Drama. It was the one thing Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with during her first year of university. She'd had enough of that in high school.
At first, it seemed like it was going to be a smooth year: she liked her roommates; the varsity swim team...
At the back of the line, we organized ourselves so the fake IDs were spread out enough to avoid suspicion. Patricia was three or four people ahead of me in line, and as we waited, I fiddled with the fake ID and read her information over and over. Leo. August 20th. 1977. Patricia Lynn Baker.
"You look nervous."
I turned a little behind me to see a short, brown-skinned guy who I thought was called Anil. "This is with a couple drinks in me." I gestured to my uneasy face. "Imagine if I wasn't a little drunk."
He laughed. "The guy at the door doesn't really care. He just needs to have checked something in case the place gets busted. You'll get a bracelet, I'm sure."
I looked at my wrist, imagining the of-age bracelet on my wrist. "What program are you taking?" I eased my shoulders down, trying not to think about the ID while also mentally rehearsing all the relevant details.
"Journalism. You?"
"Me, too." I grinned.
"The average to get in here was a little ridiculous. I was sure I wasn't going to get in. My guidance teacher said I needed at least an 80 average to even get a look in here. I only had a 78. I'm not even sure how I'm here."
"Slow year?" I suggested in a teasing voice.
He grinned at me. "I guess we'll see what other duds they let in at Oliver's."
It was my turn at the door, and I handed over my ID to the bouncer without looking at him.
"Patricia?" The bouncer held the ID into the light of the hall and squinted.
I'd loosened up, and I grinned at him. "That's me."
He handed back my ID and jerked his head in the direction of the girl taking the cover charge. I got a bracelet on my arm, and I tried not to jump for joy. Once the bracelet was secure, I waited for Anil and rushed to the bar to stand beside Patricia. She was perched on the footrest, leaning almost over the bar, and her boobs were practically popping out of her top.
"Ah, Patricia?" I motioned to her almost exposed breasts.
She laughed and readjusted them so they were suggestive without being slutty. "You gotta get the girls out a little so you get waited on before the guys. I'll buy the first round and then you can buy the next. Deal?"
I nodded, grateful that she seemed to know the bar routine and what to order. I didn't have a clue. I'd grown up in a town where showing up at the local bar would have meant an automatic phone call to my parents by someone. The only place I'd ever gotten drunk was at house or field parties. I'd also always known the people I was drinking with quite well. I looked around the bar and remembered my parents' discussions on date rape drugs and looking after your own drink. Patricia ordered shots and a blue lagoon for each of us.
She got out the salt and lemons and passed me the tequila. She said, "Here's to a great year as roomies."
She licked her wrist and salted it. I followed her example as she put the shot glass in one hand and the lemon in the other. She sucked the salt, gulped the tequila and shoved the lemon almost completely into her mouth. I mimicked her actions and as the tequila burned all the way down I wondered how anyone ever decided that drinking this was a good idea. She popped the lemon out of her mouth, still wincing.
"Sorry," she said, "I can't afford the good tequila, that was the cheap shit."
I laughed and took a sip of my blue lagoon which tasted very sweet in comparison to the tequila. "I wouldn't know the difference. Don't worry." I heard my words slurring a little and vowed to slow down before I got out of control.
Patricia looked me up and down. "Roomie code. We never leave each other alone when we're drunk unless we're both completely sure we're safe. We always hold each other's drinks if we have to go to the bathroom and we're not quite finished. And," her green eyes met my blue ones, "we always hold each other's hair back when we're puking." She thrust out her pinkie finger to me. "You gotta swear on the roomie code."
I hooked my pinkie in hers and we did a little shake before breaking apart.
"So, does anyone call you anything other than Patricia or," I hesitate, my mind drifting to meat again, "Patty?"
She shrugged. "My parents have always called me Patty, but my friends in high school called me Patricia." She took a sip of her drink, and her blondish coloured hair fell forward to frame her face. "Why?"
"Could I call you Tricia?" I gave her a hopeful look.
"Why?"
"Does the roomie code also mean we have to be honest - even when we're drunk, and it might be roommate friendship breaking information?"
She chuckled but looked uncertain. "In this case, yes."
"I am terrible for shortening people's names. If it can be shortened, I do it. But, I can't call you Patty," I spewed it out in a rush.
"Why not?"
I took a deep breath. "It reminds me of meat: meat patties."
She spat out her drink all over the floor in a sudden burst and started laughing. "Oh my God."
She wiped down her shirt and checked me over to see if any landed on me. Her green eyes met mine, and they were full of amusement.
"I think we're going to be great friends. That was some funny shit. Yeah, you can call me Tricia. I'd hate for you to think of meat every time you look at me." She smirked. "I'm a vegetarian."
Author's Note:
What do you think of Liz so far? What about Tricia? Did you ever have a roommate code or friendship code with someone?
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