Cramped Quarters - Love Under Lockdown

“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 the other 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.

I’d grown up the middle child of five with a brother and sister on either end. The older ones had already left home but for a large part of my life, there were six other people constantly surrounding me.

They were loving, crazy, wonderful people and I didn’t see how I could go from that to no one at all. I might not get along with everyone in cluster housing, and I certainly knew I didn’t get along with my siblings all the time, but a bit of conflict was still preferable to isolation.

It was hard for me to make friends, due not only to my strange personality and upbringing but also due to the obvious scar on my eye. People thought I was some kind of freak sometimes.

The door unlatched with a happy pop, opening the first few inches of its own accord on tight new hinges. The housing had only been built in the last few years, apparently under some duress on the part of the administration, so everything still had that new building feel. It even extended to the bedroom, with the mattress actually crinkling under me, still covered with protective plastic.

“Up and at ‘em, bro,” Amelia said, smacking my boot.

“I’m still the older one, you know.”

“Yes, and I’m the mature one.”

Her eyes flashed mischievously. She was still only fifteen, but my baby sister could already keep up with me in a bullshitting contest. Then again, she had lots of practice and a pretty good mentor in my brother who was two years younger than me as opposed to five.

It would be fair to say that Amelia had been a bit of a ‘surprise,’ although our parents didn’t love her any less and they never outright admitted that. Even though I’m pretty sure my dad got a vasectomy after her birth.

A young, pretty blond, Amelia dressed in the family fashion, which could best be described as ‘Discount Addams Family Chic.’ Black slacks and vests with dress shirts for the guys and long dark dresses for the girls, all of us in army surplus boots. All of it was bought dirt cheap at thrift stores and estate sales.

“Hold the other side, please,” I said, unfurling a poster to put on the wall.

When the decorations had been hung, Amelia helped me out further, by shelving my books in alphabetical order in the IKEA-style unit affixed to the freshly painted wall. While she did that, I set up my portable record player on the night table, sliding the vinyls in the space under it.

Dad always only used LPs. In addition to being born in the late-1960s when they were all that was available, he also joked that the back masking came across a lot clearer on vinyl.

“Thanks, want me to walk you back to the van?”

“No thanks, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn't do,” I said, crouching slightly to give her a quick hug.

“I won’t.”

I could tell that she was sadder than she was letting on, but I didn’t want to push it. Even though we both had realized this day was coming for quite some time now. Though, to be fair, she never really knew our older siblings. Both of them had grown and gone before she was in elementary school, but I had always been there and suddenly, I wouldn’t be anymore.

“I’ll be home in a few months for Thanksgiving,” I said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

She nodded glumly, like I’d said a couple of years instead of a couple of months. I suddenly had a much better idea how it must have felt when my brother and sister left. My brother had joined the Army and my sister had gotten married.

Momentarily alone in the cluster dorm, I tried to console myself with music, the food of the soul. Though this notion proved to be easier said than done.

In trying to give myself the choice to make things easier, I’d inadvertently made them harder. Finally resorting to the eeny-meeny-miney-moe method, I was able to choose a record. Sliding the shining disc from its protective sleeve, I placed it on the turntable as though it were a holy relic.

I was so lost in the experience as the record spun that I didn’t hear my roommates arrive. That was something of a feat, considering that there were seven of them. Yet, each passed by without notice as I basked in the sounds being played.