The Stoic And The Beast

The First Day Of College

Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

After a few missed attempts, I smack the top of my alarm clock. Silencing it with a swat, successfully knocking it to the floor. I stretch my arms to the ceiling as I sit up in bed. I blink my eyes open a few times, rubbing them with the back of my knuckles while simultaneously letting out a big long yawn.

I hate getting out of bed. I love staying under the warm handcrafted quilt that me-mom made for me. It's old and worn out but I can't seem to part with it. Me-mom is no longer with us. She passed away when I was nine years old. She pretty much adopted my family when I was born. She was a much older co-worker friend of my mother's when she was a waitress at a nearby diner.

Anyway, she wasn't my biological grandmother but she was the only grandparent type figure I had. Sadly, that worn-out quilt is all I have left of her. I loved her just the same as I would have loved a blood relative. If I had any other than my parents. Where are my real grandparents and relatives? Who the fuck knows.

When it's so cold outside this time of year, I dread the morning chill that seeps into my bones. I hate how it stays with me all day no matter how many layers I put on. I can't wait until spring.

I make my bed like a good daughter who is trying her best to "adult" in life. I drag my feet over toward my dresser to grab some undergarments, the thickest pair of socks I can find and a pair of my favorite Lucky jeans. Which by the way are covered in patches because my clothes have to last.

Most of my clothes are faded, worn and well past their expiration date. But since I stopped growing years ago I've never bothered to buy new clothes. There are two things I hate most in life besides winter. Shopping and spending money. I'm saving my money to buy a car.

I zombie walked toward the closet to pick out a top. I blindly decided on a faded black Kurt Cobain t-shirt and a long sleeve burgundy cardigan. I'm pretty sure I haven't opened my eyes yet. I know where everything is. I ball my clothes in a wad and head for the bathroom. I was cursing myself for staying up so late last night binge-watching AHS on Netflix.

I get dressed first. I splash my face with some cold water, brush my teeth and rake a brush through my hip length, boring black hair. I proceed my morning routine by piling it all on top of my head in a messy bun. I rub some SPF toner on my face, apply some cherry lip gloss to my lips, give my eyes a little touch of black eyeliner and finish off with loads of mascara. Bam!... I'm in, out and ready to go in 5 minutes. I hear my dad calling out to me as I trudge down the squeaky wooden stairs of our old victorian house.

"Alicia! Pack a lunch. I haven't had a chance to put money on your lunch account yet."

"That's okay dad. I'll eat when I get home. You don't have to put money on my lunch account. I'm an adult now remember? Let me do adult things like buying my lunch. What am I? Eight years old?"

We aren't exactly poor but we're not wealthy either. I managed to earn a grant to attend a university just a couple miles from home. The houses around here are over 100 years old. My house included. Most of them are crammed full of college students, sororities and fraternities. Which is why we can even afford a house. We've lived here since I was born so I'm used to the neighborhood being loud most nights with drunk young adults attending frat parties. The yards are often littered with red solo cups, the occasional bra hanging from a tree or some drunk passed out fool who partied too hard and splayed out half-dead across the grass.

I don't know how my parents managed to keep me from wandering into one of those frat parties. I have to admit, they often piqued my interest. Perhaps it was because I have seen one too many drunken idiots in my lifetime. No thanks. I was that straight 'A' student my parents loved to brag about. What they don't tell people is how hard it was to get those grades and keep them there. I'm no miracle brainchild. I'm an average woman with an average IQ. Spending long nights studying my ass off, getting good grades and writing my essay earned me a well-deserved scholarship.