Archives:
September 2-September 8, 2007

September 2, 2007

I turn as the door to my room opens. “OK, yeah, don't sweat it,” Cameron says, coming inside. “Yeah, really, we'll make it work. OK, I've got to go. Yep. All right. Bye.” She slaps shut her cell phone and tosses it on her desk, before she turns to me. “Hey Preston .”

“Hey,” I say, pushing away from my desk a little. We didn't talk for long yesterday, as I headed out to meet up with Teri, and Cameron seemed intent on changing when I was in the room. She didn't come back here last night, so this is the first time the two of us are really talking.

“So, I wanted to talk to you,” I go on, “you know, about our living situation.”

“What's on your mind?” she asks, setting her sunglasses down on her desk, then looking at herself in the little mirror, straightening her hair.

“It's just—I mean, you're a girl, and I'm a guy.”

“Good observation,” she says, batting her mouse around, bringing the screen of her laptop back to life.

“So was there, like, some computer glitch, because your name looked like it could have been male?”

“I don't think you could call it a computer glitch. I went down to housing registration same as anybody, and put my name in.”

“And they didn't stop you from signing up for a room with me?”

Cameron types something as she speaks. “To be fair, I don't think the registration lady even looked at me.”

I scratch my head. “Well, I guess we've got to do something to correct this.”

“Correct what?”

I smile, unsure if she's joking. “I'm just saying that we can't have a co-ed room.”

“Why not?” she asks, not looking up from her computer.

“Well, the college doesn't have co-ed rooming. That, and, aren't you a little uncomfortable with this situation? I mean, when I walked in on you the other night—that's exactly the kind of awkward situation that we're going to be facing until we straighten this out. Now, I can stay with my girlfriend for a couple days—”

“You can stay with your girlfriend for as long as you need to get comfortable with this,” Cameron says, “but the fact remains that we're roommates—unless you want to move out.”

“OK, why are you so adamant about staying here?”

“Prime location, in-room bathroom, plus I lived right down the hall last year, and I like this dorm.” She straightens, giving me her full attention at last, if just for a second. “You can leave if you want. I'm not going anywhere.”

September 3, 2007

Emma and Claire drag their desks into place to join the circle for Jones's class. I arrived early this week, only to have Nick sit beside me, and I'm relieved when the girls join us over here, not leaving me alone with this guy.

“You've had Jones before, right Preston ?” Emma asks, getting herself situated.

“Yeah, I had him one time.”

“So what would you say we can expect from the class?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Claire here is only taking the class to fulfill her humanities requirement,” Emma says, glancing behind her as Claire sits down. “And we were just debating whether it's worthwhile to stay in, or if she should get out now.”

I shrug, letting my pen tilt from side to side over the back of my hand. “Depends on what you're looking for,” I say, peering over to Claire, allowing the pen to teeter down to the desk. “Jones is one of the best professors I've had, but I wouldn't say he's easy.”

Claire nods. “That's pretty much the exact same thing as RateMyProfessor said. That and that Jones is cute.”

“Cute?” I ask.

Emma looks toward the front of the classroom, eying Jones for a second. “He's not a bad looking guy.”

I clear my throat. “So aside from the cute professor, why are you here, Emma? You finished your humanities requirement.”

“I picked up an English minor,” she says, flipping open her notebook.

“Is that right?”

“Well it's a good minor to have,” Nick chimes in. “Shows you have writing, reading and analytical skills—very desirable for employers.”

Emma shrugs.

“All that, and you still have time for a real major.”

“A real major?” I ask.

“Yeah. I mean, who ever heard of an English major getting a job?” Nick asks.

I hear Emma stifle a laugh as I look away from Nick.

September 4, 2007

Teri sits at a corner of the center table in the office with Gabby, each of them picking at salads with plastic forks. “So the girl meant to sign up to live with you?”

“Not specifically with me, I don't think,” I say, as I finish writing off an e-mail to set up an interview for the paper. I've mentioned bits of Cameron's story to Teri, but we've both been busy, and this is the first time we really talk about it. “But she knew I was a guy.”

“And she's OK with that?”

“She said she didn't care,” I say, clicking on the “SEND” icon. “She said that I had a prime spot for a room, and she didn't have anything against living with me.

“Well maybe you should let her know that you have a problem with it.”

“I think I did that already.”

“Well maybe you have to tell her again,” Teri says, stabbing through a cherry tomato. “I mean, how could someone be comfortable with it? And you're telling me her boyfriend is OK with it?”

“We haven't talked about it at length or anything,” I say, reaching for my water bottle. “But the boyfriend didn't seem too upset when—”

“Wouldn't you be upset if I were living with some guy?” Teri breaks in. “It's just uncomfortable, especially when she doesn't know anything about you—and you don't know anything about her.”

“We'll get this sorted out,” I say, surprised to see that I've already gotten an e-mail back from my last message. “I'll take care of it,” I go on, opening the message up.

September 5, 2007

“Carl, what's going on with the formatting for the provost interview?”

“What do you mean?” Carl asks, looking up from the textbook he's reading while he waits for my edits.

It's only quarter to midnight , but it feels like much later—maybe just because of the late night I still expect is ahead of me. Wednesday nights, the nights before the paper comes out, are always late, and that's especially true for the first issue of the year. I've also been a little annoyed with Carl and Rich for alternately kidding around, or trying to work on homework, and either way acting annoyed with having to do their jobs.

I hold up the print out I'm editing. “The two columns in the middle of this aren't justified.”

“Mark it off. I'll fix it,” he says, already looking back down at the book.

“So when you're laying this out,” Teri says, leaning over Gabby at her computer, “you want to make sure that you format all of the text consistently. Because once you get it right, it's mostly just copying and pasting new text into the same places next week.”

“Good call,” Gabby says, nodding as she stares at her screen.

It's been handy to have Teri in the office tonight, as sort of a second managing editor, or second editor in the chief, helping people out, specifically Gabby, while I'm busy with my own parts of the paper.

I worry a little that Gabby's going to get too dependent on her.

I remind myself, though, that this is the first week, and that for now, we're just lucky to have an extra resource in the office. That, and her hair looks really nice the way it hangs over her shoulder.

Teri looks up at me for a second, brushing her hair back behind her. I flash a smile, then turn back to my work.

September 6, 2007

Cameron stands on her desk chair, elevating herself to put dishes away on the top shelf in her closet. I wonder who needs that many dishes in the dorm. I just keep a plate or two, maybe a set of silverware—basically whatever I swipe from the dining hall over the course of the year. I remember Emma had this set of plastic cups, and plates and bowls. Maybe it's a girl thing to expect to eat in the room so often.

“So your boyfriend is totally OK with you living with a guy?” I ask, continuing our conversation.

“He knows he can trust me,” Cameron says, sliding the dishes over a little. “And besides, it's not his decision to make.”

“It's just that my girlfriend, Teri, she isn't comfortable with this.”

“Are you comfortable with it?”

In a sense I don't really mind it. Barring walking in on her having sex again, or something like that, I think it's reasonable enough to think we can co-exist in the space. But now it's more of the principle of the thing than anything—the fact that I know she shouldn't be here.

“I can deal with it—”

“Then good. That's what you should tell your girlfriend. It's not her problem.”

I scratch the back of my head. “But this isn't weird to you at all?”

“Why should it be?” she asks, stepping down. “You know there are schools across the country that are moving away from gender-divided housing. In a sense, it's discriminatory.”

“Against who?”

“How about people who don't identify as male or female? Who are they supposed to live with?” She picks up a stack of sketchbooks from the ground, setting them on her desk. “And a lot of people view single sex rooming as based on sexuality—that a man and a woman living together are inevitably going end up doing it, or that the guy's going to take advantage of her or something. It completely disregards gay and lesbian students who would face the same issues living with a same sex partner.”

“You've given this a lot of thought, huh?”

“Wrong,” she says, flipping through the first sketchbook, then placing it in a basket in her closet. “I've given it some thought. It's time you do too.”

September 7, 2007

“I don't care if other colleges are doing it, it's still against the rules at Taylor,” Teri says, turning over pages in yesterday's issue of the Window, while I sit at her desk in the SA office, going through the last two days of e-mail in our inbox. “If this Cameron wants to live with a boy she should go to one of those other schools.”

“I know,” I say. “But now she's all unpacked, and set to stay right where she is. And it's like she has a counter-argument for everything.”

Teri leans back on the maroon couch she's sitting on. It's a lot nicer than the couch in the Window office—just like her computer's nicer, and the desk and desk chair are nicer. I wonder if the Window requested nicer stuff, if they'd consider it. Teri could testify to the differences. Of course, she's been gung ho about separating herself from the newspaper in the public eye.

“Well maybe you should bring it up to your RA then.”

I bob my head from side to side. “You know, it's funny. I actually haven't even met my RA yet. Aren't they supposed to make sure they know everybody?”

Teri shrugs. “This could be a good opportunity to introduce yourself.” She gets up from the couch, heading to a full-sized refrigerator in the corner, where she removes a bottle of Aquafina. “You want anything?”

“Tell me. Is that water that you bought, or is that my student activity fee at work?”

Teri smirks, twisting off the cap of her bottle. “The student body has to keep its representatives well-hydrated.”

“Well if I'm paying for it anyway, I guess I'll take a water.”

September 8, 2007

“Just a second!” Frank, my RA calls from the other side of his door. It was only after this—the fifth time I knocked, this time pounding on the door, that he gave any kind of response. I would have assumed he wasn't there, but I hear The Who's “Baba O'Reilly” pulsing from inside, alongside this periodic slamming.

When the door opens, a guy pops his head out. Looks younger than me, a little disheveled in a plain white shirt and gym shorts, a hammer in one hand.

“Uh—hey, Frank?” I ask.

“Yeah, what's up man?”

“My name's Preston ,” I reach out my hand and after a moment's consideration, he shakes it. “I live down the hall.”

“Ah, cool. A resident. How's it going?”

“Not bad.” Peering past him, I see wooden boards and nails scattered across the floor, some already attached, forming some kind of frame.

Frank follows my eyes. “Pretty cool, huh? It's an entertainment center. It's gonna have spaces for my stereo and my sub. Then I'll get the TV and DVD player in the middle, and I'll have speakers all around for surround sound.”

“Looks good,” I nod. “So I was actually stopping by because—well, I've sort of got some issues with my roommate.”

“Hey man, freshman year, everybody has a little trouble adjusting, trying to share some space. I'm guessing you're coming from a house where you've got your own room, right?”

“Well, yeah, I have my own bedroom at—”

“And it's a pain in the butt trying to keep what's yours yours here, and trying to snag some privacy and everything.”

“That's not really—”

“Take my word for it, and give this thing a couple weeks. Get to know your roommate, rearrange your stuff some. Trust me—it will all look better with a little patience.” He looks back behind him, then turns to me, spinning his hammer in his hand. “Well, as you can see I'm a little busy. I'll catch up with you later, all right?”

He doesn't wait for a response, closing the door in my face.