Earplugs it is.
There are no knocks on my door, though, so there’s that.
My sleep is restless and tainted by bad dreams, dreams in which I am driving a car I cannot control; dreams in which I am racing through an airport with no luggage and no ticket, unable to find any departure gates; dreams in which I am faced with an endless series of locked doors for which I have no keys.
I’m exhausted when I get out of bed at eight on Saturday morning, and there’s no way I can get through the day without coffee, so my hopes for being a shut-in are dashed. The nice thing about waking up early on a weekend is the silence that overtakes the entire campus. Only a handful of people are outside when I make my way to the student union. The air is crisp, the leaves starting to turn, and I welcome the impending arrival of true fall. The Andrews College campus is always attractive, but the light this morning is exceptional, the quiet desertion appreciated, and my fatigue feels less painful.
But there still must be coffee.
Given how much I like the quiet, I should probably consider moving by myself to the middle of nowhere when I graduate next year. I could live off of Amazon deliveries and never have to leave the house. It’s a highly appealing idea, but I’ve promised Steffi that I will move out to Los Angeles. That’s always been our plan, but I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with such a heavily populated city. Of course, we’ll be together, and she’ll help me figure things out. Steffi’s my rock, and she will not let me crumble.
The union is empty, and there’s no wait to place my order with the grouchy student who is working at the café today. He looks pissed and more tired than I am, and he knocks down the brim of his baseball hat before taking my money and slamming buttons on the register. There, I think with satisfaction, this is someone after my own heart. Unlike that Esben. Carefree, happy, people loving, he’s an enigma. I don’t know why I’m thinking about him, anyway. He’s obviously insignificant in my life. I want to fist-bump the sullen café boy for his outward display of crankiness.
I take my quadruple cappuccino and check my PO box to find that I have one notification slip.
Simon has sent me another care package. This is the fifth so far this year. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but I don’t know how to respond to his generosity. I collect the box and tuck it under one arm, noticing that I’m oddly comforted by the sight of Simon’s usual white packaging and handwritten address.
My walk back to the dorm is slightly awkward, and I have to set the box down while I fish out my key to get into the building. While I’m bent down, the heavy metal door flies open and smacks my right shoulder. As I’m pushed off balance to land on concrete, I’m not sure what hurts more: the pain from that or the burning cappuccino as it splatters across my left hand.
A couple who were holding hands and giggling when they first emerged are now gasping and apologizing profusely. The smell of alcohol and sex is heavy on them, and I move quickly to pick up my box and scramble inside, telling them not to worry.
I get back to my room and glare at my now-topless and half-empty coffee. I shouldn’t be surprised because at this point I understand that I am not allowed to have caffeine without some kind of major incident. Very carefully, I set down the cup on the small table, treating it like liquid gold.
“Stay,” I command it.
I open the door to the second bedroom and set the latest care package on top of the other four boxes from Simon. It’s very wrong of me, I know, but I cannot get myself to open the boxes. Seeing what’s inside them, understanding how much thought he gave into putting these together would make me feel guiltier than not opening them. Something catches my eye, though. The return label is slightly different than usual. I lean down and squint. Instead of the usual peony by his name on the return address label, there is now a leopard seal. He has a messed-up sense of humor, but I like it. Still, I leave the box where it is.
The door shuts behind me, and I have to laugh: I am rooming with care packages.
My shoulder is aching pretty good, my hand is stinging, and the cuff of my sleeve is soaked with coffee. I yank my sweatshirt over my head, grumbling over what is becoming an annoying routine, and replace it with a loose-fitting printed top. As I’m washing out the sweatshirt, I can’t help but feel around in the rest of the jersey. Clearly, there is no silly motivational button, but I look anyway. Just in case. I could use one today. The disappointment I feel at not finding one is embarrassing, but I keep grabbing at the fabric just to be sure I didn’t miss one. Why? Because there may be a motivational-button angel watching over me, right?
No.
I’m being nuts.
I finish up with my sweatshirt, then take what’s left of my coffee and sit on my bed. After I text a polite thank-you to Simon, I don’t know what to do with myself. My room is ridiculously clean, as always—overly organized, truth be told. My closet is only half-full and already arranged, with my clothes hanging by color and other items stacked neatly on the high shelf, so there’s no excuse for a Saturday cleaning spree. The supposed common room in this suite is empty, save for the furniture supplied with the room, so there’s nothing to be done in there. I could ice my shoulder, but that’s hardly an activity. Although, given my options, it’s not a bad one, so I pull a cold pack from the minifridge next to my bed and stare at the wall for fifteen minutes until the cold becomes more painful than the injury.
My clock might as well be shouting at me that it’s early, and I have a full day to get through.
Well, there’s always studying.
For hours, I read and reread textbooks and class notes and then jump ahead to next week’s work. Statistics are delightfully dry and unemotional, and I spend extra time drowning in numbers and graphs until my growling stomach makes it impossible to keep my eyes glued to the page. I could call for a delivery, but . . . the walls are closing in on me. It’s unlike me to feel unsettled when alone in my room, but I am. I’m unsettled. And it’s disturbing.
The short walk I had this morning was nice enough to make me decide that I could tolerate leaving the dorm again. Something about that air this morning got to me. I can’t stay on campus, though. I’ll walk into downtown Landon, which is not exactly a metropolis, but it’s as much of a city as we’ve got around here.
A block from school, I pick up a veggie pocket at an organic café and eat as I walk. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, but I know that I’m at least walking in the direction of downtown. When I’m done eating, I try to video call Steffi, but she doesn’t pick up. Probably still asleep after a late night, if I know her. I guarantee that she was out dancing until three in the morning, surrounded by adoring guys who paid for her drinks all night. There’s a good chance one of them is with her now, and I’ll dig for details later.
My earbuds are in, and I switch on my usual white-noise app. I let the whirling sound infiltrate my being, and I walk. And I refuse to think. About anything. I’ve felt restless and antsy, unable to fall into my usual routine, since I returned to school, and I’ve about had it. I need to get back to being satisfied by schoolwork and schoolwork alone. School and Steffi, those are my saving forces. Those are what keep me steady.
After a much longer walk than anticipated, I find myself at the outskirts of Landon, on a wide street lined with small shops, restaurants, and bars. This is an old town, and the sidewalks are cobbled brick, with lampposts evenly spaced down the street and lots of vintage-style signs calling out store names. It’s cute. Yet immediately I wonder what in the world possessed me to come downtown, because I don’t want to shop or sit in a café and converse with the locals. But I’m tired from my hour-plus walk, and my shoes are rubbing against my heels, so I’ve got to rest for a few minutes before I turn around. I think I remember a park at the end of this street, so I keep my head down and dodge pedestrians until I pass all the shops.