The Last

Who

            Who I loved was a girl from college.

            She lived across from me in our residence hall. A third year student majoring in nursing. The day I met her, I remember I was wearing a sweatshirt from my high school lacrosse team. It was move-in day. I was a demented, awkward freshman, trying to hold back tears after leaving my family, and she was the first person I talked to on our floor that night.

彡

            "You okay?" She stopped in the middle of the hall, holding a basket of laundry. I was sitting on the floor outside my dorm, my head in my hands. My eyes were closed and I felt like I was about to cry. It was 6, dinnertime, and the building was deserted, much quieter than it had been this afternoon. At home, I would have been running down the stairs with my little sister, smelling my mom's legendary tortellini with sausage and mushroom sauce. But tonight, I had no appetite. I lifted my head up and forced a smile at her.

            She was beautiful. A kind of beauty that didn't stand out, but beautiful nonetheless. She didn't wear any makeup and her dark brown hair was pulled together in a messy bun at the top of her head. Small pieces of it spilled out from her updo, curving around her face softly. She wore a hoodie with our school colors and logo printed on top, paired with grey sweats and pink flip flops. At that moment, I think she might have been the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.

            "I'm uh, I'm fine." I murmured, staring up at her standing form. She blinked once. Twice. Then made a face.

            "I don't buy it," she accused. Then she bent down, setting her laundry basket down on the ground, so that we were facing each other, eye to eye. "When I first came here, I felt the same way. Missing my family, my friends, my dogs. Silly, I know, but I wanted to go home so badly. I cried for weeks. And I think everyone feels this way. I heard my roommates crying silently too, when they thought that we were all asleep. Honestly, they stopped earlier than I did, but the overall idea is that we all feel like this. Like shit. So don't beat yourself up about it, yeah?"

            I laughed and nodded at her.

            "Have you eaten dinner yet?" she asked me.

            "No. Not very hungry."

            "Come on. Let's go grab dinner together. I'll put this," she gestured at her laundry basket, "down in my room and then we can go to the dining hall. Meet you in front of the elevators in five." She smirked as she picked up her laundry, walked two doors down, stuck her card into the door, and walked in.

            "Are you not hungry?" she murmured, glancing over at the measly pieces of broccoli I'd spooned onto my plate.

            "No, not really." I muttered back at her.

            "Two pieces of lamb, please," she said to the guy working at the dining hall. "Give him your plate," she grinned at me. "Come on. I got a piece for you. You'll love it. I haven't seen one person who didn't like the food here yet. Wait, you're not a vegetarian, are you?" Her face dropped.

            "No, no." I quickly said to her. "Just not very hungry toni—"

            "Oh, great!" Then, she grabbed my arm and pulled me over towards the pizza. I closed my eyes for a second and breathed in deep, letting the comforting smell of food drift into my body. All around me, dishes clanked and students chatted, catching up after their long summer apart. Why couldn't I be as happy as them? I tried to lose myself in this feeling, in this unfamiliar area that would become my home for the next four years. But my head only pounded harder, and I yearned to get out of the dining hall.