Status Quo

I’m petrified, and I don’t mean that hyperbolically.  Twenty minutes ago, Mom and Dad helped me move all of my stuff in, hugged me, kissed my forehead, and then left, just like that.  BOOM.  Empty room.  Empty me.  I’m sitting on the edge of this flimsy plastic-covered mattress, and I’m stuck, physically and mentally.  I can’t move.  Even twitching a finger is beyond my capacity at the moment.

Being stuck on your dorm room bed, as it turns out, makes for a great time to think.  What am I doing here, again?  There’s a black bird silhouetted on the pin oak branches outside, just on the other side of a dirty windowpane.  Why did I even decide to try this out?  The bird just shuddered, feathers going everywhere.  I could have gone to community college (yeah, right!) or tried an apprenticeship.  He’s gone.  Something.

This is ridiculous.

Turning around to face the other side of the room, I stare myself down in the mirror hanging above a clinically clean sink.  I’m pale, not quite pasty, and my current mood has blown away even the sunburn pink that usually paints my cheeks.  My hair, frizzy from heat and humidity, hangs lank around my face.  My eyes seem sunken and far away.  I look like hell, and something’s got to be done about it.

Slowly, movement returns to my legs.  I get up and shuffle across a few khaki-speckled tiles to a white plastic set of Rubbermaid shelves.  A moment of rummaging produces a single black elastic band and a broken-handled brush.  Enough to work with, at least.

Back on the bed, I pull brush bristles through my hair, first numbly and then faster, like I can magically work the split ends and general unruliness out if I just brush fast enough.  Gathering it like a mass of slippery spider’s web in one hand, I yank the elastic up and around, forming a ponytail that’s higher and tighter than I would typically wear at home.  It looks good with my black tee shirt, and I do an impromptu twirl to get the full effect.  My butt’s still flat as an ironing board, but the shirt hugs my hips and my jeans fit well.  We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto; this is a brave new world, and nobody here knows how I normally dress or why.  Hell, they probably don’t even care.

I’m struck by a novel idea, one I’m surprised I haven’t considered before, or at least haven’t been warned about.  No one knows me here.  No body.  Not one single soul on this blessed campus has ever met, interacted with, or known the name of Rynn Graceling Shelton.

And now, I realize with a slow smile, they never will.