A. Marie Silver

A. Marie Silver

642 Things to Write About: The Long-Lost Roommate

“What the hell are you doing here?” My mouth dropped to the floor when I saw her standing outside my door.

“I’ve missed you.” She smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

I gazed at her from head to foot, noticing a small carry-on suitcase clutched in her right hand.  “It’s been ten years.”

She nodded.  “I know.  Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

“You hate me.” My mouth was dry from hanging open.  She’s nuts.  She’s out of her freaking mind.  I should call an ambulance.  What if she’s armed? I should slam the door shut, lock it and then call an ambulance. Looking around my house I realized the only thing I had in my immediate possession was a bottle of warm breast milk.  Somehow I don’t think that’s going to deter her from attacking me.

“Are you going to let me in sometime today?”

“Um…..no?”  I didn’t mean for it to sound like a question but I was confused.  The last time I saw her we were college students.  She spent her days…and nights…partying, sleeping around with other girl’s boyfriends. I spent my days studying, when I felt like it. I wasn’t a saint and I wasn’t standing here before her, trying to act like one.

The fact of the matter was, we didn’t have a single thing in common.  I had modest goals of graduating and getting a job and to achieve that, I understood a fair amount of work was required.  She, on the other hand, felt that college should conform to her and not the other way around.

We argued about this frequently during our one semester together as roommates.  I did my best to ignore her; she did her best to destroy me.  She went around telling other girls in the dorm that I was sleeping with her boyfriend.  I remember the first time that got back to me.  My response was, “Really? Which one?”

Near the end of the semester, she presented me with the paperwork that required a signature from me, stating I understood she was moving out and if I didn’t have another roommate, I’d have to pay for the entire dorm room fee myself.  I welcomed her departure.

“Why not?”

I almost forgot she was still standing there, on my door step.  Her words caught me off guard, pulling me from the rather unpleasant memories I had of our brief time together.  I still can’t believe there was a time when I followed her around like a puppy dog – desperate for attention because I was lonely.  Those days were long gone.  I was married with two kids – more than enough roommates.  I didn’t need anymore.

“Here’s the thing,” I began, reluctant to go the route I was about to embark on.  “We’re not friends. We never were.”

“So?” She tapped her foot against the cement step leading up into my house.

“I don’t like you.” I paused, mostly for dramatic effect.  “You don’t like me.  We’re not a happy fam-il-y.” Yes I went there, singing the cursed words from Barney & Friends – or at least my own rendition of it.

“Why do you always have to be such as bitch!” She pulled a long knife out of her back pocket.  I’m surprised she could fit it in there, the damn thing looked like a machete.

I gasped jumping back. Something hard slammed up against me.  When I looked up, I realized I was on the floor of the living room, leaning up against the couch. “The whole thing was I dream.” I rubbed the back of my head, sore from the bump onto the floor.

A distant screaming caught my attention. Baby girl was awake from her nap and judging by her protests, she was not a happy camper.

I put a bottle of breast milk into the bottle warmer and waited the agonizing three minutes it took to heat it up.  The bottle warmer chimed it was ready at the same time the doorbell rang.

I swooped past the door to chase away whoever it was.  Highness was calling and she didn’t like to be kept waiting.

It took a second for my eyes to catch up with the bright sunlight, but when I did, I was astonished to see her standing at the door. Unlike my dream, she wasn’t alone or carrying a suitcase.  In this scenario, she was accompanied by a Girl Scout.  Please, Lord, tell me she’s not a den leader.  That’s all those impressionable girls need.

I could tell by the way her eyes widened when she saw me that she recognized who I was immediately.  “Oh my God!” She squealed.  “It’s you!”  She pointed her finger at me, wiggling it around.  I kept waiting for lasers to shoot out of it.  Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

Knowing there was a hysterical child upstairs waiting for me, I bought two boxes of Thin Mints and sent her on her way.  I can’t wait until my baby girl starts sleeping through the night.  This whole sleep deprivation thing is jacking with my dreams – hardcore!

One Response

Leave a Reply

A. Marie Smith

Your short bio telling the story of why you are a writer and the things that you think are important.