Historically Inaccurate

🌥 S I X 🌥

Diane is waiting for me by the bike racks outside of the library. Her coral colored coat differentiating her amongst the other students walking around her. I finish locking up my bike when I hear her stomping towards me, a clear look of a mixture of annoyance and yet excitement contorting her features.

"Soledad Gutierrez," she starts and with just that I can already know what is coming.

I grimace.

"Yes?"

"Did you, or did you not watch it?"

Turning fully towards her, I grab a hold of both of her shoulders, hoping our friendship won't end the second I say:

"No, I'm so sorry."

"Sol!"

"I was busy okay?" I take a step back, grabbing my backpack from my bike's basket. "Things kind of got complicated because the guy of the house and I had to fix that first. I swear I'll watch the show tonight — after finishing my essay."

"It's the greatest thing ever, I can't understand how you're not watching it already." We walk into the library as a gaggle of students tries to push their way out of the door, this creates an awkward shoving of bodies that should only really be experienced if you've camped outside of Best Buy for three days on Black Friday because stupid Billy wanted that Nintendo Switch and you're supposed to be a "good" parent.

I usually don't like coming into the library when I'm not working, I know too many people here, but there's nothing really that you can do when you're a student on campus. We had to do a research paper for our English class like a week ago, but our Professor extended it so there is nothing I can truly complain about. Lenient teachers are a gift sent from heaven.

The doors of the elevator whine open to reveal the third floor of the building. This area holds most of the computer equipment for the students and the majority of the tables that would allow for groups to meet amongst the bookshelves and old video tapes. While the place is supposed to be silent there is a persistent murmur amongst students that is not allowed on any of the other floors in the building and it is somewhat of a relief as I spend most of my time in this place as silent as a corpse.

Diane places her backpack on top of the table closest to the floor-to-ceiling window panes, her hoop earrings glinting as she sits down in front of me. I take off my jacket and take out my English folder where I have the notes for the story we're researching. The Yellow Wallpaper. It's a pretty standard read and one I covered before I got into college, after all, I love my good old feminist papers. Learning about rebel women in the past has always fascinated me. Charlotte Perkins Gilman is not different. Her mystifying approach to postpartum depression and the oppression her character felt was only mirrored by her own sorrow in her real life. She was miserable and this is clearly shown in her story, which makes the powerful ending more important.

"So what happened with the house guy?" Of course, I told Diane about what happened, what kind of friend do you take me for? I might not have told her about how I fell on my ass while running away from Ethan, but she pretty much knows all of what went down.

"I mean, I think it's over, but I wouldn't be too sure." Ethan hadn't looked the happiest I've seen him this morning, and that's to say a lot since every time I've encountered him he has been in at least one of the four stages of Anger (those being all made up by me, mind you). "He left without taking the invitation to the club so I hope he gives it a rest."

"You do know that I still think you're crazy for joining that club, right?" She takes out a highlighter from her bag, one of those mid liners that you see in those studyblrs (hint: study + tumblr) that was the only reason why you truly started a planner before you gave up because your handwriting is hideous.