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“NO, TILT TO THE RIGHT! Almost!” Rochelle grunted, sucking in air through her teeth.
I tried not to laugh. She was furious that her bed wouldn’t fit through my doorway. The mattress, old and frayed on the edges, kept folding in the middle no matter what we did.
“Come on!” She was yelling, pushing on the side that was still hanging outside the door.
With an oompf and another yell, we finally got it through. It took some maneuvering and another fifteen minutes to get it on the box frame in the room, which was another nightmare of an episode all its own.
I stood back and dusted off my hands. “We make a good team,” I told her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, panting heavily and a wiping a bead of seat from her forehead. “Well, at least that’s everything.”
I surveyed the room. It was certainly a different place. My brother’s football trophies had all been packed away, along with the small suitcase of clothes he’d left, and some other memorabilia, all stacked neatly on one side of the large closet. The bare white walls with Rochelle’s bed, dresser, and pop-up closet looked strict and serene all at the same time.
“I’ll let you get to it, then,” I said, awkwardly removing myself from the room as she started to pull out piles of sheets and blankets from a bag next to the bed.
She nodded at me. “Later we should get pizza.” She smiled.
“We should.” Inwardly, I winced. My bank account was already taking a hit renting a truck for all this and buying her boxes and tape. I hoped she would get a job soon and keep up her end of the bargain in all this craziness. Her work study job at the campus newspaper barely paid for gas every month, but it was something.
“My treat,” she said as I closed the door behind me.
I turned and looked at her. “Wait, where’d you get money?”
“My dad gave me some,” she said, shrugging. “Isn’t much, but should get us through the rest of the month.”
I froze in the doorway. “How much?”
She turned and looked at me, her hands on her hips. “Is that really your business?”
“Rochelle, look, if we’re going to be roommates...” I started, but she interrupted me. I felt the adrenaline running through my veins. No, not now! I wanted to scream. Now is not the time, not when she just moved in...
“Not this again!” She shook her head. “I told you I’d look for a part time job. There’s student loans and work study, for now... It will be okay.”
I huffed at her. “It better be.”
“Calm down, Elijah, I—”
“Do you know how much I spent on this endeavor? Your moving in?” I said, still angry, but felt it starting to subside. “It’s draining my savings, Rochelle.”
“I—”
I held up my hand. “Enough, I don’t want to fight about this.”
She sighed and smiled then. “We’re not an old married couple.”
I wanted to grin back at her, but her comment was weird, somehow. I shook my head instead. “Go order your pizza.”
Thirty minutes later, give or take, the truck had been returned and we settled into our routine of open textbooks and pizza. “I’m sorry,” I said after my fifth piece.
“For what?” She looked at me from where she sat across the table.
“Getting mad over money.”
She shrugged. “This was my idea, you know. I’m sorry it’s been so stressful. My dad...”
“I can’t believe he was actually okay with your moving out,” I interrupted, anxious to shift the conversation away from money.
“Yeah, he, uh, just wants to make sure I’m taken care of. Especially since, well.”
I gripped the door handle just a little harder when she said that. “Huh?”
“Nothing. You know, my dad is just over protective sometimes.”
“Well, I’m a pretty good friend, so I guess you’re in good hands.”
She almost smiled, but it fell off her face like a weight that was too heavy for anyone to carry. She held up her red plastic cup, even though we only had water to go around at this point. Motioning towards me she held up hers as well. We toasted our clear liquid to a new start. “To the rest of the school year,” she said, her eyes glossy and her smile small and a little sad.
I nodded and took a sip. I wasn’t sure what to say. Our brief argument hung between us and I was a little afraid of making her mad again. I hated it when she was upset.
“What are you taking next term?” I finally asked, even though I knew registration was a few weeks away. I figured it was safe enough.
“Chem two, rhetoric of journalism, electronic research, business marketing, and um, pottery, I think.”
“Pottery?” I laughed. “Why?”
“I need an art credit.”
“Why pottery, though?”
“It was that or drawing.”
“Drawing sounds fun.”
“But I suck at it.” She stood and started piling our paper plates into the empty pizza box. “What about you? What are you taking?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” I admitted. She stared at me and shook her head, disapproving. “Maybe I’ll take pottery.”
“We can make pinch pots!” Her face lit up even as she said it.
“What?”
“Like this.” She sat down the pizza box and made a circular motion like she was playing with invisible clay, then pinched the top of her ‘bowl.’ “See?”
I pretended to examine the ‘bowl’ she was holding. “Very artistic.”
“Told you it was better than drawing.”
“With the right computer software, I bet you’d be amazing at it.”
She shook her head. “Graphic design isn’t my thing.”
“Have your own newspaper someday. Even magazine.”
She laughed. “Elijah...”
“Think about it! Rochelle Addams, Senior Editor and pinch pot designer!”
She protested but I couldn’t help it, so I continued. “It would be a girly magazine, ‘how to wrangle a guy in three dates’ or some weird shit like that, I bet.”
Dead serious, she looked at me. “It would be all about our town...with articles on football and fall events...maybe some ways to winter proof your home. We could do special editions just on local business.”
My smile evaporated. “Really?”
She nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Are you sure it isn’t those business classes getting to your head?”
“I’m going to do it someday, after I travel,” she said.
“Travel?” I felt my throat close a little. I hadn’t known her long and already she was a huge part of my life.
“After I graduate, I’d love to be a travel journalist.”
“Where?”
“England, Germany, Japan, maybe even Egypt. It would be fun.”
“That’s a lot of plane rides,” I said quietly.
Her eyes sparkled. “I know. And new experiences!”
“Well, you’ll have fun,” I said, and even it sounded lame to me.
She smiled and reached for my plate and the last bit of our dinner remnants to throw away. At the same time, I picked it up, and our hands brushed. She pulled her hand away sharply and looked at me startled, which was confusing. Why would she act like that?
“I’ll just, um, take this directly out,” she said, quickly disappearing out the back door.
I finished my water and tossed the cup in the garbage by the fridge. I looked at the fridge, which she’d already taken over. Mirrors, coupons, and her badge from the newspaper were clipped next to my electric bill, name tag, and a picture of my mother and I. I’d only ever lived with one other woman romantically, and that...didn’t end well. This was different. Roommate, not girlfriend, I reminded myself. I wasn’t into Rochelle like that.
Right?
Right.
I thought about touching that plate, as Rochelle let herself back in the sliding door. She patted me on the back though and said goodnight. I let her go to her room without a word. I realized I would have never imagined that six weeks ago the girl I sat next to in Journalism class would be my roommate.
The next morning, I listened to her hit the bathroom before me, and I lay in bed, waiting for her to start the shower before I started my day. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about running into her before she was ready. Space was important around women, I knew.
I waited about ten minutes, and no sound of the shower. But what I did hear was a little worse. I knew something was bad because I heard the sounds that only accompany a night of binge drinking and bad choices.
Neither of which had happened last night, so that was strange.
The toilet flushed, and I pushed out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom across the hall. I lightly rapped on it. “Rochelle? You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, her voice a little slurred. “I’m fine!” She added with more emphasis.
“Okay.” Not sure what else to do, I slumped back to my bedroom to get dressed. The clock beside the table told me I had about twenty minutes to get to work, so I hurried.
Why in the world was she throwing up? Was she sick? She seemed find last night. As I slid behind the wheel of my car, I tried to push the thought away. Too much pizza after moving all that stuff would make anyone sick, I supposed.
As if things weren’t awkward enough around here, I never thought the next week I’d be sitting in the hospital by her side.