"You must be my roommate!" I say optimistically before my parents have the chance to get a word in. "Its so nice to meet you, I'm Faith." I rush forward and hold out a hand.
"Oh shit, cool. Yeah, its nice to meet you too, I'm Beatrix but you can just call me Trixie," My roommate, Trixie, responds. I try and hide the cringe on my face when she drops the swear word. It definitely didn't help her case in my parents eyes. We're a strict no-swearing family.
Trixie eyes my outstretched hand weirdly, like the concept of someone introducing themselves with a handshake is foreign to her. I realize then that maybe it is. I don't think typical 18 year olds are shaking each other's hands when they first meet. Nevertheless, she lightly grips my hand and shakes it in return.
"Are these your parents?" Trixie asked, turning her attention to my mom and dad behind me.
"Yeah," I chuckled awkwardly. The less amount of interaction between the better. "Uh, this is my mom, Sandy, and my dad, Dan."
"Good to meet you guys," Trixie said. I had to stop myself from groaning at her casualty with my parents. They're big on southen-style respect, which includes always calling strangers older than you "ma'am" and "sir". "I like the setup you have in here."
"Yes, well, it was very nice to meet you, Beatrix, but we have to be off now," Mom brushed her off. "Faith, if you could walk with us back to the car?"
"Of course. Well, uh, I'll see you in a bit." I smiled at Trixie, hoping she couldn't sense my parents dislike of her.
"Yeah. I think by the time you get back up my parents will make it here, so I can introduce you," Trixie said as she moved further into the dorm so we could make it out.
I just nodded, trying to usher my parents out the door. The moment we were in the hallway and walking away from the room, the floodgates opened. Of course it seemed my parents couldn't even wait until we got to the car to start voicing their thoughts and opinions.
"I don't like that girl. Not one bit. She is bad news and you better stay away from her," Mom said, shaking her head.
"Mama, she's my roommate, I can't stay away from her." I sighed, kicking myself that my roommate would end up being the worst possible pick in my parents eyes. Just my luck.
"I don't think I care very much. That girl is not your friend. You will go to church and you will find actually good friends there. That girl is nothing but bad news and she will drag you down," Mom lectured. "You coexist with her, but don't go makin' friendship bracelets because she is a bad, bad character."
"You just met her, Mama. She seems nice. You never know." I want to point out that the Bible says not to judge, but I think if I said that it wouldn't get a warm reception.
"Faith Anderson, it's best you just stop talkin' and listen to what your Mother says. You are not to be friends with that girl and that is final." Dad finally adds his peace to the conversation. I'm not stupid enough to try and argue what he says, and when he shuts down a conversation, I just have to accept that and move on.
"Alright," I retreat from the argument, knowing I'm fighting a losing battle. The rest of the walk back to the car is silent and uncomfortable, but I know it's my own fault. I should've just agreed with what Mom said and let it rest. My restless hands find my ring once more, twisting it around and around.
We stop at the car, and there's a pause. "Well," Mom says. "You be good. Remember what we told you." She's cold now, like she always is after an argument.
I don't sigh, because that would look like impedance. Mom and Dad give me a less than warm hug each, and I stand and watch as they pile themselves back into the car and peel out of the dorm parking lot.
I walk back to my dorm alone.
-
When I made it back up to the dorm, Trixie's parents were there. They were friendly and her mom even gave me a hug. We made small talk as they unpacked Trixie's things and set up her space. I tried to help, but they turned me away citing that my company was all they needed.
While talking, I learned that Trixie was from New York, up-state, she said. She came from a big town and graduated from a school with class sizes triple that of my high school. When I told her that I was from Georgia, the first thing she did was question my lack of accent. I had assured her that while it may not seem like it, I do still have the same southern accent as most kids in Georgia, she just needed to wait until I was upset to hear it.
That was a couple days ago. Trixie and I have gotten along well. She's not messy, and while she has a less than pure mouth, she's actually really nice and a good roommate. Trixie and I ended up going to all the FSU freshmen welcome events together, and she's a really fun person to talk to. She makes dirty jokes unlike anythng I ever heard at home and laughs at my innocence as she explains them to me. I've enjoyed hanging out with her. I know Mom said not to be her friend, but we're not really friends I don't think. Just roommates doing the introductory tasks together until we can find our own friendgroups.
Besides, what Mom knows won't hurt her.
When I called my parents the day after move in they were back to their cheerful selves, acting as if nothing happened. I'm glad for it because I think it's better we don't bring that conversation back to life. Mom asked again if I was looking for a church and that time, I lied and said yes. I felt plenty guilty but I knew I wouldn't get to rest if she knew that I still hadn't started looking.
Today is the first day of classes, and I'm quickly realizing that all the anxiety I had on move-in day was child's play compared to this. I only have two classes: my math class and my history lecture, and I already know exactly where they are. Math is in the engineering building which is a seven minute walk away, while history is in the liberal arts building ten minutes away.
Logically, I know I'll be fine. Most likely I'll just walk in, sit somewhere in the first three rows (not so close that I'm a target for cold call questions, but not so far that I get distracted), and follow along the lesson quietly. Trixie keeps telling me that there's literally nothing to be scared about, but I'm shaking.
"Girl, you look like my grandma's fuckin' chihuahua," Trixie scoffs from her bed. I wasn't lying when I said I was shaking. I am currently sat at my desk, backpack in front of me, phone clutched like a lifeline in my hands, shivering.
I put on my cutest blue skirt today, with a ruffled white top. My shoes are white strappy sandals and secured around my neck is the dainty golden cross inset with real diamonds that my grandma got me for my christening. My purity ring is, as always, secured on my right hand, and I'm forcing my fingers to not fiddle with it. Even my hair is done well, loosely curled with half of it pinned up away from my face. On the outside, I am perfectly put together as Mom always says girls should be. On the inside, though I am dying.
"Bitch, you need a xanny," Trixie speaks up again. At first when she started calling me the b-word I was offended. I thought I had unknowingly done something to upset her, and she was now mad at me. She quickly had explained that it's actually a term of endearment that she uses for all her friends. I don't understand it, but I'm not gonna make her go out of her way to stop.
"What in the world is that?" I finally speak. I'm shocked that my voice doesn't come out all wobbly,
Trixie sighs. She does that a lot when I ask questions about the things she says. "Nevermind." She sits up finally, actually looking at me. "Faith, you're gonna be fine. You're going to one class thats not even an hour long, then coming back for two hours before going to your other class that's also not an hour long. Classes aren't as scary as you think. It's all in you head, girl."
"I know," I groan, dropping my head in my hands.
"Just go now. If you get there too early then you can hang out somewhere or take a lap. I also think the walk will chill you the fuck out."
"You're right. The more I stall the more anxious I'm gonna get. Alright," I say, trying to convince myself there's some smidgen of confidence buried deep down. I stand up and swing my backpack around my shoulders, holding onto the straps like they're the only thing keeping me grounded. My phone goes in my pocket and my wristlet with my keys hangs on my wrist.
"Yes, bitch. Go fucking kill it and have so much fun and then run straight back afterwards and tell me how right I was," Trixie cheers me on and it helps alleviate some of my stress. I giggle, agreeing that I will.
With that final boost of confidence I leave the room, trudging on towards the actual beginnings of my college career.
-
One week into actual college classes and I'm already tired. Trixie ended up actually being right. Classes aren't scary, and some of them are even fun. While I may not have made any real friends in class yet, I've been enjoying learning the content so far and I'm sure the friends will come along later.
Still though, I'm positively overwhelmed. A lot has happened this week. Between my semi-daily phone calls home, going to class, the continued welcome events from the first week, and my already growing catalogue of homework my professors have been assigning, its a lot. Not to mention, the mental stress of lying to my parents has been eating away at me.
While I'm still lying about looking into campus churches, I've now added a second lie on top of that. Mom keeps making sure I'm not getting close to that "no good roommate" of mine, and everytime I tell her no. The reality is that Trixie has become an actual friend. We talk a lot, and I do consider her my friend. She's funny and nice, and she always has the best advice. Though it's always given with at least five vulgar words attached.
I feel bad for lying to my mom, of course, but I'm not gonna push away my only friend because she has a bad view of her. Mom doesn't know Trixie, I do, and I know that she's a good person even if she's not sat at church every Sunday.
Still, the lying has taken a toll on me because I've never lied to my parents like this before. I've been praying every day, but even that hasn't been enough to lift the stress I am feeling off of my shoulders. Which brings me to where I am now.
If there's one thing that always helps me relax, destress, and unwind, it's late-night swimming. Back home we had a pool that I was always visiting at night when things were getting to be too much in everyday life. The next day I was always more energized and I was able to feel more like myself.
Turns out, the recreation center not even five minutes from the dorm has a pool. A large pool that doesn't close until 10:00 PM every night. So, here I am now, walking to that pool at 8:45 PM, dressed up in my favorite swimsuit and cover-up set, my towel in hand, ready to relax. My swimsuit is adorable and is definitely the most "scandalous" thing I'll wear in front of others. It's not overly sexual, just a regular bikini with ruffles along the edge of the top. What really sold it to me, though, was the peaches printed all over the white material. It makes me feel like the cutest little thing, and I'm confident in it. Even if the only people seeing it will most likely just be the people in the swimming lanes.
Walking into the pool side I'm quick to remove my sandals and matching cover-up so I can dive right in. The moment I step into the water, my muscles relax. I wade deeper into the free-swim pool. Just as I expected, the pool is a ghost town, with the only people being the hardcore swimmers practicing in the lanes and the lifeguard lazily keeping watch.
I let the water consume me. Everything washes away in that pool. I forget about the assignments waiting back at the dorm for me. I forget about my parents and their attempts to control my life even a state away. I let myself forget about it all because in that moment it doesn't matter. What matters is the fact that I am at peace and finally taking the first quiet second to myself I have for the past two weeks.
It's unclear how long I've spent floating in the water when I finally notice the light on in the gym. This light stands out. It's warmer than the ones that shine through the first floor windows. I focus on it.
The light is coming from the second floor, and through the window I see him. There, alone, is a single boy. No, boy isn't even the right word. The person up there is a man. He's pummeling the punching bag that hangs from the ceiling in front of him. From my vantage point in the pool I can't make out much but I can tell that there's nothing covering his hands. No gloves like I thought most boxers used. His fists are bare as they punch the bag over and over and over again.
The window is impossibly clear, like there's nothing there, and I can watch him easily. His black wife beater allows for clear, unobscured view of the muscular make-up of his tattooed-covered arms. Those toned muscles flex everytime his arm strikes out at the bag once more. Strength like that doesn't come overnight. I can't see any of his facial features, but boy can I see his jawline. I didn't even think it was possible for someone's jaw to be that sharp, but he's proving all my expectations wrong.
He's hypnotizing, and I can't stop staring even though every part of me knows it's wrong. His jet black hair is just long enough to hang on his forehead, and I almost want to run my hands through those strands. He's punching the bag like it did something to offend him, and at moments I think he's going to take it clean off the ceiling.
Violence is one of my least favorite things in the world. People fighting and hurting each other makes my stomach turn and I've always hated martial arts and fighting sports. This guy, though, somehow makes it my new favorite thing. I could watch him for hours and not get tired. I can't even see his face but I just know it's beautifully crafted. Like God himself sculpted him. His body, at least, supports that belief.
I get lost in watching him when all of a sudden, he stops. He lets the bag swing once before he halts it in his path. My eyes are glued on him as he grabs the bottom of his shirt and raises it up to wipe the sweat from his face.
Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus.
Even from here I can see the outline of the toned abs gracing his lean torso. He has the body of a kickboxer, and my blood thrums. For the first time ever, I want to see more. Then, he turns. He drops his shirt and he turns his attention out the window.
Normally, this would be my cue to turn away and stop staring, but my eyes have seemed to form a mind of their own because they stay locked on him even as he his focus drops down to the pool. Like a magnet to a piece of metal, destined to stick, his eyes meet mine. Our gazes clash and a burst of energy awakens my body.
We look at each other. I want nothing more than to see him closer, to let that magnetic pull draw me all the way up to the boxing room so that I can see, no, study his face. I need to know what he actually looks like.
It's like seeing an angel.
Our gazes never stray. We're locked onto each other, and I'm content to spend the rest of my life in this pool holding his stare, even as my fingers prune. My body moves on it's own. Closer and closer to the edge of the pool until-
The sound of a whistle rings through the air.
My head swings to the source of the sound. The tired lifeguard doesn't even look at me as he calls out to the remaining pool stragglers, "Pools closed. Opens at 8 AM tomorrow. You guys have gotta leave." He doesn't even wait before he climbs down his stand and starts to begin his closing procedures.
I quickly hustle out of the pool, drying myself off with my towel faster than I've ever moved before. I yank my cover-up over my head and look back up desperately towards the boxing room, towards the mysterious man with the hypnotic gaze.
Except, when I look up, he's gone.
The room is completely dark, and no one is there. It's like there was nothing there to begin with. Disappointment surges through my chest, but I push it away.
Whatever just happened was strange. The way I acted was nothing like who I actually am. I shake it off. It's late, I'm tired, and imagining things. I pack up my things and leave the pool, letting the strangeness of the situation I was just in float away on the soft Florida breeze.