Last evening I had a lengthy conversation with one of my
oldest and dearest friends, Eleanor, and after sharing some
stories with her, I have decided to momentarily divert from my chronological
biography and go off in another tangent.
In my never ending attempt to get to the point, I will
document my memories and terrors and true confessions using a bullet
formatting.
- My first roommate was from Flatbush, Brooklyn. Her name was Theresa Fitz –something (patrick or gerald – I don’t remember which). Her Brooklyn accent was at least as strong as mine. I think we liked each other well enough and initially I felt relatively satisfied having her as a roommate. Things appeared to be going along quite well and we were getting more relaxed with each other. I guess she started to really feel at home because one day out of the blue, she began to “open up”. She began telling me all about her wonderful boyfriend. And when I say, “all”, I mean “all’ - every last vivid detail of their relationship (if you get my drift). She was doing things with that guy that I didn’t even know existed. To say I was stunned and shocked is a massive understatement. At this stage in my life (17 & ½ years old), I had already kissed a guy or two but the activities she was “enjoying” were so completely foreign to me that I stood there mute and horrified. I never really responded verbally but that didn’t seem to discourage her. She went on and on. Definitely fits the acronym - TMI (too much information). A few days later I came into the room and she was sitting crossed legged, Indian-style on her bed. She was completely nude. I didn’t know where to look or where to turn and I don’t even remember what I did to excuse myself from this awkward situation. She left nursing school after only a short time (several months at most). I don’t remember why and I don’t remember us saying “good-bye”, or “let’s keep in touch”. So for the very first time in my life, I was alone in a bedroom. I did not like it.
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