Authors: Kristen Selleck
“Psychology,”
he announced, “derived from the greek word
psyche,
meaning ‘soul’ or
‘mind’, translates as the study of the mind.”
Chloe
gasped as she looked at him and Sam chuckled evilly. Dr. Willard was short
with slicked-down, black hair. He probably used a gallon of gel to keep it
plastered to his skull. His hair helmet may have caused a few of the snickers,
but what really did them in was his moustache. It was also black, long and
curled up at the ends with moustache wax.
“He looks like a
villain from a silent movie or something,” whispered Sam. Chloe bit her lip to
keep from giggling.
“Hey
there fellow,” Sam said in her best male vaudeville voice, “Do you know where a
chap might buy a soda pop for a nickel?”
Chloe
snorted and tried to hold her breath.
“Hey
Chloe…Chloe, do you think he was late for class because he rode here on one of
those old time bicycles with the big wheel in the front?” Sam asked.
Chloe
buried her face in her hands and tried to muffle the sound of her laughter in
her palms.
Down
in the front, Dr. Willard paused in his lecture to glare in their direction.
Sam gave him her best innocent smile as Chloe pretended to be absorbed in
taking notes.
“Course
objectives,” Dr. Willard continued, sliding one of the chalkboards up to reveal
a long, wordy list.
Chloe
began copying the list diligently. Sam closed her eyes.
* * *
Chloe
threw her bag on her desk and collapsed on the bed. It had been a long
morning. Mondays were going to be her worst days. She had psychology with
Sam, followed by a statistics class, and civics all before one in the afternoon.
Luckily her last class, a required freshman writing course, wasn’t until four.
Chloe
glanced at Sam’s schedule, taped over the desk, and discovered that she was at
physics lab. The cafeteria had closed for lunch and wouldn’t reopen until four
for dinner service. She would have to remember to grab something between
statistics and civics next Monday. Her stomach rumbled angrily.
A
knock at the door kept her from dozing off. It was probably someone looking
for Sam. Chloe had noticed the night before how easily Sam made friends. She
already seemed to know everyone in their hall, and laughed and talked to them
with an easy familiarity that made Chloe just a little bit jealous.
Chloe
hauled herself off the bed and cracked the door.
Seth
stood in the hallway swinging a white plastic sack. He smiled and held it up
for her to inspect.
“You
have lunch yet?” he asked. Chloe shook her head.
“Can
I come in?”
Chloe
opened the door wider. Seth walked past her and set the bag on her desk. He
pulled out two take-out cartons, and some plastic cutlery.
“How’s
the head?” he asked pulling up the chair from Sam’s desk to hers. Chloe
flinched at the memory.
“Fine,”
she mumbled.
Seth
opened the carton and stepped back with a flourish and a bow.
“Pasties,
the best the U.P. has to offer,” he explained.
They
were half-circle blobs of dough, crimped around one side and leaking a brown
gravy through a slit on the top.
“I
thought you said the best pasties were from Marquette,” Chloe remembered.
“They
are. I drove there after class this morning. I had some things I forgot at
home. Being that it’s your first pastie and all, I thought you might want to
start with the gold standard.” Seth drew back her chair and reached for her
hand, over-acting the part of a gentleman.
“What’s
in it?” Chloe asked warily.
“Meat,
taters, onions, and rutabaga. No rufies, I promise.”
Chloe
stabbed at it with her fork as Seth dug heartily into his.
“Last
night,” Chloe began, she didn’t know what to say. Seth chewed and swallowed.
“Look,
don‘t worry about it. I’ll warn you next time…deal?”
“Alright,”
she agreed. She speared some gravy-soaked crust and a potato.
“S’not
bad,” she admitted, with her mouth full. Seth nodded in agreement.
He
had said
next time
, as in maybe he would try it again. She would be
ready next time. She would definitely close her eyes. Maybe she could ask Sam
what she was supposed to do with her hands. Then again, Sam’s idea of what to
do with her hands…
“You
doing anything Saturday?” Seth asked.
“I
don’t think so. I have to ask Sam though.”
“If
you want to take a drive, I was thinking of heading out to Pictured Rocks.
It’s not far. I think you’ll like it.”
“Okay,”
Chloe blushed and took another bite of pastie. She glanced at Seth just as he
looked at her. They both smiled sheepishly and looked away.
Seth
scooped up the last bite and shoved the container into the trash.
“How
was psychology this morning?” he asked, still chewing.
“You
could have warned me about the moustache.”
“I
told you he was a character,” Seth said while twirling an imaginary moustache,
“I bet he gave you homework already.”
“Yeah,
he asked us to write something on why we were taking the class.”
Seth
nodded and watched as Chloe finished her pastie.
“You
don’t talk much,” he observed.
“No,”
Chloe agreed.
“Not
to me or not to anyone in general?”
Chloe
shrugged by way of answer.
“Strong
silent type?” he teased.
“Nope.
I just don’t have anything interesting to say I guess.”
“I
doubt that,” he said, staring at her. Chloe felt a shiver race down her
backbone. Did he know? Did it show somehow that she was different, that there
was something wrong with her?
“Alright,
I’m off. Got class in twenty. Can I give you a ride somewhere?” he offered.
“No,
I’ve got a break until four.”
“Okay,
see you later?”
“Sure.”
Seth
made a show of slowly and awkwardly reaching out to pat her on the back.
Chloe’s face colored as she realized he was teasing her again.
“Okay
then,” he smiled.
“Thanks
for the pastie,” she said.
“Anytime
kiddo.”
Seth
left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Chloe had barely let out a breath
of relief when Sam burst through the door and tossed her bag on her bed.
“I
hate
physics!” she announced.
“And
good day to you as well,” smiled Chloe.
“I’m
glad you’re back though,” Sam continued as though she hadn’t heard, “Jen got
her brother to buy two bottles of vodka, and we are cordially invited for a
meet and greet in hers and Melanie’s room at five.”
“I
don’t know,” Chloe mumbled, “I’ve got class at four and we’ve got that paper
due tomorrow for Willard. I wanted to start on that when I got back.”
“Here,
you can copy mine.”
Sam
snatched a paper off her desk and dangled it in front of Chloe. The assignment
had been to write an explanation of why they had chosen to study psychology.
Sam’s reply consisted of one short sentence.
“
Psych
103 is a required class in the pre-med curriculum
,” read Chloe, “Nice Sam.
“Of
course you’d have to change the word ‘pre-med’ to ‘psychology’, but I think you
can handle that,” grinned Sam.
“Oh
be serious,” Chloe chided, “the guy spent an hour and ten minutes talking about
the glorious science of the mind and so on. I think he’s expecting a little
more eloquence than this.”
“Well
then he should have set a word minimum or something. I can’t help it if he
doesn’t know better than to leave loopholes.”
“Sam-”
Chloe warned.
“Chloe,”
Sam mimicked, in a fussy, high-pitched tone.
“Come
on Sam, you’re pre-med. You’re not going to be able to get into med school
without really good grades and that’s going to take a little more effort than
this.”
“Med
school? Pleeeeease! There’s not a whole hell of a lot of people going to med
school from BHC. There’s basically two reasons why kids end up here. One, you
partied way too hard in high school and don’t have the grades to get in
anywhere else, or two, your folks are flat-busted and you don’t have the money
to go somewhere better. The only degree I’m looking to get is my M-R-S
degree,” Sam laughed.
“What’s
an M-R-S degree?” Chloe wondered.
“Holy
shit, you
are
an innocent! A
missus
degree, Clo. My plan is to
party my ass off for a year or two and then find a nice guy who will get me so
far away from the U.P. that I’ll be able to forget I ever lived here. Then I’ll
stay home with the kids while he goes out and makes enough money for me to take
awesome vacations and liposuction all the baby weight off. It’s simple,” Sam
shrugged.
“Wow
Sam, I think you just set the feminist movement back a hundred years,” Chloe said,
shaking her head.
“Feminism?
Don’t make me laugh. You want to grow your armpit hair out and march around
carrying a sign that says “womyn…with a ‘y’” be my guest,” Sam rolled her eyes.
“No,
that’s not what it’s about. Let me you--”
“Let
me tell
you
about feminism. My mom is a real feminist. First woman in
the whole family to get any kind of education. She’s a nurse’s aide at the
hospital. She works ten hour shifts cleaning bed pans and taking the blame for
nurses…her
sisters
that like to lord it over her because they have a
little more education. Oh yeah, women are catty, they’ll stab each other in
the back over anything, they don’t support each other. You think that’s how I
want to end up? Working myself to death for less money than they pay a man to
do the same job? No thanks. We screwed ourselves. Now we have to earn the
bread and still be mom of the freaking year or other women will tear us apart.
I’m not falling into that trap.” Sam snatched a chemistry book off her desk and
shoved it angrily into her bag.
“That’s
not even the point, Sam!” Chloe insisted, “It’s a lot bigger then feminism, or
lots of money. It’s-It’s about what you do with your life. It’s about…well,
it’s about this world, and your place in it, and…and taking responsibility and
trying to do something instead of-of looking the other way and-”
“Alright,
Alright! Whatever!” Sam waved her hand in dismissal. She shouldered her
backpack and headed for the door. “Just try and save the world by five, so we
can do some shots, okay?” She called over her shoulder. It seemed to Chloe
that she shut the door a little harder than normal.
For
a moment, Chloe sat stunned. Cynicism and indifference were cool. She
remembered that from high school. It was so important that Sam like her, that
she fit in. Why couldn’t she remember to keep her mouth shut? Nobody liked
people who stood on soap boxes and preached at them. Fanatics didn’t have
friends, they had therapists.
Fanatic?
You can barely make the words come out of your mouth. You stutter and fumble
along. You don’t sound like a fanatic… you sound immature…ridiculous. She
wishes you weren’t her roommate. She’s probably already made fun of you to
those other girls. Jen and Melanie? She’s displaying you so they can all laugh
at you behind your back.
“Stop
it!” Chloe said out loud, and immediately regretted it. The voice was gone,
but it left a grim sense of satisfaction behind. Another thing she wasn’t
supposed to do, she reminded herself, was answer it.
Chloe
rubbed her hands together nervously, and then, seeking her old habit of
occupying her mind, fired up Sam’s PC and began her psychology assignment.
Writing was so much easier than speaking. Chloe could take the time to think
about her words, to order them, make them flow seamlessly from point to point.
Above all, she could hit the backspace when they came out awkwardly.