Going Away

“Maybe I’ll just stay home. Go to community college,” I say, setting my laptop on my new dorm desk. I look at my mom, sitting on my bed helping me unpack my boxes, and silently beg her to agree. But she doesn’t say anything, just smiles at me sympathetically. If she thought that's what I really wanted, she'd have me home in a heartbeat. But she knows, despite my fears, I want to do this. Need to. “I’m just so nervous,” I say, rubbing my stomach. Anxiety always brings me stomach problems. “I don’t remember how to make friends.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, her tone telling me I’m being ridiculous. “You’ve never had any trouble making friends.”

“Well, yeah. I know. But they’ve just... always been my friends. Through school and sports and stuff. This place is so big. It’s not like in third grade when I just went up to whatshername and said ‘will you be my friend’ and she agreed and that was that.”

My mom laughs. “Well, no, you probably don’t want to do that. But you’ll meet people in the dorm. And the sorority, if you end up deciding to rush.”

For some reason, my mom’s really wanting me to join a sorority. Maybe because it's not an opportunity she ever had. Her parents were barely able to send her to college, and she had to work her way through it. For me, college was a given, and there's been no talk of me getting a job. “Ugh," I say, plopping down next to her. "I just wish I could fast-forward past all the awkwardness and find people I can be myself with immediately. I, like, lock up around new people and forget how to be a person."

“Just remember. Everyone is in the same boat as you. It’s not like you’re the new girl coming into a place where everyone knows everyone. You’re all freshman in college. People are looking to make friends. Trust me. It’ll happen fast.”

“Okay,” I sigh, not wanting to talk about it anymore. She’s probably right, but her words do nothing to loosen the knot in my stomach.

I momentarily wonder if I should have gone where my friends are going and experienced high school 2.0. But I remind myself that I came to this school so I would be forced to get out of my comfort zone. As scary as it is, I want new. I want change.

My dad walks into the room with the last of my boxes. “Alright, that’s it,” he says, setting them down in the middle of the room. I use my foot to shove them closer to what I've claimed as my desk. My roommate hasn’t arrived yet and I don’t want her to think I’m trying to take over the place. Thankfully, we'd chatted online before this and had established that she'd take the top bunk, which is fine by me since I spent my whole childhood on the top.

“I’m starving." My dad says. "Should we go eat?”

My mom looks at me. “What do you think, Coley? Do you want to finish unpacking first or go eat now?”

I look at my dad. He has his hands on his hips and is tapping his foot, exaggerating his impatience. This is his signature move. I laugh to humor him. “Let’s go eat,” I say. I’m really hungry too, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat much with the knot in my stomach. But if I unpack now and then we go eat, what am I going to do when I get back and they leave? As long as I have a tangible task to complete, I won’t feel completely aimless.

We go to Shakespeare’s, my parents’ favorite pizza place since when they were students here. It’s crowded-- I’m not the only freshman moving in today-- but somehow we manage to get a table outside. I lean back in the chair and try to enjoy the beautiful August day. I breathe deeply, hoping it will ease my anxiety. It doesn’t. I look around at the tables around us. Mostly families, probably doing the same thing we’re doing. I lot of people are wearing the school’s colors, and suddenly I feel self-conscious for wearing a T-shirt with my high school’s mascot. As I fidget with my senior class ring, I make a mental note to hide it and anything else bearing the name or colors of my high school. I’m in college now. Better play the part.

When we get back to my dorm, my dad stays in the car because we’ve had to create a parking spot and he’s worried they’ll get ticketed. I hug him goodbye and my mom walks me back up to my room. I go slowly, trying to delay their departure. I wonder if I’ll cry. Probably not. I don’t typically cry when I’m expected to, something that’s always bothered me. But the feeling of dread in my stomach grows.

“Do you need anything before we go? We can run to the grocery store if we need to,” my mom says when we get to my room. My roommate still hasn’t arrived. I wish she would. That would at least be something.

“No,” I sigh. Something I’ve been doing a lot lately. Cleansing breaths. Not working. “I think I have everything I need. I can always walk to the school store if I need to.” As much as I dread them leaving, delaying it is only making my anxiety grow. I need to cut the cord. Start figuring out how to be here on my own.

“Ok,” she says, but she doesn’t move. It’s like she’s trying to think of something else to keep her longer. “Here,” she says, digging into her purse. “I got you this. I’m not sure why, but it reminds me of you. Of us.” If my mom was a public crier, this would be the time she’d start blubbering. But her eyes are dry.

I take the CD out of her hand and look at the cover. Dixie Chicks. I smile. “Landslide,” I say, remembering the times we sang that song together in the car. “Awww, how cute of you,” I joke, unable to handle the intimacy of her gesture.

She gives me a hug. “You’re going to do great,” she says. “I better get going before dad leaves without me. Love love love.”

“Love love love,” I say, looking down because I actually start to feel tears welling up. This is unexpected. “Have a safe drive back.” But I don’t want her to leave. She’s comfort. She’s familiarity. She’s safety and solace. She’s the person I turn to for just about everything, and now I’m going to be without her.

Just like that, she’s gone, and I turn and face my empty room.