My roommate from college passed away this week from a fire in her apartment building. It is completely horrific and tragic and has been really hard for me to wrap my head around.
It has been years since I have seen her, but I can still remember her so well standing on the steps of our dorm. Both of us smoked back then and we bonded over being intensely cynical of pretty much everything in life. I guess that’s what girls do and we soon decided we would ditch our current “vanilla” roommates and room together.
She was a straight shooter. I liked that about her. None of this petty passive aggressive gossip and nastiness that seemed to swirl around our dorms. Riding around our small college town in her blue chevy cavalier, we would listen to Garbage as loud as possible (the quintessential angry girl anthems). I can still recall, windows rolled down, hot southern nights, scream singing at the top of our lungs, “When I grow up, I’ll be stable!” while trying to find a Taco Bell or any fast food open late. Sometimes it was just to get off of campus for a little while and away from all of the people we felt different than. Thank goodness, we were able to grow out of our unfortunate dispositions.
I know she truly loved her family so much. Really she preferred her life with her family over any other existence. She was always so excited to receive a care package from her mom or get a visit from her sister. She idolized her mom’s powerful persona and wanted nothing more in this world than to make her proud.
She was a vibrant and colorful person, full of life and I am sad that she has passed, but I remain grateful still for having known her.