Shattered Rose

“Dear Lord, I may not know who she is yet, but until that day, I pray your hand never leaves her side. I pray that you sustain her when she is in the transitions of her life and guide her on the path you’ve chosen for her…”

1
. APARTMENT 204

Four Months Earlier…

I hated change. Totally detested it usually, but not today. Even though change for me meant I was hauling all my meager belongings, currently packed floor to ceiling in my Toyota Corolla, to yet another residence in less than two weeks.  I refused to complain, though. Truth was, I would have moved for days if it meant the same end result…my first apartment.

I put the last box in the front seat and took a deep breath as I turned to look at the institutional building that had been my first real home away from home.  Apart from some nostalgia, I
didn’t have any fond memories of the tiny two-person room and community bathroom. It represented someone I was leaving behind; someone I’d never be again.

I sat in my car, ready to leave the parking lot for the last time, wondering how I was even the same person who was dropped here just one year ago. I remembered the day I told my mom I wanted to go to Winsor, a small private college located twenty miles outside of Asheville, North Carolina.

She looked at the brochure and said, “Do you realize it’s nine hours away from here?” I didn’t tell her at the time that the distance was part of the appeal, but I think she knew. I had never been close to my family. They too represented a life I wanted to bury.

I drove across campus and smiled. Winsor was exceptionally beautiful. Apart from the addition of a new medical school and veterinarian school, the area around the campus remained relatively undeveloped. It
s beauty was a double-edge sword in some respects, because the raw land was the very reason I had been stuck in archaic dorms to begin with. Residential units around the university were scarce and very expensive, so unless students wanted to commute from Asheville each day, dorms and campus apartments were their only options.

I shook my head when I thought of how naïve I had been at freshman orientation when I requested a room in the campus apartments. The counselor just laughed, put my name in the lottery and said, “Good luck with that.” Needless to say, I didn’t get
a room, and since my scholarship required on-campus housing, I was doomed to spend four years with no freedom or privacy, a fate I had accepted…until now.

T
he call came in yesterday informing me of an opening in University Apartments. The lady on the other line didn’t even finish her sentence before I yelled, “I want it!”

The apartment was home to three girls who had managed to get it their freshmen year. Most likely, they had influential parents who
made a few calls. I pushed aside a feeling of annoyance as I thought about how much easier the process would be for the rest of us if people didn’t cheat the system. It worked in my favor, though, because one of them dropped all her classes this year and left the campus, leaving the university to find a replacement tenant four days before classes started. 

I couldn’t imagine
why the girl would leave so suddenly. Going home after living on my own for a year would be unthinkable. Ok, well almost on my own. I did spend the last year sharing a room with a manic sorority girl who talked non-stop about boys and clothes, but thankfully, she was gone most nights.

I shook my head, putting the memory far behind me. The sky was a perfect blue today, full of sunshine and promise for this
new year. Coming back to school my sophomore year felt empowering. This was my domain. I knew the school, the professors, even which bathrooms to avoid in the library. The fear and anxiety of my freshmen year had passed and all that remained was familiarity and assurance.

Parking my car, I felt nervous and excited all at the same time. “Here it goes.” 

The apartment was on the second floor, three doors down from the stairs and on the left…204.  I couldn’t help but smile. The feeling of freedom that stayed ever elusive in my world, finally felt tangible.

The letter from the housing department felt crisp and sturdy in my hand.
How could one piece of paper mean so much? I was in room C. Room A belonged to Kaitlyn Summers and room B belonged to Naomi Bennett who was currently on exchange to Portugal. Grabbing my key and laptop bag, I took the stairs two at a time, ever so eager to see my new home. 

The apartments were located in close proximity to the
campus lake and right next to fraternity row, a street lined with beautiful mansions, immaculate landscaping, and large oak trees that had survived a hundred years of development. 

My pulse quickened a little as I lightly knocked. No answer. I felt my lungs deflate. I was
n’t expecting a welcome party or anything, but I did feel a little disappointed no one was home. The apartment was fairly clean, a few dishes in the sink and in the living room, but nothing unbearable.  The furnishings weren’t bad; you could tell the University tried to bring in a contemporary feel. I ran my hand along the large brown and tan micro suede sectional sofa as I walked through the room and set my bag down on the cast iron end table that flanked the couch.

It would have felt much like a waiting room if not for the most outrageous loveseat I’d ever seen, sticking out like an eyesore.  It was bright red and in the shape of lips, with the seat being the bottom lip and the back of it, the top lip. 
The fuzzy upholstery probably came complete with a lint brush.  My laughter echoed in the room as I wondered which roommate purchased that thing.