Issue 10.2 Spring 2015

10.2 cover image

 

Artist Statement:

My name is Alysha Biemolt and I am currently a junior within the English Studies track. I started the pieces published in a two different courses here at the University. Since being inspired from the constructive criticisms from supportive faculty and peers I decided to continue working on them, until one day I decided to publish them. I am fortunate enough to have my works submitted, and am proud of these pieces.

"My Roommate from Hell" is a work of creative non-fiction detailing the events that transpired between my freshman year roommate and me. Some of the details have been exaggerated, but only for dramatic effect.

The day my Grandfather told me about the War is about a conversation I had with my grandfather in regards to his military service. He is a very particular about the details of his experiences with the military and war, and this poem chronicles one time where he sat me down and told me the whole story.

These pieces are both very personal to me, and I am happy that as an author I can share these experiences to the reader. Hopefully these works of mine can entertain, even if it is just for a short while. I hope you enjoy my work. Thank you!

 

My Roommate from Hell

 

Alysha Biemolt
               

 

Week One, Sunday: I carry up one of my heaviest cardboard box up the metallic stairs.  This is it, I think; this is the start of your new life. It is freshman move-in. College life waits above this staircase. I reach the top of the stairs and turned right to walk onto my floor. My hands shake with anticipation and strain as I went straight down the hallway to room 407. I notice the door to my room already adjacent. I peek in to see my roommate Michelle and her parents are already unpacking.

 

Michelle looked different. I saw before me a skinny and short little white girl with artificially tan skin and long light brown hair, straightened to the point of breakage; clothes from PINK that hadn’t yet found a home were scattered about the room, a tribal backpack lay on her desk, and a “basic” aroma (probably from Victoria’s Secret) radiated from her pores. When I met her over break she had dark brown hair and a cool, aloof attitude. Regardless, I set my box on the unfurnished bed. We hug and squeal in excitement of the coming year. Even if she wasn’t what I remembered from the school preview or saw from the video chats, Michelle and I already know each other, and that was hell of a lot better than some random roommate. We make a pact to have this year be a great one.
               

Week Two, Monday: I fucking hate my roommate. Pact-breaking bitch.  I think as I angrily pick up her trash that has breached the barrier of my side of the room. The summer talks when she talked about doing drugs and boyfriend troubles should have been a warning. Damn it, I should have known, I think to myself as I try to hold back the bile burning my throat. As it turns out, she is the total opposite of me. She is a pig, leaving all of her half eaten dining center to-go boxes scattered around her side, creating the smell of a dead fetal pig.  She smokes, heavily. She never goes to class; she sits around pining over her drama with her boyfriend back home, the same shit that happened all summer. How the fuck can someone go around in circles with the same issues for, at least to my knowledge from the all night talks from the summer and the first week, over a year. I am done trying to be fake and supportive. Right now she is all rude and pissy every time I talk to her to clean up her side, or get out of the room to do something, or to go to class, or to do anything else. Then she has the audacity to yell at me. Fuck, I hate her. She is a fucking monster.
               

Week Three, Tuesday: I had a terrible day. When I came home I had had enough with people. I open the lock on my door and see Michelle in the middle of the room clipping her toenails onto a paper towel, seemingly oblivious to the moldy take out box beside her and that her used thongs that had congregated as a makeshift rug. I don’t know what came over me, maybe it was the bits of burnt hair that fall off her head everyday after she straightens her hair that stick to my feet or the fact that she brought home a friend last weekend who went through my shit without permission, but when I saw her thereI fucking snapped.

 

“What. Are. You. Doing.” I ask, feeling my jaw tense up in anger.

 

“Cutting my nails, obviously” she replied sarcastically.

 

“That is so fucking gross dude. Are you even going to clean this up?!”

 

“What the hell, of course I am.”

 

“Oh really. Fucking really?! Because you totally cleaned up your to-go boxes from last week. Because you totally cleaned up your fucking nasty rank ass thongs that somehow manage to find their way into my laundry bin. I am not your fucking mother Michelle. I am NOT going to pick up after you. You need to get your fucking shit together or I swear to God the next time I see one of your ratchet nasty ass things on my side of the room I will fucking throw them out of the window. You need to get your shit together Michelle or your fucking dumb ass will be kicked out of school.” Before I could stop myself the curses and insults continued to spewed from my mouth, things that I would never say as the passive and timid girl she thought me to be brought her to tears. 

 

After I stopped, catching my breath, sweat slicking my back from the onslaught, I watch her cry. I hate watching people cry; it always makes me feel guilty and sick, especially if I caused it.

 

“Look dude, I’m sorry. I had a bad day and I’m just really sick of everything and coming home to see all of this shit that really aggravates me…I lost it, I’m really sorry. Please don’t cry. Look, as long as you clean up your side and keep it clean we can go back to being like we were. Can you do that?”

 

Through her hiccups and tears she says, “Ok, and I’m so sorry.” I think that maybe things will be better now.
               

Week Four, Wednesday: After our talk last week and Michelle going home for the weekend, everything seems to be getting back in order. Michelle has been more conscious of me and has been getting outside more. She is making friends and cleaning up after herself. I have to say that I am proud of her. She is trying to make an effort and I can actually see the linoleum floor now.
               

Week Six, Thursday: I’ve literally been living in the library. Midterms are in a few weeks but group projects for my general education classes have been a nightmare. I fucking hate them. I bring a pillow and blanket, and sleep during study breaks. I only go home when the library closes, and that’s to sleep. Michelle and I haven’t seen much of each other this week because of my busy schedule. Whenever I come home I make a B-Line straight for my bed. We haven’t talked in a few weeks so I haven’t had to deal with her drama, so I would have to say it’s been a pretty fucking good week.
               

Week Eight, Sunday:  My midterms are over. I thought I could relax. I thought everything was finally turning up. Wrong. I am so fucking wrong. Abort the mission, stop fucking everything. I am so fucking done with her shit. I just came back this morning after a nice long weekend break and I fucking see someone sleeping in my bed. I blink in disbelief. My bed, my lofted, safe haven in a shared nightmare had someone besides me in it. The temple has been desecrated.

 

My stomach drops in rage as I shake the metallic loft and yelled at the intruder. It is Michelle’s friend, Ashley. Fuck. Out of all of her new friends I hate her the most. She has a terribly annoying nasally laugh, smells like dog shit, and has a tendency towards kleptomania. I know this because I caught her trying to take some of Michelle’s jewelry, even if she insisted she was just “borrowing” it. She jolts awake and looks at me insidiously, like I was the intruder.

 

“Get the fuck out!” I scream as I continue to shake the bed angrily. I must look like a total dick, but I don’t fucking care. This bitch needs to get the fuck out. Ashley hastily grabs her shit and runs out the room calling me a crazy bitch on the way out. Whatever.

 

I turn to Michelle’s bed to give her a piece of my mind to see that she isn’t there. She wasn’t fucking there. My jaw is so tight in anger that I feel like if I clench anymore I would break my molars. I unlock my jaw and sit in my desk chair facing the door and wait for Michelle to return home.

 

I wait, seething, for an hour before I realize that I have to go to a sorority meeting. So I left.

 

When I come back to the room a few hours later she jumps down my throat.

 

“What the hell did you do to Ashley? You are out of your fucking mind!” Out of all the things I hypothesized were going to happen when I came home, I was not expecting this.

 

“Dude, she was sleeping in my bed. She was alone in our room. I never said she could stay, much less sleep in my bed. What the fuck were YOU doing letting her stay alone in our room?! The least you could do is let her sleep in YOUR bed. She is YOUR friend after all.”

 

“I had to leave to do a group project and we were hanging out last night so I let her crash. I fell asleep before she did. I thought she was just gonna sleep on the floor. So sue me that I’m a good friend.”

 

“What the fuck- whatever. I am so not dealing with this right now. You can be as pissed as you want I’m going to fucking wash my sheets cause your friend smells like shit.”

 

“Ugh!” Michelle threw her hands up in anger and went to her bag, I assume to leave. I turn my back to her and start pulling off my covers one layer at a time.

 

“What. The. Fuck.” I angrily hear her growl. I ignore her, as I usually do, assuming she is checking some drama on her phone, like usual. “Did you fucking take my money?”

 

I raise and eyebrow and turn around, “What?”

 

“I said, did you fucking take my money?” she is holding out an empty wallet and glaring at me.

 

“Um, no? Why the fuck would I take your money?” I genuinely confused at her accusation.

 

“Well, I had over $100 dollars in here from my mom to buy food and shit, but now it’s missing. I know I had it in here this weekend, you come home and it’s gone. So now what.”

 

I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t here this weekend Michelle. Remember when I asked if you saw my $40 around the room? I’m missing money too. Maybe your should ask your friend who was here all day.” I reply sarcastically. This was all such a fucking joke.

 

“How. Dare. You. Ashley is an amazing friend. She would never do something like that. You are a bitch to even think that. I cannot believe- UGH. You are so- UGH.”

 

I roll my eyes again. I was tired of fighting at this point and had an 8:00 am class the next day.

 

“Look, I’m sorry you are missing your money. I swear I didn’t take it. Maybe go tell the R.A or something? I don’t know, figure it out.” I put the smelly sheets in my laundry basket and put on my spare set of sheets and comforter, crawled into bed, and just slept the troubles away.
               

Week Nine, Saturday: After our little spat Michelle has been living with her friend recently, and I couldn’t be happier. Since she has been gone I put all of her clothes, dirty and clean, on her bed, put all of her miscellaneous shit on her desk and dresser, swept and straightened up. After I get out of bed, I proudly look over my new clean haven and go to class. My day is filled with clubs and organizations and so when I came back to my room I was exhausted and just wanted to crawl into bed. When I walk in I am stunned to see not only Michelle, but also her parents in my room. Shocked and upset at the lack of communication, I immediately switch over to my fake polite mode for her parents as a safety mechanism. Years of manners and polite behavior training from my step-mom to make me into an “upstanding lady” still unfortunately ingrained in my mind reset my mannerisms and speech to default.

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Goldbloom! It’s so nice to see you both. What brings you down here?”

 

“Oh, just visiting Michelle. We are so used to her coming to us that we decided on a change.” Mrs. Goldbloom replied. I know they must know about Michelle and me and have been set to default themselves to try and make things civil. I pretend I am just stopping off to get some things, but in reality I just want to sleep to rid myself of the exhaustion that built up over the day.

 

“How long are you all staying for?” I ask in my honey-laden polite voice.

 

“Oh, just for the day.” Mrs. Goldbloom replied in the same manner.

 

“We’re actually on our way to dinner.” Mr. Goldbloom curtly replied, having none of the charade.

 

Thank god. I bid them farewell and as soon as they leave I lock the door, change into my pajamas, and crawl into bed and pass out.

 

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hazily hear my door opening and people walk in. It was Michelle and her parents. I stay completely still. I think that it’s better for them to think I was asleep than acknowledge them again. I hear them drop their stuff all over the room and begin to talk about me. Either they must have not seen my body lump under the covers on my lofted bed or I was better at pretend sleeping than I thought. As soon as they start to talk about me my body freezes. My mind is now wide-awake, but my body feels paralyzed under the fear they would realize I was listening.

 

“I can’t believe how fake your roommate is. You were right honey.” I hear Mrs. Goldbloom whisper angrily.

 

“I know right?!” Michelle replies.

 

“And you said you think she is the one who has been stealing your money?” I hear Mr. Goldbloom say, his gruff voice, barely a whisper in his anger.

 

“Yes Daddy.” She replies. I want to jump out and claw this bitch’s eyes out. I felt so much anger that these parents had the audacity to judge someone they never met on the overtly bias of their disgusting daughter.

 

“I have this powder you can put on your money and valuables that if you don’t know where to touch it turns your hand blue. You can use it to make sure. We use it at the bank all of the time.” Mr. Goldbloom continued.

 

“No Daddy, it’s ok, I have the lockbox you got me. That should be enough.” I hear Michelle say and then a lip smack that I can only assume was her kissing his cheek. Disgusting conniving bitch.

 

They continue to talk about me for what my body assumed to be an hour before they left to go see a movie. Once I hear the door click I sit up in my bed and wipe the silent tears from my eyes. People are horrible. They accused me of being the pig that made my room messy, from what I assume was a last ditch effort of Michelle to play the victim to “Daddy” and “Mommy”. I am fucking done.
               

Week Nine, Ten, and Eleven: I never confronted Michelle about her parents. I just did my own thing and she did hers. I am numb to her now. I don’t even care. School is more important than worrying over every fuck up she does. If I dealt with them I would be going around in circles like how she still does with her boyfriend back home.
               

Week Twelve, Tuesday: I’m sitting in my dorm room when I hear Michelle walk in. I feel her walk behind me and stand there. I sigh and turn around.
               

“What do you want?” I ask.
               

“I wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch with me.” She replied, looking away.
               

I raise my eyebrow in disbelief, “Why would you ask me that?”
               

She sighs, “Look there has been a lot of bad blood between us lately and I wanted to try and meet you half way. I talked to my parents about it and they said I should reach out and be- anyway do you want to go or not.”
               

I stare at her for a while, “Ok, sure. Why not.” I reply, wondering where this was going.
We head down the elevator to the dorm-dining hall, get our food and find a seat. For a while we just eat in silence.
               

“So…how are your classes going?” she asks.
               

“Fine.” I reply.
               

“Good…good.” She takes a bite of her salad.
               

“How are yours?” I ask back.
               

“Failing, but I’m talking to my counselor and we’re figuring out stuff.”

 

The awkward exchange goes on for a while until the big question came up.
               

“So, why aren’t we friends anymore?” She asks, putting down her fork in anticipation.
               

I stare her straight in the eyes. “You really have to ask me that? After all we’ve been through?”
               

“Look, I know we’ve had our differences but we were friends at some point. It’s been so stressful in the room lately, I never feel like coming home because you might be there. This needs to change.”
               
“That’s really not my problem though-“
               

“-But-”
               

I hold up my hand, “Let me finish. It’s not my problem how you feel. I know I’ve bitched you out before, but from my point of view it’s not without reason. If you can really make an effort to change and clean up, communicate with me, and not accuse me for every little thing you do wrong. We won’t have a problem. However, I don’t think we can ever go back to being friends.”
               

She is silent for a while until, “Ok. I understand.”
               

Week Thirteen and Fourteen: No incidents have occurred, Michelle is doing what I’ve told her and we’ve been keeping our distance.
               

Week Fifteen, Thursday: My brain has turned to a gelatinous mush. Finals are just too real. I pulled all-nighter last night to re-study all of my material, in the hopes of getting an A in all of my courses. I come home after this long night in the library to Michelle sobbing on her bed. Even after all we went through, I still have a soft spot for whenever she cries.

 

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I put down my backpack.

 

“I don’t know if I’m going to still be in school next semester because I’m failing my classes.” She shakes as she wipes her eyes and blows her nose. “I want to stay in school but because this semester was so terrible I don’t know what will happen.”

 

Against my better judgment and experience, I sat down on her bed. “You won’t fail out this semester. You know that right?”

 

“But I’m failing all of my classes!” She looked pathetic with her dripping mascara and runny nose. I grimaced and patted her on the back.

 

“Yeah, but that’s only for this semester. You need to be on academic probation to be kicked out of the University. You still have another semester.”

 

“Really?” She looked at me with wide eyes. “That is such a relief…thank you. It was nice getting this off of my chest.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” I say as I get off of her bed and start to get ready for bed.

 

“Can I talk to you about stuff?”

 

I hesitate thinking about what she meant until I cautiously say, “Sure…what about?”

 

Before I realized it we were talking like old times about everything. She made sure to keep away from topics like her boyfriend or drugs. It was like our talks over the summer. Honestly, it was nice talking with her even after all of the shit that went down. It was interesting to get her perspective on the events that happened.

 

After about two hours I suggest, “So you should take advantage of the tutoring so you can maybe get, like, a C or D in your classes if you do really well on your finals.”

 

“Thank you so much, yeah, I’ll definitely do that. The only thing is…if I stay here next semester the issues of rooms comes up”

 

“Why don’t you stay with Ashley or one of the other people you know here?”

 

She looked back at me with shock, “Oh.”

 

I frown, “What do you mean ‘Oh?’”

 

“I already submitted the form to be roommates again for next semester.”

 

“You did WHAT?”

 

“Wait! Don’t get mad! I didn’t think I was gonna be here next semester and even then I don’t want to have to move out my stuff!” She started to get teary-eyed.

 

I was in shock. Did she not live with me the past semester? Did she not realize how much I fucking hated and abhorred living with her? I just can’t see next semester being this crazy seeing how I made it through this one!

 

“No way, dude. You gotta reconsider. This semester was terrible.”

 

“Please don’t kick me out. I would have nowhere else to go. The paper work is already submitted and it would be a pain for either of us to move out. I know we had our differences but I always thought you were a great roommate. I was wrong about you stealing, I was wrong to have yelled at you and been the way I was. You were a really great roommate and I won’t find another like you. I can’t go through random roommate the anxiety would be too much! With you I know what to do, I lived through it! And even though this semester was terrible we can learn from our mistakes for the next one! Please help me out. I promise to be a better roommate next semester! Really! I promise!”  She started to cry when she started her speech and now full and heavy tears ran down her face.

 

God fucking damn it. My stomach twisted into all sorts of knots. I hated seeing her cry and knowing how she needed me for next semester. The compliments didn’t hurt her case either. Fuck. She knew how to twist my buttons and it was working.

 

“...Alright. If you can swear to do everything better next semester and actually listen to me…I guess we can.” Contradicting everything that I had experienced, I agreed to be roommates again. As soon as agreed she leapt up and hugged me.

 

“Thank you! I promise it will be better. I promise”
               

Week Sixteen, Friday: Michelle and I pack up our room for the break; we unplug all of the cords and clean the floor. Finals are over now and we are just excited to go home. Common interest made us work faster to go home quicker. After we finish we looked at each other. I saw before me a skinny little white girl with artificially tan skin and long brown hair, straightened to the point of breakage; clothes from PINK, a tribal backpack, and an aura of “basic bitch”. This was my roommate from hell. I don’t know what she saw in me, but I knew we were both wondering what next semester would bring.

 

 

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