Student Spotlight: The Roommate You Never Met

There were a lot of things you weren’t told when applying for housing in Mayflower. You weren’t told how the Cambuses never seem to show up when you need them, how long and threatening the CD hallways are, or how the elevators inexplicably always return to the eighth floor, regardless of the buttons you push. But at the very least, you have your trusted suitemate to weather these hardships with you.

…Except, maybe you don’t. You haven’t even met them.

You’re certain you’ve seen their name on your housing assignment page or written in Sharpie on the sign of the door next to yours, but it doesn’t stick in your mind for long. Trying to recall it is like sifting through static: equally sharp and dull; limbs falling asleep.

Your schedules are perfect opposites, it seems. They’re always out when you’re in. You weren’t even able to sign up for roommate or suitement agreements. There just wasn’t a suitable time. And you haven’t managed to nab their number to message them about any of this either.

Surely, though, you must have seen them in passing. Maybe at one point, you even rode the interdorm bus home together. Or you found yourself standing behind them at the C-Store. Even still, you cannot try to put features to their face. There’s maybe a smile when you think hard enough. Maybe the whites of their eyes or some kind of glimmer behind them. But it doesn’t amount to anything.

It’s a shame too. Your roommate is literally so awesome. They’re excelling in all their classes. They’re active in a number of organizations with noble causes. They’re immensely popular and always invited to all the parties.

Maybe that’s why you haven’t met them. Maybe they’re just better at this whole college thing than you are. Maybe if you had reached out to them, you’d be a better sort of person. Maybe your flawed memory is a result of an ontological absence. A profound lack of character. There’s a distinct possibility you’re uniquely alone.

The only way you know they exist is through the sound of the shower in the morning and the sound of your stove at night. There’s a living, breathing person directly next to you; adjoined to you. You could see them. You could know them, but you don’t.

Maybe one of these days you’ll knock on your shared interior doors, and they’ll respond. Maybe something will click between the two of you, and you’ll develop a friendship you didn’t even know you were capable of. Maybe you’ll find out if they know your name either. If anyone does.