My Collage Experience (No, that is not a spelling error)
We didn’t think this was odd, or even noteworthy. But my parents couldn’t believe the way we treated each other's pieces like our own. How we didn’t even cut a slice to put on each other's plates, which is apparently how normal people share. We just took what we wanted, when we wanted it, and expected everyone else to do the same, not even remembering whose pie was whose.
The Legend of the Shared Pies became a story my parents told for months, but it wasn’t a story to us. It was lunch. That’s what we did, we stuck our forks into each other's pies without asking. We wore each other's clothes as if they were our own. We took naps in whichever bed was closest when we got tired. It was a room without possessions and without boundaries. We shared our stories, our beliefs, our concerns, our jokes, our lessons; we were as communal as the pie.
It was a quick slip from strangers to sisters for us, but there was a time when we were nothing more than strangers. Before we met, one of my roommates, Erica, and I had been emailing about who would bring what for the room. She listed off a few essentials we would need, one of which was a TV. I wrote back saying I wasn’t planning on having a TV in the room, but she was welcome to bring one if she wanted. Oh, I added, I am bringing a blender. Interestingly enough, a blender hadn’t made her list of dorm room necessities. Odd. How else would I blend the berries I collect from the fields I run through while worshiping Mother Earth? It turns out, that is how you sound when you tell a person you’ve never met that you don’t want a TV in your room, just a blender. She told me that long after we had become friends. Probably while we were plopped in front of her TV, watching Sex and the City and drinking unblended drinks.
It was a quick slip from strangers to sisters for us, but there was a time when we were nothing more than strangers. Before we met, one of my roommates, Erica, and I had been emailing about who would bring what for the room. She listed off a few essentials we would need, one of which was a TV. I wrote back saying I wasn’t planning on having a TV in the room, but she was welcome to bring one if she wanted. Oh, I added, I am bringing a blender. Interestingly enough, a blender hadn’t made her list of dorm room necessities. Odd. How else would I blend the berries I collect from the fields I run through while worshiping Mother Earth? It turns out, that is how you sound when you tell a person you’ve never met that you don’t want a TV in your room, just a blender. She told me that long after we had become friends. Probably while we were plopped in front of her TV, watching Sex and the City and drinking unblended drinks.
I met my other roommate, Marie Anne, on the second day of orientation. But I had tried to get to know her before that through Facebook. Because Facebook allows you to learn the things that matter most about a person, like what their prom date looked like and what their favorite movie is. Right? As soon as I got my roommate assignment, I ran to Facebook to see if our movie preferences were compatible, typed in Marie Anne, and… no profile!! She wasn’t on Facebook?! I knew right then she was either international or she was a weirdo. It turned out she was both; my favorite little international weirdo on the planet. When we finally met, we were standing in a boy’s dorm, playing an icebreaker game, lined up according to our birthdays. She whispered across the November babies, “Hey! I think we’re roommates!” “Yeah! Hi!” I responded. Strong start. She reminisced later that when we met she thought I was “so tall and exotic,” which is the first and last time anyone has ever described me as exotic. In fact, now that I think about it, she may have had the word "exotic" confused with the word for "looks like every other girl here."
It’s funny to look back on what we thought of each other, what we thought our lives would look like together, and who we thought we were. And then to see the moments that slowly broke down all judgement, all expectations, and all chance that we would leave this place the same as we arrived. A few more joined us in the room over the years, and like pouring a new color into an existing bucket of paint, every shade was altered.
It’s hard to put yourself into words. But if I had to choose one word to describe myself, I would say I am a collage. I am a collection of scraps I took from these people I love so much, cut out and pasted together into a person I am happy to be. Today, I don’t even know which pieces were originally mine, and which ones I won in the swap. But I’d like to think I took Erica’s fierce loyalty, Marie Anne’s enveloping love, Claude’s kindness, and Alex’s sense of humor. And I’m sure they’d all tell you I gave them my unwavering devotion to Bob Evans. That’s what we call an even trade.
Love Love Love,
Kat
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