“What?” I exclaimed, completely taken aback. “Are you nuts?”
“Hmm?” Hosannah hummed, though I could see the laugh building behind her lips.
“An open mic?” I reiterated. “You’re crazy. I can’t do that. I mean, I’ll come along and watch but there’s no way I could get up there on stage.”
“It’s barely even a stage,” said Hosannah. “And the audience will probably just be other performers. It’s at the auditorium, but it’s in this little black box theater room downstairs. It’ll be a safe place to explore!”
“I know you just met me, Hosannah,” I said, slinking down in the chair. “But you’ve got me pegged all wrong.”
“Fine,” she grinned. “You don’t have to perform. But you can come and watch me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Comedy!” she said like I was silly for even asking. “I’m going to try out a stand up routine.”
“That scares the hell out of me,” I said. “I’m scared for you just thinking about it.”
“It’ll be fun,” said Hosannah, her eyes glimmering with possibility. “So you’ll come and support me?”
“Yes,” I said. “But don’t even think of signing me up. I don’t have any talents.”
“I’m sure that’s BS,” she said. “But fine, I won’t sign you up.”
“I thought you said you had a fun idea,” I muttered under my breath.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear that,” she said, reaching across her desk and grabbing my hand. I playfully fought with her, trying to yank my hand back from her grip but secretly enjoying her touch.
“What are your jokes about?” I said, finally pulling my hand away from her.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking off, suddenly seeming just a little bit embarrassed. “College life, I guess.”
“Cool,” I said in a short peep.
“It’s at 7,” said Hosannah, straightening up in her seat. “We can catch dinner in the caf’ together and then head over. Sound good?”
“Yes,” I said. “That sounds fine.”
“Great,” she said. “So, meet me in the caf’ at 6 and then we’ll take it from there.”
“Okay.”
“Hey Natasha,” said Hosannah in a soft, but serious, manner.
“Yeah?” I asked, a little confused in her change of tone but interested.
“I’m glad we met,” she said sincerely. Her face brightened and relaxed and I felt, for that moment, accepted and understood. It was a very nice feeling.
*
With a sudden jolt, Whitney ripped open our dorm room door as I sat on the couch reading. She was crying and it looked like she had been for a while, her makeup smeared, her hair a bit of a mess. I instantly leapt up from the couch, my book dropping to the floor, and I rushed over to her.
“What’s wrong?” I said, trying to catch her attention. I felt frantic. Anxious.
“Natasha,” she moaned sadly, lunging toward me and pulling me against her in a tight hug. “Oh my God!”
“Whitney,” I said. “What happened? What’s going on?” I lovingly held her back, holding her close, scared for her.
“Natasha,” she said again through tears. “My Grandma died.”
“Oh no!” I exclaimed, squeezing her, allowing her to sob into my shoulder. I tried to comfort her by softly petting her hair, straightening it out, untangling some of her tendrils.
“She had a heart attack,” said Whitney, emitting little chirpy cries. “She had a heart attack and died.”
“I’m sorry, Whitney,” I said, mourning with her. “That’s terrible news. Let’s go sit down.” Whitney nodded her head against me, and we parted from our hug. I took her hand and lead her over to the couch.
“It was so sudden,” she sniffled as we collapsed together onto the couch.
“I understand,” I said. But I always had a difficult time with empathy, especially so in this case because none of my grandparents were dead. It’s not that I was an emotionless person, or bereft inside of feeling, it was always just something I found difficult to relate with. I could understand that people feel bad when something bad happens, but it didn’t inspire a similar feeling inside of me.
“We were very close,” she said through light tears.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, butted up next to Whitney on the couch, arm around her.
“I’m going home this weekend for the funeral,” said Whitney, sniffling, trying to convey some seriousness. “I’m going to stay home for the following week to help my Mom go through stuff at my Grandma’s house. My Grandpa isn’t with it enough to do it all on his own.”
“Take the time you need,” I said. After a moment, though, it sunk in. “So you’re going to miss the Shakespeare trip?”
“Yes,” said Whitney. “Yes, I’ll have to miss it. I’m sorry,” she said.
Although outwardly I was comforting my friend and roommate, inside I began to worry about the trip. Whitney was certainly my best friend of all the ALOHA freshmen girls and it began to hit me that I was no longer certain who I would be sharing a room with at the hotel in Stratford. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and my nervousness and anxiety started to rise. I’m sure there was someone else who needed a roommate but opening my world to that kind of intimacy with a new and unknown person, it was always a bit of a struggle for me.
“It’s really hard,” I said, rubbing Whitney’s back slowly. “I had a friend die when I was in high school and it’s just, you know, tough.”
“I’m sorry that I’m so sad,” said Whitney, leaning her head down against my shoulder. “Thanks for being here.”
“That’s what college roommates do,” I said with a wan smile. I don’t know what came over me, but I turned my face slightly and lightly kissed Whitney on the head. After I did this I felt weird, but Whitney’s reaction was just one of love, simply snuggling more intently against me in our half-embrace on the couch.
We sat together in silence, me comforting Whitney, she being comforted. Even though I had dealt with death in my own past, I really didn’t know how to deal with it appropriately. It always felt so distant. But if I had learned anything in my short time on the Earth, it’s that voicing my difficulty empathizing was a fool’s errand and it was a much better thing to do to just comfort and pretend. I didn’t want Whitney to be sad, and I didn’t want to feel let down by the fact that she wouldn’t be my roommate on the trip. Certainly two strange feelings to be feeling simultaneously. I simply hugged Whitney and tried to think about what it would be like to watch Hosannah perform stand up comedy later on in the evening. It was the only thing that could keep my mind from racing.
*
I shifted slightly in the uncomfortable wooden theater seat in the back of the room at the open mic. Surprisingly, the room was filled with people. Not only were all the seats taken, but some people sat on the short stairs that lead down into the room from the door. A handful of people lingered at the back of the room behind me. I was glad that it wasn’t me who was to go up on stage, but I did feel a bit anxious for Hosannah’s performance. I knew she was coming up soon and I hoped that she would get the laughs she wanted.
Up on stage were two boys, both with guitars, playing a song that they said was a cover of some pop indie rock band. They played with gusto, only one of them singing, and I was pleasantly surprised at how good they were up there together. I enjoyed the music and the two of them obviously enjoyed playing it. Hosannah was hanging off to the side of the stage, ready for her slot in the show. She didn’t really look nervous or anything. Rather, she looked quite happy.
After the two boys finished their song, a round of applause rang out through the small theater. A couple people behind me hooted and whistled, most likely friends of the two musical performers. As the musicians made their way off stage, another boy trotted up and walked to the microphone. He sort of looked familiar to me, like I had seen him around Leopold Hall. I wasn’t certain, but he could definitely be in t
he ALOHA program. We had a lot of these artistic types around.
“Thanks guys,” said the boy up on stage. I knew he had announced his name in the beginning but I struggled to remember it. I was always bad with names. “Next up, we’ve got a friend of mine who will be performing some stand up comedy for you all.”
So he was friends with Hosannah. That made sense. Maybe he did live in Leopold. Charlie? Was his name Charlie? Chad?
“Please welcome to the stage,” continued the boy… Charlie. Whatever. “Hosannah Quaid!”
The theater rang out with applause as Hosannah, grinning from ear to ear, sauntered up on stage, giving Charlie a high five, and moving over toward the microphone. I was getting almost impossibly nervous for her, unsure if she’d succeed or just totally bomb in this environment. This fear, this heart-racing scenario, drew me even deeper into Hosannah. Watching her up on stage, I felt positively possessive of her.
“Thanks Charlie,” she said into the microphone, taking it off the stand. I was right. His name was Charlie. “Hi everyone,” said Hosannah into the microphone.
The crowd grumbled back, though a couple of people were more animated in their responses. Someone shouted loud, “Hi Hosannah!” and I could tell Hosannah blushed lightly at the response.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot of students in the audience,” she said, looking out into the audience with her hand above her eyes. “Who else has nothing better to do on weeknight than come to the aud’ and watch a bunch of people suck.” Some laughter, not much, but enough that Hosannah didn’t look deterred. “Or maybe we’re all just avoiding writing an essay,” she said, grinning. The audience returned her joke with more laughter than previously, but I was still nervous for her. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this point.
“So I can tell there are a lot of freshmen out there tonight,” Hosannah continued. She looked to the back of room, knowing where I was sitting, and caught my eyes. She smiled impishly. “A lot of that deer-in-the-headlights look, the please-don’t-pick-me look, the how-did-I-get-here look,” she said, amid some light laughing from the crowd. “If I could give one piece of advice to the freshmen out there, those struggling to find their place here at school, it’s that… we know!” said Hosannah with the voice of a villain. “We’re watching you and we’re judging you!”
The audience laughed along with her, a couple people clapping.
“I talk with a lot of freshmen,” she went on, getting more comfortable on stage, wandering away from the microphone stand. “And if there’s one unifying principle among all of them, it’s that these kids eat like they don’t know where their next meal is coming from. Have you seen them in the cafeteria?” she posited, letting the crowd have some time to laugh at her joke.
“Newsflash, freshmen,” she said, holding a palm up in the air. “Your next meal is either coming from the caf’ or the pizza place. You can slow your fork down.”
I smiled as Hosannah did her routine. I didn’t find her jokes overwhelming funny, but I could tell the rest of the students in the audience liked her. I was more impressed by her ability to get up on stage and not shiver in fear. I knew that were it me up there on stage, I’d probably have peed myself and run off the stage by this point. I felt close to Hosannah in that moment, like I was be allowed into her private world even though I was sharing the experience with about sixty other people.
“But maybe it’s a good thing that they’re shoving so much cafeteria food into their faces,” Hosannah mused, making her way back toward the microphone stand and replacing the mic into it. “They know that when those student loan payments come due, some meals will just have to be skipped!” The crowd laughed harder. Hosannah grabbed at her stomach with both hands, though she didn’t really have much to grab. “Gotta up those fat reserves!”
I could tell Hosannah was pleased to be up there doing her comedy, the content smile on her face said it all as she looked out into the crowd and watched as they laughed and clapped. She bowed her head slightly and darted her eyes over to Charlie, who indicated to her by tapping his wrist that she was pretty much out of time.
“You’ve been terrific!” said Hosannah. “Thanks everyone. I’m Hosannah Quaid, have a great night!”
Hosannah looked down at her feet as she walked toward the stairs near the stage, the crowd applauding for her and hollering out. I joined in with the applause, feeling proud of her. No longer did I feel any anxiety for the night. The hard part was over. Hosannah’s performance had been a success. I watched Hosannah as she had a quick word with Charlie and then began to make her way to the back of the room, her eyes focused on me as she moved, a grin hardcoded on her face.
*
After watching a few more acts at the open mic night, Hosannah and I slipped outside of the auditorium and ended up sitting together on a bench just off of the walkway around the building. It was an incredibly beautiful night, the sky clear, the stars visible. It was still warm, as mid-September often was, but there was a nice cooling breeze in the air coming off the thin river that ran alongside the auditorium. I sat upright on the bench, with an arm slung over the back, while Hosannah leaned against the metal arm rest and her legs, covered in light blue denim, hung over my own legs. It all felt just right.
“So it wasn’t that bad, right?” asked Hosannah, smiling at me as we relaxed together into the bench.
“It was great,” I said. “I mean, I’m just so impressed that you could get up there and do that.”
“But was it funny?” she said with a hopeful look.
“I’m not the best judge of that,” I said, trying to avoid giving her a definite answer. “Everybody was laughing, though!”
Reaching out, Hosannah pinched my side causing me to squirm and smack at her hands.
“Cut it out!” I exclaimed. “C’mon!” I continued smacking at her as she continued trying to pinch me.
“You didn’t think I was funny!” she said with mock-anger. I could tell that she didn’t really care what I actually thought of her performance, but the game we were playing was that she did care. “You thought it was dumb!”
“No!” I protested, beginning to laugh now as she relentlessly tried to pinch my side. Hosannah was sitting upright now on the bench, propping herself up with one arm around my shoulders and the other digging into my side as we continued the game.
“Just admit it!” she said.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Fine. I admit it!”
“Bah,” she said, leaning back from me and putting on a grumpy face.
“Don’t blame me!” I said. “C’mon, Hosannah. This is just how I am.”
“How are you?” she asked with interest.
“Just kinda… even,” I said, sighing, feeling a bit anxious about revealing feelings. “You know, I don’t express much. It’s hard for me to express.”
“I see,” she said, crossing her arms as though she were prompting me to continue. Or that’s how I felt, at least.
“I have a lot of feelings inside,” I said. “Just not a lot of feelings outside.”
“Hmm,” Hosannah mused. “I suppose I can accept that for now,” she said. “But if we’re going to be friends, you may have to amp up your supportive role a little bit more.”
“I’ll try,” I said with a smile.
“Good,” said Hosannah, her demeanor lightening.
“Hey,” I said, tilting my head to one side. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask, seeing as I just kinda insulted you…”
“Go on,” she said with seriousness.
“I need your help.”
“Of course you do,” she said, kicking her legs off of my thighs and sitting up straight now on the bench. Hosannah slid her butt over and positioned herself directly next to me, our legs touching. I was enamored by her playfulness and her easy breezy attitude. It made me smile inside. “Spill it.” Hosannah leaned against me, fluffing up my hair with her hand in a lazy half-attentive movement.
“My roommate Whitney,” I began. “Well,
her Grandma died.”
“Oh!” mourned Hosannah. “That’s awful, Natasha,” she said, obvious and real empathy in her face. “That just really sucks.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, yes, it sucks, but I’m a little bit worried about myself,” I went on. “I mean, I know that’s kinda weird and even narcissistic, but I don’t know who I’m going to room with at the hotel in Stratford.” When I said this, Hosannah near busted out laughing. She laughed and she smacked me on the leg.
“Are you crazy?” she said through her cackles. “C’mon, Tasha. Really? Your roommate has a death in the family and you’re worried about who you’re going to room with on the trip?”
“Yes…” I said in a small squeak.
“First,” said Hosannah, holding up her finger. “You help your friend and you forget yourself. You’re going to be fine. Your friend is going through a hardship. Give her emotional support.”
“Noted,” I said with a bit of sarcasm, prompting Hosannah to widen her eyes as though she were chastising me.
“Second,” she continued. “Rest easy, because you and I can room together at the hotel. I’ve got a single room reserved,” she said. “Because, you know, I helped organize it all and I’m special,” said Hosannah with a teasing glint in her eye. “But I’ll cancel my room and slide in with you in a double.”
“Really?” I said, beaming, suddenly feeling my mood lighten and my future look a little more clear. “You’d do that for me?”
“Yes,” said Hosannah matter-of-factly. “But, damn it Tasha, only if you learn to have a little empathy for your friend’s family. And you have to ecstatically laugh and roll around on the ground the next time you see me do stand up comedy. Deal?”
“Well, I mean, the empathy thing is hard,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t want to—“
“Deal?” Hosannah reiterated in a stronger voice.
“Deal,” I acquiesced.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “You want to get walking back to the dorm?” Hosannah asked, standing up now from the bench and not even giving me a chance to help make the decision. She put her hands on her hips and grinned down to me.
Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 5
