"So what kind of name is 'Katarina'?" I asked my roommate.
"What do you mean, 'what kind of name is Katarina?'" replied Katarina tartly.
"I dunno, just seems kind of exotic..." I said.
"Could I ask you a favor?" said Katarina. "Would you mind just not talking to me for the rest of the night? I have a lot of homework to do."
I stared at her from my bunk, narrowing my eyes and shaking my head. How did I get stuck living with a such a bitch--a
woman
no less! Would my entire first year be like this? Would I constantly be getting the short end of the stick?
I turned back to my physics textbook and tried to concentrate on my own homework. To hell with trying to make friends with her.
"It's Russian," she said finally without looking up from her book.
***
University policy forbade men and women share rooms on campus, and it was nearly impossible to get around this rule. However, Bentley House was not known for conforming to convention.
A large brick house nestled in the trees on the edge of campus, Bentley had once been the President's mansion. Long-since abandoned by the administration for being too costly to maintain as Presidents' quarters, the old mansion was converted to a co-op dormitory.
Favored by Environmental Studies students, jam band enthusiasts and vegetarians, Bentley was known as the hippie dorm. The aroma of incense and pot smoke often mingled with pleasant cooking smells drifting from the large kitchen where the undergraduate residents took turns preparing meals for the whole house, shunning the bland food served at the college cafeteria.
I was thrilled to get a room in Bentley my freshman year. I was an engineering student and something of a square when it came to partying, so I did not exactly fit the stereotype of Bentley residents by appearances. But I had always gravitated to the hippie crowd in high school for some reason. At any rate, I did not want to live in a fraternity and the shoebox-style dormitory buildings that housed most undergrads were too institutional and impersonal.
Eager to begin college life, I had arrived on campus the week before classes and settled in my room, an expansive double bedroom on the top floor with a large window that overlooked a meadow on the edge of a pinewood. I couldn't believe my luck when I learned that the guy originally assigned to be my roommate had transferred to another school. It looked like I would have the room all to myself.
***
My hopes were quickly dashed when I returned to Bentley after my first day of classes and heard a loud argument taking place in the living room.
"I'm a fucking senior, dammit! I want a single room!"
"Duuude, just sit down and let's talk about this. Everything will work out, man!"
Nathe, the resident advisor, was trying to reason with a very distressed looking woman standing near her luggage in the living room. Nate embodied the Bentley stereotype: Birkenstocks, tie-died tee shirt, and long, gnarled dreadlocks. His friendliness and even temper made him a perfect RA.
"Don't 'dude' me, jerk! You're not putting me in a room with some freshman!"
"Whoa, whoa, no need to get all bent out of shape there...what did you say your name was?"
"Katarina," replied the woman.
"Okay, listen Katarina. I spoke with one of the RA's down in the Golden Rectangle the other day and she said a single had opened up in Harrison. Let me give her a call and see if it's still open," said Nathan.
"Golden Rectangle" was how the students referred to the shoebox-shaped dorms on Crawford campus, infamous for their abundant drugs and non-stop partying scene. Nathan was about to pick up the phone when Katarina spoke up.
"Wait!" she yelled. "Maybe we can work something out here. I really don't want to live on Crawford..."
Katarina fumbled with her bags, still looking quite exasperated. Her cheeks were flushed and her short red hair was tussled and unkempt from what had clearly been a stressful day.
Nathan shot me a quick glance and made a subtle "don't say a word" gesture with his hands.
"So, where's the room, anyway? Might as well bring my stuff up there now," said Katarina.
"Cool! I think you're really gonna like it, man. It's on the top floor and has a sweet view of--"
"Top fucking floor? I can't believe this shit! Isn't there anyth--oh, forget it," she said dejectedly, following Nathan up the stairs. Nathan shot me another glance, nodding toward her luggage. I grabbed her suitcases and followed them up the three flights that led to the top floor.
"Not bad," said Katarina, nodding with approval at the large room. "Is my roommate in the house, or is she still in class?"
Nathan was looking out the window and pretended not to hear her.
"Well, is she around? I'd like to meet her as soon as possible."
She turned around and saw me standing in the door with an anxious smile.
"You?!" she screamed. "You have got to be out of your fucking mind!"
Nathan stepped in.
"Whoa, Katherine, chill out for a sec, I'm sure we can work something out so everyone is happy--"
"It's Katarina, you imbecile! And there is no way I'm--"
"Listen," interjected Nathan, "I'm afraid that's all we have, unless you want to look into that room over on Crawford."
"Ughh!" screamed Katarina, then burst into tears.
***
Our first week together was a nightmare. Katarina was constantly on the phone with her father, pleading with him to do something about her situation. But hearing her side of the conversation as she offered lame excuses for neglecting to secure a room in time, it was clear her father had little sympathy.
Eventually she resigned herself to the situation. But she remained cold and distant, making no attempt to get to know me or anyone else in the house.
One night at dinner, Nathan asked after her.
"Where's Katarina?" he said.
"Upstairs studying. She usually eats in our room," I said.
"Aw man, you should really get her to join us down here," he replied.
"Yeah, I'll try," I lied. Katarina could drop off the face of the planet for all I cared.
"So she's like, totally miserable, huh? Maybe she just needs to get high," he offered.
"Somehow I don't think she'd be interested," I said.
For some reason I continued making awkward gestures of kindness toward her. That night I brought her a plate of spaghetti, but she didn't touch it.
"You can't survive on Slim Jims and jelly beans alone," I said.
"Go to hell," she replied.
"Whatever," I said sitting down at my desk.
"You know, it's not my fault we're stuck together. Why do you always have to be such a bitch?" I said, fuming at her ingratitude.
"Would you please just shut the fuck up? I'm trying to read," she said peering over her book. That did it.
"Fuck you, you horrible wretched bitch!"
