||Jamilla Tate||First Person||

Strands of my borderline unruly curly black hair seem to escape the confines of my bun as I drag my two duffel bags up the sidewalk, my eyes focusing specifically on the eleven-story tall building just up the street. The raging sun rays reflect off of the windows and leave me squinting against the shimmering attack ahead of me. My hands get clammy as I tighten my grasp on my duffel bags straps, awfully and quite painfully aware of how under packed I am compared to the rush of college students surrounding me. I remind myself as the initial embarrassment sets in that for me to even get here, to Ohio State, it was sadly necessary for me to pack so lightly; to pack only the things I couldn't live without. People rush past me at different speeds, their suitcases or duffel bags dragging behind them as they head down the street. I catch sight of numerous pillows and duvets from home and I remember that I don't have that either. I don't have a lot of things. The August sun beats down on me from up above, the rays seeping into my skin and leaving me a hot, sticky, and sweaty mess. I make a mental note that with the limited money I've saved up for the past few years for this moment, I'd stop by a Walmart and try to buy at least a laundry basket and a bedspread. I signed up for the Academic Year, in which I could stay here until the end of the Spring semester. After that, it's fair game if I manage to nail a summer session room. If I don't get a room, I'll be virtually homeless until the Fall semester starts up again.

I shake my head as if to rid myself of those thoughts-- it's August and I don't need to worry about the future so far ahead anymore. My habit of planning and having to create a fool-proof plan seem to get the best of me as I trudge ahead to the gorgeous building getting significantly closer to me. The words Park-Stradley Hall are situated on the front of the building as I squeeze through the crowds of kids my age saying goodbye to their parents or meeting up with their friends. Anxiety starts to coil in my gut at the prospect of having to speak with all of these strangers, but I quickly remind myself of the whole reason I even chose this specific hall to begin with. It's known as one of the most sociable on-campus options at OSU, and the fact that it has such a large atmosphere is the reason why I applied here. New start, new people. I need this.

I tug open the doors to the Residency Hall and feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning unit almost immediately. I'm sure my hair would have become a frizzy mess if I didn't tie it up so securely today when I read the News reports last week for today. Last week. I boarded a train in Cleveland last week. I slept in a dingy, shady motel for the whole week. All for today, my today. My present, my future. No one can take that from me anymore. I inhale the fresh air and take another step forward, my eyes scanning the massive space of the first floor. If I thought just outside the doors of this building was practically a zoo, inside here must be the freaking jungle. I tug at the straps of my duffel bags, wincing at the slight pain the heaviness is putting on my shoulders. I walk forward, scanning the crowds for the check in desk. I need to get my keys so I can head up to my dorm and start unpacking. I take another step forward without thinking and don't realize what's happened until I'm stumbling back a few steps and looking up at a boy with wavy black hair with dazed eyes.

"Sorry," the boy smiles sheepishly. My jaw goes slack almost when I realize just how beautiful his smile is, but I'm quick to close my gaping mouth and play it off. I nod my head instantly, at loss for words, before he turns on his heel. He throws a glance back at me as he's hurrying along with a giant laundry bin filled with duvets and pillows, two duffel bags like my own hanging off of his shoulders as he goes. I don't get another word out because he's rushing past me and disappearing into the crowd once again. I shake my head and set forward again, this time being a little more cautious with where I step.

I finally manage to get through the bulk of the crowd to the line at the check in desk. I notice that the crowd has been separated into three lines to save time, so I quickly jump into the shortest line and wait anxiously. Finally, the line starts to move forward slowly as each person gets their room keys and envelopes. I go to pull my phone out, as if to busy myself with talking to someone, but then I remember that what few people I spoke to to keep me the slightest bit sane while living back in Cleveland are no longer going to be a part of my life. They hold too many bad memories, too many negative anecdotes hanging above them like a storm cloud. I won't dare let myself keep in contact with anyone that knew me back in Cleveland. I can't let anyone ruin my fresh start. Jamilla Tate is a different person now and I intend to keep it this way. I need to keep it this way.

"Next,"

Someone from behind me nudges one of my bags lightly when I don't respond to the word, and I whip around to see a girl with shoulder length red hair prodding me forward with a hint of a smile on her face. I turn around and quickly rush forward to the check in desk where an aging blonde woman sits. She offers me a smile as her fingers poise over a keyboard, her eyes wide and expectant of me. "Name?"

"Tate," I tell her. "Jamilla Tate." The woman's fingers dance across the keyboard as she hurriedly types in my name. Her right hand moves from the keys to her mouse, her eyes scanning the computer screen as she looks for my name.

"Ah, yes, Jamilla Tate." She looks up at me for a moment with a smile before she looks back at the screen as her left hand goes underneath the desk. "Floor 6, room 603." A key materializes as she pulls her hand out from underneath the wooden desk. She passes me my room keys before she grabs a large envelope off of the top of a pile. She hands me the large folder before she nods at me. "Have a great day," she mentions as her gaze focuses on the person behind me, preparing for redoing the whole thing all over again with the redhead.

"You, too," I mumble, because the idea that she'd be there all day long doing the exact same thing with varying levels of respect from who knows how many students that are going to be living in this Residency Hall makes me pity her. I move forward, looking around nervously as the crowds of teens and parents accompanying them seems to get larger as more and more people condense into the lobby. I squeeze through the masses and try to find the elevators, aware now that my room is on the sixth floor. I don't think I want to climb five flights of stairs to get to my dorm room. I catch a glimpse of the silver doors sealed tightly together as the red, digital numbers at the top count up to 9 before stopping. There are four elevators, I realize, as I hurry my way over to the first one I see. I opt for the shortest looking line like any normal person, my eyes scanning the crowd like usual. I see a father carrying a cute, green swivel chair as his daughter tries to balance a laundry basket full of pillows and duvets of various patterns in her arms. A pang of longing hits me to see so many other kids blessed with relationships like those-- to watch kids take their parents for granted. While her father was willing to allow her to come here, carrying her furniture even, my father is back home in Cleveland scratching his head for clues as he tries to figure out where his daughter has disappeared to.

I turn away as a ding sounds from the elevator in front of me as it lands on Ground floor. The doors part open and reveal a cluster of parents and students alike, them slipping out of the confined space as quickly as possible as I squeeze into the elevator, not daring to let my opportunity be taken away by one of those super tall guys that were standing behind me. I kind of don't want to get body checked to the side if you get what I mean? As I move into the elevator, I realize that the walls are mirrors and I could clearly catch a glimpse of myself. My black hair was mostly still in its bun, some strands framing my brown skin haphazardly. My eyes, which are wide and dark brown, are tired and restless, a result of the excitement and anxiety that came from accepting this school as where I would make an escape from my parents. I'm so relieved that I'm here, I think to myself, as five or six more people squeeze into the elevator after me. One blonde boy with black framed glasses on his face jams the close door button quickly before he looks up. "What floors?"

"Third," a tall brunette says, glancing over at his two friends.

"Eighth," a short girl calls out, looking over at a girl standing at a similar height.

"Sixth," I say. The boy looks up at me and smiles, and that clues me in that that's probably living on the same floor as me. He jams all three buttons before leaning back against the wall, tilting his head up to watch the numbers gradually get higher. At floor three, the doors open and three boys spill out of the elevator. The blonde boy glances out to make sure no one was running to the elevator before hitting the close door button again. The metal doors meet again and shut as I turn back to the mirror behind me to examine my outfit. It's August, which means that the weather was suitable enough for me to just wear an olive green t-shirt, black skinny jeans that are cuffed at the ankles, and my favourite burgundy Vans. I tried dressing as simply as possible because the walk from the motel to here was absolutely killer-- I would have taken a taxi or a bus, but a cab would cost money which is scarce until I can land a job and I don't know the first thing about the bus routes in Columbus. Fuck me.

The next time the doors open, it's on the sixth floor-- my stop. The doors reveal the floor that I'm going to be living on until the end of my school year, and as I step out and make an instinctive right, the blonde boy follows but makes a left. I head down the hallway, the thud of my sneakers being dulled out by the carpet. My mind vaguely ponders on who decided carpets would be a good idea-- it certainly couldn't be when there was(unfortunately) such thing as drunken college students that don't know the first thing about how not to make a mess. I try not to think about how dirty this carpet must be from years of wear, distracting myself by scanning the doors I pass for my number.

"Ah," I mumble to myself as I catch sight of the number 603. The door is already open, resulting in me not having to use my key as I take a step forward into the room. On the right side of the room, there are boxes upon boxes of unpacked material that must belong to whoever else I must be rooming with. I take another step into the room and let out a heavy sigh as I drop my bags onto the bed on the left. I make a face when I catch sight of basic white sheets that look like about fifty other people slept on them before me, getting even more uncomfortable when I see the basic white pillow on top of the bed. 

"Please don't tell me you plan on sleeping on those," I hear a voice coming from behind me. I turn around to see a girl with brown fading into purple ombre hair leaning against my door frame. She peers around me to see my sole duffel bags. "Oh my God, you do." She shakes her head before straightening up and disappearing back into the hallway. I furrow my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest almost protectively, unsure of what's going on. No longer than a minute passes before the same girl is coming back, this time with bed sheets as she walks further into the room. "Here," she shoves the fabrics into my hands. "I always pack more than enough, to be entirely honest."

"Uh, thank you," I mutter, at loss for words by her sudden kindness. She smiles at me.

"I'm Scarlet," she holds her hand out for me to shake. I clutch the bed spreads to my chest and grasp her hand in my other. I shake it firmly-- my teachers always said a firm handshake was the key to making a good impression. "I live next door-- 605."

"I'm, uh, Jamilla." I tell her, unsure of what to say. 

"Where are you from?" She asks me, and it's then that I realize that we're the same height-- I'm five foot seven. I let go of her hand and shyly stuff it into the pockets of my jeans, trying to maintain eye contact. 

"Cleveland," I cringe as the word slips out. I try not to remember.

"Wow, that's like a two hour drive?" She raises her eyebrows. I try not to think of the train ride. 

"Yeah," I nod my head. "I don't know anyone here." I say sheepishly.

"Well, when you're situated, I'll introduce you to my roommate Tara, yeah?" I nod my head, knowing that it'd be smartest for me to be friendly with my neighbours. Plus, Scarlet gave me an extra of her bed sheets-- it'd  be utterly stupid of me to be rude to her after that. I make a mental note to remember to repay her for her kindness. She turns on her heels and begins to walk back out of the room with purpose in her stride. One thought consumes me as she walks away; she seems like a total badass. I follow after her and peer out into the hallway, my eyes scanning the people mulling about. I catch a glimpse of a boy that looks considerably familiar as he heads for the room across the hall and a little to the right-- 602. I recognize the wavy hair and the squinting eyes almost immediately as he peers up at the number on his door. He turns his head suddenly, looking directly at me, and a moment of recognition flickers in his eyes before a smile curls his lips up again. I almost forget to breathe when it registers to me that that gorgeous grin is directed at me. I hesitantly return the gesture, earning a soft nod from him before he turns back around and steps into the room, disappearing from my line of sight. When I can't see him any longer, I find the time to regain my breath.

God damn, my neighbour is hot as hell.

-/::\-