Mickey's Mad House

[ o1 ] The bra, the professor and the back seat

               This story is dedicated to my best friend, 

                                        Hannah, 

For always reminding me of the depressing side of college.

Mickey’s Mad House

[ o1 ] The bra, the professor and the back seat

It was funny how when I had to choose what to bring to college, little seemed important to me. I could imagine other people packing their belongings away with their best friends and laughing over the memories that went with the items. I could imagine a hatchback packed full to the brim with luggage and held together by duct tape and rope. I could imagine heart felt hugs and tears being shed as they left in that car full of things. Unfortunately, I never had that for myself. I guess I’m kind of lucky though. I had no one to miss and be missed by. I didn’t need to ‘keep in touch’ as so many yearbooks probably read.

     Instead, I packed what I had alone into a single duffle and a single moving box. I packed my belongings completely alone in a comfortable house and finished quickly. No tear filled hugs made me linger at my parent’s house. It was quick and efficient. Like everything I did. Although I had little money, I survived. Although I didn’t have a bed to sleep in, I survived. My scholarship did not pay for everything like those picture perfect storybooks. Financial aid barely made a dent in the payment that I had left.

     That was the reason that I wake up each morning in the back seat of my car. And today was like every other. It has only been a day since the term started but I was already feeling the stress. Where were my classes? Would I trip and fall? Would I be late and therefore have to forfeit the class all together? I could see it in the pale pallor of my skin—the stress of my first year, my first day, my first class. Completely alone.

     I sat up straight in the back seat of my car and drowsily picked up a pair of jeans from inside of my duffle bag on the floor. Slipping them on, I simultaneously tugged at the hem of my nightshirt to pull it off. Unfortunately, and this wasn’t the first time, the shirt got caught on my earing.

     “This was not what I needed,” I mumbled to myself, tugging and twisting myself in the back seat of my car. The shirt was tangled in not only my earing but also over my shoulders. I gave a yelp when the material stretched my earing painfully and that was when I started to feel the annoyed stress coiling in my shoulder blades. My attack for freedom became more frantic as I continued to work myself free. Finally, I heard a rip and then I was gasping for air, slumped against the back seat of my car in only my nude bra and jeans.

     My eyes unconsciously flicked up for a moment before diving back to the carpeted floor for my bag. But then I stopped, gulped and hoped that my eyes had been playing tricks on me when I looked back up and out the side window for clarity. Unfortunately, no, my eyes had taken in the correct image.

     The image of a male student, books in hand, stopped and staring with his mouth slightly open.

     I felt the heat slowly inch up my neck and settle on my cheeks. My eyes widened and I felt like a deer in the headlights. Then, the boy’s eyes fell to my chest. And, like the stupid and blubbering idiot that I was, I looked down too. My bra. The guy was staring at my bra. My nude colored bra that made it look like I was from a nudist colony.

     Snapping my gaze up, I covered my chest with whatever belated dignity I had left. The boy, completely unaffected by my embarrassment, made it ten times worse. “Morning!” he called out and waved at me with a sly smirk. My mouth fell open in shock at the boy and my face felt white-hot. Not expecting me to reply, the boy turned and shoved his freehand into his front pocket. With a bounce in his step, he jovially whistled his way towards the college campus.