02⎜The Girlfriend

           “If you feel like you’re being assaulted by a hummingbird with severe ADHD, then that’s normal. It’s just Noa,” Seth told me as we stood before a red door mirroring our own. I offered up a light grin, assuming that he was over exaggerating or just joking. Shaking his head at my action, he loudly knocked on the entrance twice with his knuckles.

           “One sec!” someone shouted from the other side, following by a loud bang and the same voice saying, “SETH FREAKING NEWMAN, THAT HAD BETTER BE YOU!”

           “My middle name’s Aaron, loser!” the boy beside me called back. More commotion was heard from the other side of the door, until it finally flew open to a girl I was guessing was the infamous Noa, though she wasn’t quite who I was expecting.  

           When Seth had first described his girlfriend to me, I had formulated a picture in my mind of a blonde girl with glasses who was relatively short and dressed neatly and was always on time to events. She lived by her planner where everything important she needed was, and never wore anything too revealing. Though she was a liberal, she was more on the conservative side. Basically, I had envisioned the type of girl who was meant to go an Ivy League and become a lawyer or cure cancer. The girl standing before me didn’t exactly appear to be that girl.

           Slouching about a yard away from me was a redhead who was neither short nor inflicted with the task of wearing glasses. And I meant redhead. Like, legit red. Not a ginger with orange hair, but literally red hair that was more towards a deep brown shade than anything else. It didn’t look like the type of color one acquired naturally, and was paired with tan skin and green eyes that were pure green, unlike mine that had specks of brown in them and could range from either being hazel to almost an olive shade, depending on the day.

           She was dressed in an oversized T-shirt of a muted purple color that was contradictory to the severity of her hair. It showed off a thin line of sun-kissed skin in the gap to her shorts, which proved the article’s name very correct, because they were, indeed, shorts. On her feet was a pair of green flip-flops with her toes painted an electric blue, matching that of her fingers, as well. Both her wrists were covered in bracelets upon bracelets upon bracelets upon bracelets, in addition to one of her ankles posing the same piece of jewelry, and her fingers coated in large, bulky rings. A long chain with a flower at the end of it hung around her neck, and feathers dangled from each of her ears. Vibrant pink lipstick was smudged precisely on her lips, as was the purple on her eyes. Overall, she was just a lot to take in.

           As girls went, the one in front of me wasn’t an ugly one by any means—I just personally was not attracted to her. Maybe it was due to my insane standard of Mackenzie and Liz, her unavailability, or the fact that I currently wasn’t really looking for another girl to enter my life. Regardless, she wasn’t for me.

           Mackenzie had been a brunette that continuously colored her hair black, for she thought it made her look “edgier” and “prettier.” Whether with her already naturally dark hair or with the midnight added by hair dye, she was always gorgeous. Red was her favorite color and she loved to wear this bright lipstick that was like a magnet to those lush lips of hers. She wasn’t exactly the kind to win an award for modesty, but she wasn’t overly trashy, either. Mackenzie had an average sense of fashion. Sometimes she pushed the metaphorical envelope slightly, and other times she wore sweats and a T-shirt for weeks at a time. She looked amazing in whatever she wore, nonetheless, and had the magic power to turn heads even in the dimmest of places.

           As for Liz, well, Liz’s mom was the president of a big shoe company based out of New York—Kit Lawson. Though irony may not have been the correct terminology for it, the actual woman named Kit Lawson happened to have a son who was now dating Mackenzie, last I heard. Small world, huh? Anyways, I found out that Liz wasn’t actually the fashionista she appeared to be, but rather a tomboy who didn’t really possess any insight into the world of clothes. When she was with me, she always dressed like a super model, and looked like one too, simply from acquiring incredible genetics. She was beautiful and not your average blue-eyed blonde. She was Liz Turner…

           Though I was comfortable with my heterosexuality, some had called me “metro” or “metrosexual” over the years, for I tended to care about how I looked. I was a closeted brand snob, meaning that the tags on my shirts mattered to me just as much as the exteriors of the shirts themselves. In addition, I also happened to be an only child, so the absence of an older sister to influence my odd idiosyncrasy made it all the more alarming. Rarely did I ever walk outside in public looking anything less than my version of acceptable. It was a fair assessment to say that I liked clothes.

           “Holy shiz, your face is attractive!” the girl exclaimed, not talking to her boyfriend, but me. She stuck her brightly tipped hand out, introducing herself. “I’m Noa!”

           “Uh, Eric,” I said, shaking her hand lightly, though she practically crushed my digits.

           “Babe, is this your roommate?” she asked, addressing her boyfriend for the first time face to face as our contact slid out of place.

           “Yeah,” Seth shrugged defensively.

           “He’s hot as hell,” she informed him, openly looking me over. A frown took over her features as she asked a question I had only been asked once before—and by her boyfriend, only about twenty minutes prior. “Are you gay?”

           I was about to respond, but Seth beat me to it. “Already asked. He’s not. Just happens to look like a fricken’ model. From New York. Played football. In denial about joining a frat. Oh, and he’s single.”

           Noa’s frown disappeared and was replaced by the most captivating and inviting smile I had ever seen. It was the type of smile one wore when exhibiting the quintessence of happiness and joy. Her eyes were caught in the expression, shimmering with bliss. “Seth, have I ever mentioned to you how glad I am that you didn’t request to bunk with that loser you met at science camp back in middle school?”

           “No,” her boyfriend said simply.

           “Well, I am,” she laughed.

           “Are you going to invite us in, or do you plan on having a conversation in the middle of the hallway?” Seth huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

           “Oops! Duh!” Noa said, moving away from the doorway to allow us entrance. “My roommate and her friend were just leaving, actually, so you two came at, like, the perfect time!”

           “Yay us!” Seth said less than enthusiastically in a sarcastic tone as he walked in, kissing Noa’s cheek in the process. I followed behind, remaining quiet.

           The second I walked into the room, I took a quick glimpse and evaluated that it was identical to ours, the only difference being that it was more girly and adorned. I could easily tell which side of the room was Noa’s, and which wasn’t. On the bed I was more than sure had been dubbed Noa’s were bright orange sheets with purple pillows and a rainbow of blankets. Pictures of polar bears were taped on the ceiling above and band posters lined the wall beside. Just like Noa herself, it was a lot to process.

           On the other side of the room was a matching bed set of pink and white that was much easier to regard and made me feel almost a sense of familiarity, for it was something I could see my mom buying. It had initials stitched on one of the pillows and was just pleasant to look at. Personally, I had absolutely no issues with the color pink. I wasn’t about to go out and buy pink bedding myself, but a shirt or a pair of shorts that happened to be a mixture of red and white didn’t bother me. I liked pink, actually—all gender stereotypes aside.

           And, just like the sheets, the girl standing on the other side of the room was much more manageable to handle than Noa. When I first saw Noa, it was like my eyes were being exposed to an explosion of color and clothes. With the girl that I now noticed, everything was just calmer in a classy and relaxed way.

           She was wearing a pink button down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows so that the gold jewelry on one of her wrists was uncovered. On her legs were mint green shorts that came down to the middle of her thighs, matching the shade of nail polish she had on. Brown and pink boat shoes were on her feet, and appeared as though they belonged there. Then, there was her face. It was relatively tight and an oval shape. She wasn’t as tan as her roommate, but did have natural-looking hair of a blonde color. It wasn’t pure yellow like Liz’s had been, but more on the brown side—dirty blonde. It was tied back into a neat ponytail, held up with a green bow.

           She reminded me of Alice, this girl who went on to date a friend of mine and was the smartest girl I had ever met. Currently, she was at Harvard or something. We had lost touch—not that we had ever really had it to begin with, though. She was nice.

           Standing beside the girl who undoubtedly owned the pink bedspread was another girl. I couldn’t quite see her face because she had on a hood, but I could see the large chocolate brown curls pouring out. This girl had on a gray hoodie, denim shorts, and flip-flops. A minimalist, compared to the other two. She wasn’t tan, but she wasn’t un-tan for that matter, either. All in all, both girls were pretty, despite my not being able to see one of their faces.

           “That’s Kay, my roommate,” Noa introduced, gesturing to the blonde, “and that’s Kay’s friend,” she pointed to the one with the curls.

           “Kay Rodgers,” Kay said with a light drawl, sticking her hand out to either Seth or me, “South Carolina.”

           Seth made no move to shake her hand, so I did, copying her opening. “Eric Wilson. New York.”

           “Pleasure to meet you, Eric,” she said, her words even and amiable. If honey and sugar had a sound, it would have been Kay Rodgers’ voice. It was so smooth and warm, and all I wanted to do was hear her talk more. Maybe it was just that I wasn’t used to accents, since I hadn’t actually acquired one myself despite living in New York my entire life, though. “This is my friend, Ari.”

           I glanced at the hooded girl beside her, still unable to see her face, and offered up my friendliest smile, choosing a simple greeting out of my limited repertoire. “Hi.”

           “Hey,” Ari said quietly, but just loud enough for me to hear and be able to distinguish that her voice was in a completely different hemisphere than Kay’s. While Kay sounded like sunshine and everything good in the world, Ari was more like rain. Yeah, it was a shitty metaphor because it didn’t quite get across what I wanted to, but it was the only one I could think of and the only one that truly worked. Her voice sounded calm and level, like the rain. It was simple, but steady and existent. It sounded like rain, but in the most positive of ways imaginable. Though all she had said was a one-syllable word with three measly letters in it, I definitely liked her voice. 

           “Oh, I’m, uh, Seth,” Seth finally decided to speak, talking more to Kay than to her friend.

           “Noa’s boyfriend, right?” Kay smiled, seeming almost so real that she was fake.

           “Yeah,” he mumbled.

           “Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but we should really be off now,” the southerner said, waltzing over to the doorway with a slumped Ari following behind. Ari was first to exit the room, and then Kay, who bid a short, “Bye, y’all!” on her way out.

           The second they had closed the door behind them, Noa burst out into a random fit of laughter, and Seth just ambled over to her bed, flopping down on it. “Well, I think we know who ended up with the better roommate!” Noa said between laughs. Her hands were on her stomach, she was laughing so hard. Like her smile, Noa’s laugh was something else. It was as if she had eaten a breakfast of unicorns, bunnies, and fairies and was now spewing it about the room. “You really lucked out with this dude!” She nodded her head at me, so I assumed that I was the “dude” and that she was talking to Seth.

           “I don’t know, the Y’all Princess seemed pretty chill,” Seth joked, causing Noa to laugh even harder.

           “The second she walked into the room, I actually wanted to vomit,” Noa remarked.

           “Why?” I decided to speak up. “She seemed perfectly nice to me.”

           “Quarterback?” Noa’s eyes connected with her boyfriend’s.

           “Quarterback,” he confirmed.

           Noa turned to me, her laughter ceasing for a moment, and she just shook her head. “Well, of course she seemed ‘perfectly nice’ to you. Look, you two are the type of people made for each other. She’s a sorority girl who probably got a pony when she was eight just because she asked her daddy for one, and you’re the Prince Charming type.”

           “I’m not actually any type,” I corrected her—well, attempted to, at least.

           “Right,” she said dismissively, “anyways, Princess Y’all came into the room, and was all like, ‘Hi! I’m Kay! It’s just wonderful to meet you! I’m from the South! My boyfriend’s name is Houston—you know, like the city! And I just love the sound of my own voice, so I’m going to keep talking!’ And I actually started to ponder the most painless and easiest ways to go about murdering her.”

           I let out a small laugh, assuming—like any reasonable person would—that she was just kidding, but then Seth informed me that she was being completely serious, to which I got rather confused, and chose to say more. “Honestly, she seemed fine,” I said, reviewing her words in my mind, a series of them seeming odd, “did you say that she had a boyfriend?”

           “Ha,” Noa said, but all humor was drained of her tone, replaced with dry, heaving sarcasm, “that would be the only thing you hear.”

           “Sorry about the volatility, negativity, and how judgmental my girlfriend is currently being,” Seth apologized with a sigh, “I probably should’ve mentioned that she’s a Grade A pessimist.”

           “I am not!” Noa protested. “I simply see optimism as a means for individuals with mental damage who think that the world is full of leprechauns and happiness. The dark side is where it’s at, FYI.”

           “So, she’s a glass half-empty type?” I said, using a term that the girl had a few minutes before to describe me.

           “No,” Seth shook his head, leaning his back up against the wall so that his legs just dangled off the side of the bed ever so slightly, “she’s the glass fricken’ fully-empty type.”

           I wanted to say something about the contradiction of what appeared to be her love of bright colors in her wardrobe and décor, but sought against it, not needing to start an argument. Instead, the girl herself started to talk yet again. “Listen, Wilson—it’s okay if I call you that, right?”

           “I’d prefer Eric, actually,” I expressed, never understanding why society (mainly teenage boys) had always taken a peculiar liking for last names. There wasn’t anything overly special about them. First names were nice and normal, whereas surnames simply weren’t.

           “Okay,” she shrugged, “Listen, Eric, I know it’s hard to believe, but everyone is more inclined to be cynical than sanguine—it’s simply in human nature. Everyone has their flaws. Take Princess Kay, for instance,” Noa went on, “she’s not genuine. I know she seemed all bubbly and crap, but, in reality, she’s probably full of bullshit. Personally, I don’t know her well enough to say for certain, but I’ve met girls like her over the years and I have no idea where this rant is going.” Seth laughed. “Basically, I’m not the only pessimist in the world or something.”

           “She has a boyfriend?” Seth chose to pursue my original inquiry so that I didn’t have to.

           “Yeah,” Noa took him more seriously than me. “She said they had been dating for two years or something, his name is Houston, he’s a sophomore here, from South Carolina—just like her, and is in a frat. Plays football just like you, Eric,” she paused, regarding me for a moment. “Actually, he seemed a lot like you, now that I think about it.”

           “Oh,” I said plainly, not truly affected by the information. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend—let alone a girl, for that matter, and Kay Rodgers seemed like the kind of girl who was practically born with a southern boyfriend who liked hunting and fishing and drinking beer while wearing seersucker shorts. It wasn’t a surprise, and simply allowed me to put the word “taken” in parentheses next to Kay’s name whenever it surfaced or I saw her.

           “So, Eric, the southern belle aside, why are you here—like, at Stanford?” was the transition Noa elected to use.

           “That’s code for ‘are you smarter than me, or are you just a meathead jock?’” Seth skillfully translated for me.

           “Football helped a lot with the application, but I also took a lot of APs in high school, and was ranked third in my graduating class. I like to learn, mainly about anything that doesn’t involve math,” I summarized the academic aspects of my brain.

           Noa nodded, a question formulating in her mind. “Do you write?”

           “What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean, I can write—like, with a pencil and pen and stuff…”

           “No,” she shook her head, sending her red waves in motion, “like, write.” She then did something I deemed as slightly strange, but it was Noa, and I was beginning to think that “strange” was just Noa’s normal. Walking over to her bed, where Seth was still seated, she picked up a pillow and extracted a small book of neon green. She proceeded to then return to me—with the book. “Write,” she reiterated, quickly flipping through the pages of the small notebook so that I saw scratches of letters that formed together into words, which led into sentences, and so on.

           Thinking that I had a relatively good idea of what she meant by the uncomplicated verb, I finally answered. “Only for school, I guess. I’ll write essays and papers if I need to.”

           “He’s doesn’t write,” Seth assessed.

           “He doesn’t,” his girlfriend verified.

           “Noa does,” my roommate said, “intensely so.”

           “What do you write?” I inquired.

           “Mainly poetry, but occasionally prose. I like words, the humanities, and linguistics,” Noa said, going back over to her bed and setting the small collection of papers back from where she had retrieved it.

           “Oh, and dude, if you think that she’s dark, then you should read her stuff some time,” Seth suggested with a smirk aimed at his girlfriend.

           “Eh, so I’m always rooting for the Wicked Witch of the West instead of Dorothy, so what?” Noa smiled.

           “I’m tempted to say something really mushy and sweet, but I don’t want to scar my roommate so soon in our relationship, so I’ll contain myself,” Seth said.

           “I should probably be going, anyways,” I found myself telling them, wanting to give the couple some time by themselves. Also, I needed my space, and I didn’t like clinging onto people. Noa and I had met, which was the main purpose of the excursion. Surprisingly enough, Seth had been accurate when he said that “everyone” liked Noa. There was something about her that I couldn’t not like.

           “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you and raping your gorgeous face with my eyes, Eric Wilson,” Noa bid. “Sorry for how terrible your first impression of me probably was.”

           “It wasn’t that that bad,” I admitted.

           “Ha. Don’t lie,” Seth snorted, “she’s a big girl. She can take the truth.”

           “Honestly, you seem nice,” I pressed.

           “As do you…or maybe that’s just your face. Whichever works,” she grinned.

           “Bye, guys,” I said, walking over to the door that Kay and her friend had exited minutes earlier.

           “Bye, man,” Seth said with a nod of his head. I waved, stepping out of the room so that I was in the hallway. Alone. Again.