#ex-roommates

October 25, 2020

My ex-best friend, the one I roomed with last year, is in my head, and I can’t seem to get her out. Everything is reminding me of her. Some of it’s stuff that doesn’t actually have anything to do with her, but other things--my friend calling me “buddy,” which she used to call me; me being sick, which I was around the time our friendship fell apart; me being lonely, which I wouldn’t be so much if we were still friends--are directly related to her.

I know part of the reason I’m upset right now is because I have to work on an essay. I hate writing essays with a passion, and I get upset/depressed happens nearly every damn time I have to write one. But the things that are going through my mind are still valid. 

I admit it: I’d be lonelier if I didn’t have a roommate this semester. I still wish I had a single, though. Sharing a space with another human makes for a lotttttt of tricky social situations, most of which probably shouldn’t be as tricky as they are for me. (Social anxiety is FUN.)

My second semester of Freshman year I was assigned a new roommate.

The previous semester I had lived with Ellen, a sweet cowgirl from my hometown whom I had been assigned through a random process that assigned every girl on my floor to someone with a similar name. It was Kayla and Kyla, Leah and Leia and Ellen and Eileen etc.

In retrospect Ellen was a great roommate, which leads me to believe that in that scenario I had been the bad roommate. I would hit on her friends, eat her food, and drunkenly storm around the dorm. When I announced I would be moving out and into the room of a friend she seemed fine. And, I suspect, relieved. 

But then these plans fell through, upon further inspection of my prospective roommate's room I discovered she was the type of slob that would have discarded condoms on her floor. Which is gross, but also I secretly didn't want to listen to another person have sex. And this girl got around. 

And so I was rommateless. I hoped I could sneak by the system unnoticed, be one of those college legends "I knew a girl once whose roommate moved out and the school just forgot to assign her a new one," they'd whisper along with stories of kids who never got charged for a semester, or who got automatic A's after getting hit by a car. But a week into the semester I was assigned Cracey. (Names have been changed to protect the Cracey.)

At first Cracey seemed sweet, she was from some small town on the High-Line, a Montana term for "basically Canada, but not as pretty". She had attended another school the previous semester but transfered to be closer to her boyfriend. At first things were great, she hung out with my friends on the floor, we went skiing. The only odd thing was that one night I came home to find my small red stone buddha had been broken. I asked her about it and she sweetly replied, "You must have done it while you were drunk." The Buddha sat above our room on a shelf so high that one would have to climb onto a desk to retrieve it. And I had much better drunk things to do than climb onto desks. But I didn't push it because, who cares.

The next day she approached me with a cracked mug and asked if I had broken it in retribution for the broken Buddha. Obviously this girl didn't know me very well, while I am vindictive in thought I am far too lazy to actually act on revenge impulses. I denied breaking it. And now I wonder if perhaps she broke it, because at that point something in Cracey snapped and her life became about making mine miserable. Also, she got dumped by her boyfriend. 

She did not take it well. She stopped going to class, opting instead to stay in our dorm and cry softly, frequently interrupting my television viewing with soft sobs. I'd ask if she needed to talk and she would scream-sob harder, ruining my X-Files rerun further. Her unlucky in love status helped her bond with my old friends, a group of girls who I would kindly describe as football player enthusiasts, and they started hanging out without me. This bothered me at first, but I've always bounced from one group of friends to the other, a subconscious effort to find people that I am more similar to and also has the best food. 

Then she started accusing me of deleting her exes messages from our answering machine, and not giving her messages from him when he called. I'd deny this, pointing out that I had no ulterior motive keeping her from him and she shouted that I was nuts and I wanted to torture her.

It was a slippery slope from there, she began vandalizing my things, and then she'd say, don't you dare touch my shit or I'll kick your ass. I told my RA about everything going on, and Cracey would deny it, making up things that I was doing to her. My RA most likely thought we were a couple of bitchy 18 year olds. Which we were. 

During finals week she and my old friends began prank calling my room pretending to be a guy I'd gone on a couple dates with. I placated them, but eventually unplugged the phone so I could continue studying. 

Then they started pounding on my dorm room door and running away. I confronted Cracey about it.  And in response she punched me. "What are you going to do about it?" she yelled. 

I stared at her. Turned around and reported it to the RA. I had the red mark to prove it. 

And with that she was gone. For my last two weeks of school I got a blissful room to myself. 

Cracey seemed bummed out as she moved out of our room, "Well bye," she said, seeming to expect a tearful farewell. 

"Yep, see ya," I replied looking around her for a better view of David Duchovny.