Dear Maude

 

I remember it vividly—Saturday, April 7, 2012. Although I didn’t know it at the time, this date would mark the end of my world.

The morning began shrouded by an overcast sky that hung heavily over the campus of Carlston University in Upstate New York. The desolate dew-covered lawns and pathways winding endlessly around the school were devoid of footprints that might have indicated any sign of life.

This wasn’t unusual, though, especially the morning after several Easter-themed frat parties. No. In fact, most sensible people were soundly sleeping in their dorms—with the unfortunate exception of my roommate, Sophia, who no one would accuse of being sensible. Instead, she was intent upon consuming our dorm room—its floor space and air space—as if it existed only for her. And in her mind, that was exactly why it was created.

Her high-pitched voice could cut through any material with razor-like precision. It was deadly, and she was well-versed (literally) in its use and effectiveness. No manner of pillow or blanket could escape its wrath—even mattresses were no match for her glass-breaking, shrill tone…

I thought (or possibly hoped) I was dreaming.

“Em.”

The sound whispered and then drifted in the air as if floating on the breeze.

“Emi.”

It grew stronger.

“Emily?”

The almost metallic noise belched its hot breath unmistakably in my ear.

“Emily Stanton!”

“What?” I barked toward the offending sound, my face fixed in a morning grimace.

“Look, sorry to wake you!” I opened my eyes to see Sophia squatting a mere three inches from my dorm room bed. “I have been up all morning working on my lit. paper, and I’m completely freaked out!”

Great, here we go, I thought. I fluffed my pillow and sat up against it in preparation for another one of Sophia’s familiar rants.

“I have a sociology paper due on Tuesday, a chemistry exam and a math quiz on Monday, and my lit. teacher thought it would be ‘fun’ to write ‘a few’ about a haunted house! It’s April!” The words spewed from Sophia’s mouth like steam from a boiling tea kettle.

Still half asleep, I stared blankly at my overwrought, finger-quote-wielding roommate. Her voice rose with every word as she now paced the floor of our dorm room, alternately gesturing at the door and the window with every turn.

This movement was all too much for me. I suddenly felt nauseous, so I quickly swung my legs out of bed and placed my sock-covered feet on the floor, slowly drawing my head between my knees.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I moaned at the floor.

Sophia was oblivious to my comment and continued her descent into the absurd.

I closed my eyes in an attempt to block out Sophia’s pacing, but the room began to spin. My ears soon rang like a church bell on Sunday morning, forcing me to my feet. I reached the door in two steps, flinging it open and narrowly missing Sophia in the process. I began to run down the hall, fighting to balance myself on the way to the restroom.

Once safely in a stall, my stomach contents quickly reminded me of my overindulgence at the frat party the night before. Several flushes and twenty minutes later, I left the cold comfort of the tile floor and sought a free sink to rinse my mouth and splash water on my face.