B R E N N A N
Brennan took off her hairnet and tossed it in the trash, untying her apron simultaneously with her other hand and pulling it over her head.
She was exhausted. She was supposed to have had a day off this week, but instead, here it was Saturday and Brennan had now worked six days in a row, thanks to her coworker with the 'backache'.
Brennan trudged out to her car, immediately getting hit by a wave of humidity as she exited the air-conditioned store. Nice, she thought, taking off her glasses that had immediately fogged up. I love Illinois summers.
She sighed, getting into her car and putting the air conditioner at full-blast.
She made it home. It was late; her parents would be in bed. She punched in the code for the garage door and went inside. Her brother, Ayden, was sitting in the living room, playing some game on his phone.
"Hey," she said, tiredly.
"Hey," he muttered, not even looking up. "There's food in the fridge."
Brennan trudged sleepily to the kitchen. "Nope," she said. "Too tired. I'll just take a piece of fruit."
He shrugged. "All right then. Good night."
She headed upstairs to her bedroom, and changed into shorts and an old t-shirt before flopping into bed and staring at the ceiling.
Brennan felt bad; she hadn't actually sat down and written anything out for her book. No one would know; since she was too much of a coward to post it to the writing website she'd found, allfixx.com, no one could read it. Even so, when she rolled over and turned off the lamp, casting the room into darkness that was only broken by the white light of the moon through her open window, she felt the familiar punch of failure in her gut. Like she should have been more productive, and had instead given in and had...well...not been.
Brennan was conflicted, because she thought that maybe writing was this big journey, like an adventure of sorts, that should be enjoyed one step at a time...You would work hard and then, one day, look back and realize where that hard work had led...However, she also wanted to feel like what she was doing mattered now, at least to someone. Give up, her brain scoffed. You can't even read your own writing without wanting to change it. That means no one else will like it either.
In high school, Brennan had written Harry Potter fanfiction. The fact that Brennan wrote fanfiction had been a running joke. Eventually, somewhere along the proverbial road, she'd stopped telling people what she enjoyed, because she only got too excited, and most people looked at her like she was crazy. You could like Harry Potter, but you couldn't love it the way Brennan did, to the brink of obsession, to the point of writing fanfiction. Once she started toning down the 'fangirl' part of her, Brennan became the most boring person ever. Even when she eventually started writing her own work, she didn't tell anyone, because the Act of Telling felt like exposing herself, somehow. All of this came from her mind, after all. There had to be some psychoanalytical crap buried in there somewhere, that said something about Brennan. She didn't want to know what it said about her. She didn't want to give people the chance to think about it.
Brennan sighed, turning on her side and facing the wall, pulling her blankets up to her chin. In the dark, it was easy to start worrying about college again, because her room at college would smell different, and there would be the shadows of different trees dancing on her wall. The familiar sick, nauseous feeling twisted her stomach. She shut her eyes and tried to fall asleep. She was tired, after all.
It was one of those nights that, no matter how tired she was, Brennan couldn't sleep.
She wondered if college would be like high school. Everyone (her parents, her guidance counselor, the old lady she worked with at the deli) constantly said that it would be nothing like high school; people wouldn't be so fickle, or people would be more accepting...They were more themselves. Something like that. Brennan wasn't quite sure that she believed them.
She hoped it would be different, but she didn't want to get her hopes up. Too many times, she had gotten her hopes up, only to have things fail to meet her expectations. Then she bottomed out, mentally, for a bit. It was discouraging, to say the least.
Brennan sighed, giving up on sleep, and pulled out her phone, opening the messenger app and shooting a quick message to Emma. Hey.
She wondered if Emma was still awake. Sure enough, moments later: Hey, what's up.
Brennan propped herself up on one elbow and typed back. Worrying about school. The usual.
It was a few minutes before Emma typed back. Don't be. It will be fine.
But I have a random roommate! What if she absolutely hates me, but we're forced to live together? What if she's super popular, and she's ashamed of me because I'm a...dud.
What even, Brennan? A dud? You're gonna be fine. My sister has been off at college for three years now. She loves it, and she was totally shy. People are different in college. You're gonna find friends who are just as nerdy as you, and they won't think you're a dud even if, God forbid, your roommate does.
Brennan sighed, because Emma was right, she knew. So why did it still feel, deep down, like Brennan's life was about to fall apart?
Who knows, Emma typed. You might even meet some fellow writers, so you can have those coffee shop writing meet-ups you've always wanted to have. You can sit there and write with each other, but never actually share what you're writing about. Just revel in the comradery. You never know. There's all kinds at college.
Brennan smiled a little at the thought. Maybe you're right.
I am right.
Brennan sucked in a breath and bit her lip, heat stinging the backs of her eyes and threatening tears, before typing back. It's just so easy to spend time worrying about it. I have to be in this strange room, that will smell strange, with a strange roommate, and strange suitemates next door.
Strange, Emma retorted.
Brennan continued, unable to stop until she got it all out, like her life depended on somehow explaining the tumult inside of her. And I have to eat cafeteria food. What if I get food poisoning and I'm sick in front of my roommates? And where do you sit at the cafeteria? Do you meet up with people or go yourself? I'll probably end up at a table by myself, watching Netflix on my phone or something. That, or I'll have a stash of ramen noodles hidden under my bed, so I'll never have to even go to the cafeteria. I'll just creep out of my room hiding inside a blanket, and sneak down to the lounge to heat them up, before skulking back to the depths of my cave.
She could picture Emma rolling her eyes. Find the cafeteria or I'll drive to Edwardsville and drag you to it.
Maybe that's not a bad thing. Then I'd have you. You should have come to SIUE instead of going off to Wisconsin.
I wish I could have, but my scholarship is in Wisconsin, and I have to go where it's best for me. You know that.
I do. Maybe I should come to Wisconsin.
For the same reason that I can't go to SIUE, you coming to Wisconsin would be a bad idea. One word: SCHOLARSHIP.
I don't have a full ride like you though.
Brennan.
I know, I know.
:)
You have to still message me, you know.
I know, replied Emma. And I will. I need my daily dose of Vitamin Brennan.
And I need my daily dose of Vitamin Emma, so promise that you won't forget.
Promise.
All right then. I guess I'd better be going off to sleep. Brennan yawned then, as if on cue. The sick feeling had subsided somewhat. Good night, Emma. And thanks for calming my nerves, as usual.
*raises wand, Potter style* Farewell, Brennan. Sleep well.
Brennan put her phone on her side table and rolled onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling through the dark.
Maybe college won't be so bad after all, she told herself, her voice cheerful in her head, pep-talk like. Maybe you'll love your roommate. Maybe she'll love you. Maybe she writes. Maybe you'll be best friends.
Maybe.
She closed her eyes. Or maybe, anxiety whispered. It will all be awful, and you should prepare yourself.