Under My Enemy's Roof - Under Him

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just not used to talk like that.”

“Convent school?” she asked.

“Exactly. How did you know?”

“You have the look. I went to St. Andrews.”

“You’re a Presbyterian.”

“Very much fallen away. I’m Jenna.”

“Rachel O’Flanagan,” I said, taking her offered hand.

“Quite the handle. Limerick, right?”

“You’ve been there?”

“Every summer for six years straight. We were actually going to Edinburgh, but I would take the train down, see what was what. This was well after the nastiness of course. I’m only twenty, still in a stroller when the Good Friday Agreement was signed. You’re Frosh, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.”

My mind was still spinning. I had an idea what she was talking about, but only a vague one. I was born and raised in America. Any Irish accent I had was purely accidental, picked up from my neighborhood, church and elders. Yet Jenna had known where we were from, down to the city.

I also couldn’t yet fathom the idea of someone losing their faith. Believing and then not believing, or at least changing denominations. It was all a lot to take in.

“I’m third year, due for parole soon! Kidding, I love my classes. I’m doing Poli Sci. Going by your books I’d guess you’re over at the Bible Building. Our own term for the theology school. It’s not very original but it makes us laugh.”

As subtly as I could, I checked her pupils. It didn’t seem like she was high, but you could never be too careful.

“Good one,” I fibbed, deciding she was just excited about life in general.

We kept chatting, with Jenna mostly talking and me mostly listening, so that our time in the line seemed to just fly by. Before I knew it, I was at the checkout, punching in the numbers to charge nearly a thousand dollars to dad’s credit card.

And I had made a friend. My very first one here on campus, as eccentric as she was.Chapter Two - AugustusThe dorms didn’t look like much on the outside. Just one-floor structures like townhouses. Though inside was an innovation of architectural engineering. A central room, combining living room and kitchen, surrounded by sight small bedrooms, encircling it in a roughly orthogonal shape.

There was one main door, leading to seven separate spaces. At least that was how it had looked on the website. I could only hope the reality would live up to the image in my head.

I could see the campus like a glowing city on the hill as our ancient transit van chugged its way along. Only rolling back a little on the ascent. For a while there was a question whether I would get there at all. Though my dad was wylie and devised a way, so he could afford to drive me himself.

Sending my little sister onto the message boards, they’d found a student at my university, a rich prep brat with a double-barreled last name who was looking for someone to drive the rest of their stuff from their hometown. The job paid $1,000 plus gas. It was a good thing I’d packed fairly light. Otherwise, we would never have gotten all five of us into the van with the load.

It felt weird being a scholarship kid. I was the first one in my family to make it to university, the tradition being more along the lines of construction work. My uncle Dave went to community college and the rest of the family acted like he was some kind of dandy. Me going to university on scholarship to study film was like a peasant-farmer’s son getting appointed to the House of Lords. The overall reaction from my beloved blood-relations being a healthy mix of pride and good-natured teasing.

The van coughed its way into a parking spot before sputtering to a halt. How dad kept the old beast going was a mystery for the ages. Likely involving a combination of like-new used parts from his mechanic friends, a smattering of black magic as well as a touch of iron will. They didn’t call us Graves because we gave up easily.

Breaking up into teams, my sister and I took my stuff to the cluster housing as my mom, dad and brother went to deliver the stuff and get paid the other $500 and get reimbursed for the gas. It was amazing how carefully dad had kept and organized each and every gas receipt. Like a stamp collector with OCD.

Outside, continuing the theme of their internal design, the cluster housing was divided between eight buildings surrounding a central courtyard in an octagon. The courtyard itself featured an octagonal bench at its center. If I didn’t know better I would swear that the architect was an adherent of numerology. Using eight as a holy number. Things were already looking up.

“Nice,” my sister said as we walked through the courtyard.

The main door locked automatically. So every resident was given two keys. One for the main door and one for their own room in the cluster unit. I had been offered a double. It was within the power of the housing office to give it to me for the same price as the cluster housing but it wasn’t about the money. Not entirely anyway. Even with a double dorm there was a chance of my potential roommate not showing up. Then I would be all alone in a big apartment-like room.