56 - Epilogue

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56 – Epilogue

 

Maya Sumedh

 

College: Week 4. My roommate Caprice was on her third Capri-Sun, studying for her microbiology test the next day. I had my Resnick and Halliday open in front of me, but I could barely comprehend the words. And already, the word ‘midterms’ was being spoken in hushed tones in the halls. Caprice had a habit of rocking back and forth like a mental patient as she studied – and even if I turned my back to her, I knew she was there, doing it, and I could barely focus. The study halls on my floor were, believe it or not, full.

 I glanced at my laptop. Eight pm on a Thursday night. I was already freezing in the approaching New England winter; October was all cold winds and infrequent phone calls from Luke. Sam found time to Skype me every weekend. Layla was already transforming into a genteel UCL pupil, but Sam was just loving King’s. Ma and Dad were miserable without any kids in the house – according to them, anyway, but I was sure they were taking advantage of it.

 All said and done, college was hard. Already. I had never been around so many smart people in my life. Plus, I had a lot more 8 AM classes than I would’ve liked. I hadn’t met Luke since the first weekend after college started. He’d come for move-in weekend, carrying my boxes around and stealing kisses as rewards when no one was around. Then I’d gone to the Harvard campus a week later, and we had a day to ourselves. After that, we found ourselves getting slowly buried in coursework, and I daresay I was having a tougher time than he was. We also no found no time or place for his vaulting Skype sex ambitions.

 I picked up my phone and flipped it over in my hand. I didn’t know if I should call him, because I knew he had some club meeting on Thursdays.

 I put it back down. He’d call if he could talk.

 Just then, our door banged open and Jason Lu from next door strode in. Caprice was quick to react.

 “What do you want, Lu?”

 Jason was nice. He was a tall, skinny Asian comp. science major who partied in ridiculous disproportion to his grades. He blinked at Caprice’s unexpected vitriol.

 “Uh…Esther and I need two more players for Scrabble…I was wondering if you guys would be up for a game?”

 “No,” Caprice mumbled, and turned back again. Jason rolled his eyes and looked my way. I shrugged.

 “Sure, why not. It’s not like I’m studying anyway.”

 He grinned. “That’s the spirit. We’re at MIT. Who studies?”

 Everyone.

 I just grinned back and grabbed my phone. Back in Jason’s room, his roommate Badal (from Bangalore) was playing Don’t Shit Your Pants on his laptop. Esther Qui, from down the hall, was sitting on the floor with a Scrabble board.

“’Sup, Badal, Esther,” I said, as I sat chaplangudi on the floor.

 “’Sup,” Badal replied, and Esther said, “Where’s Caprice?”

 “Eh, she’s studying,” I said, checking my phone again. “It’s okay, we’ll play three-player.”

 God, I missed him.

 Everyone in the room, save for the Asians (so only Badal and I) was a fan of Jim Morrison’s poetry, so soon enough An American Prayer was playing on Badal’s Mac.

 “I touched her thigh and death smiled,” I said seriously, as I made positron and exhausted my tile rack. Esther rolled her eyes.

 “Physics major.”

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