!!!!!*****WORKING DRAFT *****!!!!!
Two weeks after Labor Day, we headed off to New England, me with my parents, Mike in his red Lancer. We’d agreed to meet a few weeks later after school started, Columbus Day weekend, for a day together in Cambridge. I needed some time to settle in, get oriented to my dorm, classes, the whole adventure of coming to Cambridge, of watching summer turn to fall in Boston.
Tuesday afternoon, the day before registration for the semester, we arrived at Cabot house, one of nine freshman dorms at Radcliffe. On the east side of the quad, it rose five stories above the somewhat ratty green lawn, topped by a cupola, above which a weather vane drifted lazily with the changing autumn breeze. Built of red brick with with white stone trim, it resembled my early grade school in Cleveland, but much larger, and without an asphalt playground in front. We walked up five wide stone steps, through a small portico flanked by two columns supporting a second floor balcony protected by iron railing. Inside, confused and eager freshman-to-be, most shepherded by one or two parents, milled around a large reception cubicle built into the far wall. There, a calm and studious grey-haired women, whom I would soon come to call “Mother”, methodically checked each girl against a list on the desk in front of her. To most, she proffered keys and a paper pointing them to the stairs. A few were in the wrong house, and those she directed back out to the quad, sending them to the proper dorm.
Off to one side, I saw a slightly chubby girl with short dark hair sitting in one of the over-stuffed leather armchairs, surrounded by a professorial-looking man on one side, and an East Asian woman on the other. I eased over to her, drawing my own parents in my wake. I stared down at the instruction card I’d been mailed, looked up, and asked her, “Is there any order to all this?”
She looked up, shook her head, and said, “Not that I can see.” She smiled as she spoke, but I noticed her eyes retained a downward tilt which, without the upturned lips, might be interpreted as sad, or resigned. She stood up, offered her hand, and said, “I’m Judy.”
In the weeks before I left home, I’d thought about adopting my first name, Sarah, here at college, but never came to a conclusion. Instinctively, I said, “Jane. Janie, really.” Looking back at my card, I asked, “Um…what room are you in?”
“212”
“I think we might be neighbors! I’m in 221.”
“I think that’s right across the hall. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I was just looking around for a friendly face, you were the first person I saw.” We both laughed, a hint of childish giggle underneath. My mother, ever forward and friendly, turned to the couple and said, “We’re George and Francis. Stein. Janie’s parents.”
The ice broken, we quickly learned he was a physician, she was housewife who had been a nurse, they were from St. Louis where he was on the Internal Medicine faculty of Washington University Medical School, and that Judy was an only child. We all approached the desk together, receiving a smile when Mother learned she could check two boxes off at once, and give only one set of directions.
Eagerly, Judy and I trooped up one flight to the second floor. Our rooms were indeed right across the hall from each other. My mother and father had been left behind along with Judy’s parents to organize the transport of our belongings without the aid of an elevator. Our rooms were indeed across the hall from each other, hers right next to the bathroom, mine opposite. That was our first stop, to discover the intricacies of communal living. Two bathrooms on each floor, 3 sinks, 3 toilets, 3 showers in each, for 24 freshman girls.
“My mom bought me a new bathroom kit. I’m glad she did. Looks like there’s no room anyway to keep anything. Not even towel shelves.” Judy observed. I nodded, sniffing the air, which smelled of disinfectant.
Back in her room, which faced the quad – mine had a window looking out on Walker Street – we sat down, she on her bed, me on the straight-backed wooden chair tucked under a spartan desk. Next to that was a fading dresser, two small drawers on the top, three more below. That constituted the entirety of the furniture in our rooms. A small closet opened next to the entry door, sporting a single bar with no hangers or hooks and a shelf I could barely reach. Judy, three inches shorter than I, might need a foot stool. Simultaneously we sighed, looked around, and laughed. I remembered visiting the school in the summer over a year ago, peeking into the unadorned rooms, and fantasizing about how I might decorate one. I had brought a cover for my bed, a few books, my favorite pen, and a cloth wall hanging. Besides my clothes, the only other connection to my life before Radcliffe were two small framed photographs, one of my family at the Vineyard, the other of Michael.
Just then, three boys stomped in, carrying Judy’s suitcases and a packing case. A similar troop dropped my stuff off across the hall. The dads gave each of them a few bills, and the gaggle raced back downstairs to find load. Apparently, townies took advantage of the lack of mechanical lifts here every fall to collect some extra cash. I said to Judy, “See ya in a bit, OK?” and walked over to join my parents. My mother had already laid the suitcases out on the bed, and began opening the dresser drawers. She’d already noticed the lack of hangers. “I’ll send dad out to get some. Anything else you want?”
In less than thirty minutes, everything I’d brought had found a place, and my parents were looking adrift. My mom ventured, “Honey, we were talking with Judy’s parents and think we’ll go out for lunch, before we start back home. Do you two want to come along?”
It felt awkward thinking about saying goodbye in a restaurant. I shook my head, no, and tears began to well. I grabbed her, squeezed hard, and pulled back, wiping my eyes, sniffing a little. “Mom, I think I want to get used to things a bit. Let’s say good-bye here, OK?” She and dad didn’t seem nearly as distraught as I felt, but they had been through this three times already.
Judy, seeing that I was sending my own parents off, raised to her full height, and smartly announced, “Right, Janie and I are going to take a walk outside, look at the campus, go to the Coop and get a few things. We’ll be all right.” Her mother smiled, relieved, while her father checked his watch. With that, we sent them off to their empty nests, heedless of how they might be feeling. We had our own portal to pass through, into the next four years.
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