Sophie Spencer wants to heal.
Heal from the untimely loss of her mother, the sometimes overbearing protection of her father, and the heart wrenching devastation that saw her out as she left for school at the end of summer.
But if there's one thing S...
Hollis University, Havensford, Connecticut — September 2010
— Sophie —
Three years. Three years of being a full blown, independent college student. On my own, learning the life lessons you can only learn once you're out of your parent's house and fending for yourself.
Three years of thirsty Thursdays, Friday mixers, Saturday keggers, Sunday fundays, and countless days spent tail-gaiting before games at Whitby Field, home of the Hollis University Razorbills.
And three years of having classes on Fridays.
Three years to learn those glorious life lessons I just mentioned and really make an effort to apply them to my life.
Apparently, I might need another year of uni to hammer home the message here: no matter how inspired the frat party theme is or which sports team chock full of eye candy is playing, no thirsty Thursday is worth suffering through Professor Edgar's three hour Ethics lecture with a hangover courtesy of MJ's lethal champagne and rum daiquiris.
Although, I have to admit, not much could have stopped me from getting obliterated enough to forget what happened the day before I left Washington at the end of the summer, or the many, many long, arduous discussions I've had with Delia on the topic since.
Memories from that August night hit me like a ton of bricks for what must be the thousandth time. My father's engagement party at Seattle's finest hotel. The champagne coupes overflowing. The rhythmic impetus of a live jazz band as I swing around the dance floor with my dad, smiling harder and laughing louder than I could remember doing in a long time. The endless hallway stretching out before me, one door ajar at the end. Her faint giggling. His deep baritone stopping me dead in my tracks. Him. With her. My heart shattering.
My head is pounding, from the hangover and the memories. Plus, I forgot my glasses so I can't actually read the lecture slides unless I want to make my hangover worse.
I tap the screen of my phone until it lights up to confirm that my mic is still recording the lecture. Often, because I wind up hungover in class a lot, I'll voice record lectures and transcribe my notes later.
At the front of the lecture hall Professor Edgar drones on about the relationship of morality to human nature, a topic I've recently become all too familiar with, and all of a sudden my fingers have a mind of their own across my keyboard.
I sit up straight, yank my laptop closer to me as the impending intellectual lashing I plan to deliver starts formulating itself in my head and it is the type of welcome distraction that can damn near bring a girl back to life. I pull up the Hollis University student portal to access my email, open a draft and address it to MJ.
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I navigate the mouse over, click, and watch with glee as the animation of an envelope swooshes from the centre of the screen toward the top corner and disappears. Message sent.
