excuse me?” Julia said.
“You owe me thirty-six dollars,” her roommate said again, stirring something brown and sludgy in a pot on the stove.
“Care to tell me why?” Julia took off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall by the door.
As she unwound the scarf from around her neck, Lynn looked over and her eyes locked on the garment.
“Is that your scarf?” she demanded.
“I borrowed it because it was cold and I had to walk to the bus stop because I lent you my car,” Julia said, emphasizing the words to make a point.
Lynn stared at the scarf for another few seconds, indecipherable emotion flickering across her eyes before they went angry again.
“Yeah, you did. And I ended up having to take a taxi,” she spat.
Julia looked over at the kitchen counter where she had left her car keys earlier that day. They were sitting there again, but not in the same spot where she’d left them.
“My car works perfectly fine,” she said.
“If you have gas in it,” Lynn said. “And it didn’t. So, I had to call for a ride.”
“Are you kidding me? I said you could use my car, not that I would fund the trip for you. Putting gas in it is your responsibility if you want to drive it.”
“If you lend someone your car, they expect that they’re going to be able to go where they need in a timely fashion. I didn’t know you were so negligent about putting gas in your car and I wouldn’t have had the time to stop by a gas station anyway. It would have made me late.”
“But you had the time to wait around for a taxi to get here?” Julia asked.
“The driver was very prompt and drove me where I needed to go. I was still almost late. Which wouldn’t have happened if your car lived up to expectations and had gas in it when you lent it to me. Therefore, you owe me forty dollars.”
“It was thirty-six a few seconds ago,” Julia pointed out.
“I gave him a tip,” Lynn said.
“I don’t care if you gave him syphilis and a backrub. I’m not paying for your damn taxi. And you’re a terrible tipper, which I hope he spreads around to the other drivers.”
Lynn turned off the burner, moved the pot of unidentifiable goo and stormed out of the apartment with an exasperated, angry growl. Julia went into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. She closed her eyes and took a long breath to try to relax.
Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to get through her last year after all. It was always the plan, but this was getting to be way too much. She needed a change. If nothing else, she needed to figure out where life was really supposed to take her.
Chapter Twenty-Four Now
Steering clear of social media isn’t new for me. I briefly tried to jump on the bandwagon when it first came out, but I quickly learned I wasn’t particularly good at it and fell off the back of that wagon, never to climb on again. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t collect my fair share of pictures.
I’ve always liked holding onto memories. I don’t like to say I’m sentimental. For some reason that word strikes me as disingenuous. It feels like the type of word people use to put a nice spin on something. Like when a woman is described as a devoted collector, or high-strung, when what they really mean is she’s a hoarder or bat-shit crazy.
Of course, someone can truly be a collector. There are certain personalities that really are on the shrill side. But those words never come out right, and that’s how I feel about “sentimental”. It makes me think of someone who is overly emotional and attached to things for no particular reason.
If I cling, I cling for a reason. Which is why I might not have joined the social media trend but welcomed easy access to the cloud with open arms. Somewhere floating above me in whatever the cloud actually is are hundreds of pictures, stashed away over the years to make sure I can hang onto those memories no matter where I am or what I may have lost.
I bring my computer out of my office and into the living room where I sit down in my favorite corner of the couch and access the galleries of pictures.
