Some people get lonely at college,
but I never really feel alone.
I have these critical parental voices
that always keep me company
and point out my mistakes.

The Professor settles in and says, “Let’s go around the circle and introduce ourselves”

We listen to resume after resume of unbridled accomplishment. Then he points to me.

“Hi, I’m Anais, I’m a freshman, from Georgia, and I have mad skills. I can ***** about anything or feign complete indifference. I can give the impression of depth or play the ditz. I can pick the slowest line every time and I’m so good at sleeping I can do it with my eyes closed.” I finish and give the professor a head tilted “anything else?” look.

“Uhh,” he gives me an amused look, “thank you Anais. Next.”

I spent Fall Break with Lisa (one of my college suite-mates) in NYC. They live in a Central Park South high-rise. I hope to spend Thanksgiving there someday because the Macy’s Day Parade goes right by their front window. “Yeah,” Lisa says in a bored voice, “right down there.” (They’re about 45 floors above it.)

Lisa has a younger sister (12), named Elizabeth (who likes to be called Leeza (pronounced LeeZa) and yeah, that can be confusing). Pretty, little, stick-figured Leeza, wears braces, has fluorescent green eyes, long, curly, red hair, and gorgeous, fair, vampire-like skin that’s freckled to perfection.

Leeza is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met - so she’s always surrounded with laughter - and goaded by laughter, she’s fearless. We’re at this posh “On the Green” restaurant (outdoor, terrace dining) and Leeza won’t take her Airpods off (no matter how mad her mom gets). Her dad finally says, “What are you listening to?”

When asked, Leeza stands up and starts singing, clapping and herky-jerky beat-dancing “the Monster Mash.” It was so sudden and funny that I coughed cherry coke out of my nose. The entire restaurant erupted in laughter and then applause at this crazy, scarecrow beauty’s brief, comic performance.

Someday that girl’s gonna be a STAR.

(last Friday)

My English class just ended and everyone’s packing up (18 students). The class is held outdoors under a tent due to COVID. My professor says, “Ms Vionet, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I froze, Oh, my God, I thought, is he about to tell me to quit - has he already identified some fundamental inadequacy in my work? The world seemed to go silent as I hefted my backpack and approached him.

“Ms Vionet,” he began.
“Anais,” I interjected.
“Anais,” he patiently started again, “We have a small professor’s choice (invitation only) writing group that meets every two weeks, 7 to 8 PM on Wednesdays - would you be interested in joining us?”

It was hard to hold back a pterodactyl screech of delight. “Yes sir, I’ll be there”

“Here”, he said, motioning to the tent classroom “weather permitting.” He had packed up, he turned and headed for some nearby stairs.

I did a twirl of joy.

I use make-believe
overwriting memory
it brings me some peace

The fiction I’ve weaved
you’re at the store - you wouldn’t leave
is a fool’s relief

So I take mine neat
sweet ****** of self-deceit
my strange trick or treat

Happy pumpkin spice latte season!

Someone said the leaves had turned
to butterscotch, banana, and lemon
but they don’t taste right.

(fall break starts today (Yea!) so, a story)

Lisa, a freshman in our residential hall sister-suite, and I have become fast friends over the last couple of weeks. Before we began hanging out I penned a piece about her that she thought was hilarious. Last Friday night Lisa and I were supposed to meet people at “the buttery” (a café in the dorm basement) for another Friday night of pandemic-safe fun.

As she readied, I regarded myself in her full-length mirror. She came up behind me, Mephistopheles to my Faustus, whispering, “You’re quite pretty,” while rearranging my hair into different styles. “But you need to cut your hair.” She began to drape me in scarves. “I have a coiffeur, in New York (city), we could go there one weekend and stay with my parents.”

She turned solemn, “How old are you?” she asked. “18,” I answered. “Perfect, you don’t want to look like a schoolgirl - or a milkmaid.” She grinned and murmured conspiratorially, “You could be wickedly stylish.” And like that, it was decided - we’ll go on fall break together.

I want more than a change in hairstyle though, I want to learn her secret. It’s hard to describe - but there‘s a kind of density, an unidentified importance to her femaleness that I envy. Is it something I can learn, something she could teach or that I could osmose? I can’t help but wonder. I even told her as much. She looked at me, blank-faced, and then made a loud **** sound with her lips. It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.

With DJ Cummberbund playing in the background, she began humming and as we looked in the mirror she started dancing. “Can you do the whole shack shimmy? It’s easy.” Of course, it isn’t and soon we collapsed in laughter on the charmeuse eiderdown quilt of her bed.

Her room was a mess, clothes lay everywhere, satin, silk, chantilly and crêpe de chine - enchanted clothes that could turn ordinary girls into someone else - they were hung on chairs, the mirror, and littered the floor. I was admiring the fairy lights draped across her ceiling and wondering if her bed was cushier than mine when she turned serious. “This place (Yale) will get to you if you don’t have some fun,” she said, sounding very intense, I nodded.

She was suddenly bored and angry, a not-quite domesticated animal. “I wish there was somewhere to GO,” she said, “somewhere NEW,” she added contemptuously, “f--king pandemic.” I had to agree.

In a few moments though, we’d collected ourselves and set off to the buttery to see what fun there was to be had there.