“Honey, we know this is gonna be really hard on you, but it’s become a necessity.”
Those were the last words I heard from my mother that surprisingly warm, blustery day in late September. All I could think about was how we weren’t in New York City, my home for my entire life. Instead we stood outside the administration building of Meadowbrook School for Girls. We were sixty miles from the nearest town, and absolutely nowhere near New York City. This wasn’t New York City, but up in the mountains. The only consolation was that Chesterfield Academy for Boys was right next door.
Necessity. My parent’s leaving me here while they went to Europe had become a necessity. Suddenly I was too much for them to handle. Gone was my tight-knit family, with our family dinners and outings in the city. Gone were my days at a public high school in Manhattan. I had my own fun, eclectic style, the last thing I was looking forward to were the uniforms. Horrible plaid skirts and oxfords left little room for creative dress.
“You can email us every day on your laptop.” My dad said, earnestly, as if he expected an email every night.
“Ok dad, whatever you say. I love you.”
My mom was already in the taxi, as my dad kissed my forehead and slipped back into the car.
“We love you Kel, bye.”
Just like that, they were gone, whisked away in a bright yellow taxi, on their way to the airport.
Sighing, I turned to the administration building, and with my bags, made my way to the office. My three trunks had been sent along earlier in the month. Soon it would be Halloween, and instead of running around with my friends, I’d be here. Doing goodness knows what.
After struggling with my bags, I marched to the receptionist. I wore my favorite jeans, the ones with the hole on the seam and splotch of yellow paint, from when I was in painting class with my friends. Under my favorite jean jacket, trimmed in lace, I wore a tie dyed tank top. I had tied around my neck a pale blue scarf, and had decorated my hands in plastic rings out of the candy machine. My feet were adorned with Birkenstock sandals. I could feel the receptionist’s eyes on me.
“Hi I’m Kelly Davis; I need a schedule and my room number.”
I made sure I looked the plump woman straight in the eye, using my assertiveness for good.
“Alright then Ms. Davis, here is your schedule, and your room is number 483, on the fourth floor on Court Building.”
Nodding, I took my papers and key, and struggled out the door with my luggage. As I trudged across the gravel path, I heard laughter. I looked up to see a few girls about my age. They were skipping to another building, leaning against each other, laughing at something. They looked so comfortable in their tights and jackets, their long hair blowing the wind. My auburn locks threatened to come out of my ponytail as the wind blew harder. At that moment I felt so alone.
Finally, I made it to my room. 483 here I come.
I opened the door to see a pretty standard room, nothing I hadn’t expected. Two twin beds sat under two windows, a night stand in between. One of the beds was already made in a floral print bed spread and pillowcases. The nightstand was adorned with two lamps and a clock radio. The wooden floors were painted a dark cherry wood, and the walls a pale cream. I wondered how many girls had slept in this room, how many secrets the pale cream walls held. The filled closet held mountains of clothes, mostly uniforms, but an occasional t-shirt appeared. My closet was empty. A desk sat next to each closet. My roommate’s held papers, and over it hung a bulletin board. The bulletin board was filled with notes, pictures and letters. Post-it notes read Test in Am. Hist. on Fri Study! I smirked; I was rooming with a real study-a-holic. Well, hopefully, there will be something fun to do around here but I didn’t consider the situation probable. The clock read 4:52 my schedule read that dinner was at six and lights out at eleven. By 5:43 I was unpacked and decided to give myself a little tour. Since it was a Thursday, I figured everyone would be in class, and I could traipse about undisturbed.
As I walked out of Court, I could see the entire campus. A large grassy area was the center, and stone buildings of every imaginable shape and size circled it like a pinwheel. Each of the buildings looked as if they had been there a long time; they reminded me of the gargoyles atop the famous Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France. The administration building was at the end of a long driveway, and next to it the mess hall, which sat across from a cluster of academic buildings. We’ve provided young women opportunities for over a hundred years. That had been the tagline of the brochure my parents had showed me, showcasing Meadowbrook’s pristine methods. Which according to the pamphlet they would “enrich your daughter’s social and academic abilities”.
I personally had never thought that my social or academic abilities needed enriching. I had always had a cluster of friends, even in preschool. Now, at sixteen I had a close group of about four friends; Rose, Megan, Mike and Jon. We attended the same high school in the city and we all were A and B students. I had been so dumbfounded when at the beginning of the school year I found out I wasn’t in the school’s computer as a junior. I had then stomped home to scream at my parents, who sat me down and explained they were shipping me off to boarding school.
“We don’t want you living here alone in the city while we’re gone. Who knows what might happen to you?” my mom had said patiently, trying to disguise the catch in her voice.
My dad had solemnly agreed.
That night, sobbing, I had told my best friend of the last four years, Rose, how my parents had suddenly ruined my life. Angry at my parents, I spent the last two months before I left as a wild child. My friends and I hit all the “spots” of the city. Night life was something I had only read about, and heard tales of from the girls with reputations at my school. Suddenly I was one of those girls. I partied at all hours, began to fail my classes, and met wild people. My parents found that their assumptions were correct; they couldn’t leave me in New York. For all my partying with the “wild people” of the teen scene, I stayed away from the guys. Truth be told, I had never had a steady boyfriend, and had only been kissed once. I knew I didn’t want anything to do with the boys that partied with me. Ending up as a teen mother was not on my list of rebellion. By the time we had gotten in the taxi that morning, I had been marginally relieved to be leaving my wild child life.
I had promised my friends I would write, email, or call. They promised too. We all knew we wouldn’t. We all knew that I’d be different when I got back, that they’d have news they wouldn’t want to share with me and they’d know all sorts of things I wouldn’t. We all said that wouldn’t happen, but we knew it would. So while I had parted as a beloved friend and dear companion, we all knew that we wouldn’t be the same when I got back.
I led myself of a tour of the campus for close to a half hour in the fading light of September. I could see the mountains in the distance and the meadow that fed the life of the campus. I had read in the brochure that elaborate picnics were held in the fields on beautiful spring days, Parents Days hosted hordes of prideful parents in a ‘Campus Festival’ in the meadow, and I was sure, young love blossomed in the meadow. I could see Chesterfield Academy perched atop one of the numerous bluffs above the meadow. I had read in the brochure that Meadowbrook and Chesterfield held dances monthly.
Suddenly I heard laughter and the clattering of numerous shoes on the gravel pathways of the campus as students hurried to dinner. I turned and noticed the military look of the girls, aged fourteen to eighteen. I garnered many stares and whispers as I hurried to the mess hall. I ignored the looks as I got in line for food. My green eyes scanned the room for a place to sit. I found an empty seat at a table where four smiling, happy, girls were talking. They all looked about my age, and like they were enjoying themselves. I guess I want happy friends like that I thought as I made my way to their table.
“Hi I’m Kelly Davis, I’m new. Is this seat taken?” I asked, holding my tray laden with macaroni and cheese.
They all looked at me until a blonde haired girl, with hard gray eyes perked up, “Sure. Have a seat.”
I immediately realized this was not a suggestion but a command. These girls did not want to be friendly; they wanted to know everything about me.
I met their challenge with a cordial “Thanks” and sat.
One of the girls, a black haired raven, her upturned nose demanding authority, leveled her gaze, “Where are you from Kelly?”
“Um, I’m from New York City.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the circle of girls.
The first girl smiled broadly, “Wow, that’s great, what room are you in?”
I smiled back, “Room 483.”
One of the girls laughed outright, the black haired girl and the blonde just smiled at each other. I tried to cover my shock at their reaction. I wasn’t used to being laughed at regularly. Even about little things, such as room numbers. Just the fact that I was from New York City seemed to cover up my imperfections.
“What’s wrong with my room?” I demanded.
The blonde girl smiled at me, “Well, your roommate has quite a reputation.”
She spoke as if I was a five year old. I hate being patronized. I opened my mouth to retort but a chubby brown haired girl spoke up, “Yeah, it’s quite a reputation.”
Fed up with their attitudes, I grabbed my tray. Sure I knew my roommate appeared boring, but I can’t stand it when people make fun of others.
“Wait!” the raven haired girl said as I went to push in my chair, sit down. I was painfully aware that my better half would already be searching for a new table. But something in her voice made me pull out my chair and sit back down, to see what happened next.
“We won’t hold your roommate against you; New York City is pretty cool.”
The black haired girl smiled, “I’m Janelle, and this, she pointed to the blonde with hard gray eyes, is Ashley.”
Janelle continued to identify the girls; the chubby one was Lindsay and the girl next to her, with a streak of blue in her short cropped hair was Britney. By the time she was done with her introductions I had decided that I might be able to fit in with these girls. They all had a strong sense of who they were and obviously cared about each other. However, I knew that they were just like the bossy girls in elementary school. Eager to befriend but would just as soon betray.
Through the meal I picked at my macaroni and cheese. I was too busy telling my new friends stories of my life in New York City; it was nice to have people paying attention to my feelings and thoughts. They had all visited the city, but lived elsewhere. Janelle; New Jersey, Britney; Maine, Ashley; somewhere in Ohio, and Lindsay was a day student; she lived just down the street from Meadowbrook. They told me that this was their second year at Meadowbrook.
“We can fill you in on all the secrets; who likes who, what teachers are a bore, stuff like that” Lindsay said eagerly.
The other girls agreed.
By the time dinner was over I was so ecstatic to have made some friends I completely disregarded my hunger. My new friends and I proceeded to the common room. Unaware we talked for another two hours, I was shocked when I found out that it was almost nine o’clock and time to get ready for bed. I wasn’t tired or done talking to The Girls, as they called themselves. Still, I resigned myself to my room and walked in to see a petite red headed girl sitting in her bed, reading a worn copy of Vanity Fair.
This must be my roommate I thought well she certainly has a distinct taste in books-boring However, trying to hide my distaste at her frumpy appearance in her uniform and intent reading of a classic, the likes of which I knew I would never touch; I coughed politely to get her attention. Strangely, my tried and true tactic failed, I coughed a little louder. The girl seemed to be stuck in her own world; she turned the page.
“Ahem” I tried. No luck. “Hi I’m Kelly Davis, your new roommate.”
She looked up.
Finally!
“Oh, hi. I’m Ellen Furstburg, nice to meet you.”
Ellen? Furstburg? Nice to meet you?
I just smiled back, and sitting down slid my feet out of my treasured Birkenstocks. Ellen had turned back to her book. I prayed that my time as her roommate wouldn’t be spent like this; miniscule conversations that included Have you seen my blue sock? Yeah, the one that matches all my other twelve pairs I had secretly hoped my roommate and I would become my closest confidante, like the ones I read in my books.
Since my best friend in the city and I had “separated” it seemed my only hope was to become one of The Girls. Sighing, I changed into my favorite pajamas; a big t-shirt and athletic shorts. I hooked up my laptop; a going away gift from my grandparents, as I crawled into bed. After it had booted up, I decided it was worth a shot to write an email or two.
First, I sent one to my parents, confirmation that I was alive and doing well. I didn’t dislike them enough to stop sending correspondence. I told them that my first day had gone without a hitch and already had a gaggle of friends. I knew they wouldn’t like it if I bad mouthed my roommate, so I told them that Ellen was a nice girl whom I was sure would become one of my close friends. Afterwards, I convinced myself to write to my friends back home. They at least deserved a word from me; we were still friends after all. Yawning, I began my letter. I told them about my day and gave them my well-known advice.
Done writing my in depth letter to my beloved friends of the city; I turned to a more amicable task, I had told my friend Carlos from Club 22 that I would review a song for him. Très Bombshell was an underground group that played at venues all around the “spots” of the city. They had a real quality that I encouraged and I was only too happy to oblige.
By the time ten thirty rolled around I was pretty tired. I noticed Ellen sound asleep in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her piano fingers folded over the floral bedspread I knew she most likely lovingly cherished. My eyes began to get heavy and the flowers swam before my eyes. My last image before I dozed off was of a soft pink flower lulling me into a deep sleep.

return to the index
All materials © 2005 Grace Babcock