Frat House

As I  looked through the windows of our gray Jeep Cherokee, I suddenly remembered the statement that Keisha  had made to me a year and one month ago... “if you need help finding your classes, look me up...”

I wonder if she really meant that.  Naw, she’s a junior now, and I know she wouldn’t want some eighteen year old freshman boy following her around campus.

“So Brad, how do you like my dear old CSU so far?”  Mama asked me this as she was gazing out in astonishment at all of the changes that had been made since she was college prep.

“It’s okay, Mama, I guess.”  Little did she know that I had made up my mind on the way up here that after a year at Canton, I’d have a good enough GPA to transfer to Carolina next fall.

“Honey, he’ll have to let you know the answer to that question in about a week, after he’s met some girls...I mean friends.”

My dad laughed as he gave that Freudian slip.  He knew his son...the apple really didn’t fall far from the tree in his case.  I was just like him ...a lady’s man.  My dad is very handsome; a nice build because he still works out even though he is almost fifty.  All of those years in the military really made him buff.  And I tried to take after him; I have a pretty nice build myself.  I never really played football like he did in high school, but I was a standout track star my freshmen through junior years at Piedmont High School.  I went to the state finals every year in the high jump, the triple jump, and the 400 meters.  My last year, my parents wouldn’t let me run since my grades were so poor.  I bet I could have gotten a scholarship if they hadn’t been such great disciplinarians.

We pulled up to my dormitory, and I almost barfed.

“Look at that old building, Mama.  I know it’s over a hundred years old, and you expect me to live here for the next four years of my life.”

“As a matter of fact, Brad, this building is right at one hundred years old, and you won’t have to live here for four years unless you are planning on being a freshman for four years because this is a freshman male dormitory.”

“Don’t even imply that he could be a freshman for four years because if his grades here are anything like the ones at Piedmont, he might be.”

I didn’t find Dad’s sarcastic-ass remark funny, so I didn’t give him his props this time; I just pretended to be looking out at this ancient-ass cave they called a dorm.

Mama jumped out as soon as Dad found a parking space close enough for us to unload my stuff out of the back of the truck.  I wish Dawn had been off to come up here with me, but she just started her new job at the hospital, and she couldn’t possibly ask off to see her little brother go off to college.  Maybe I should have just gone to community college like her.  But what would I have studied?  I sure don’t want to be a nurse.  Maybe I could have studied plumbing or something; I hear they make at least forty dollars an hour.  Naw, I can’t see myself working with other people’s sewage pipes.  Also, she lived at home those two years, and I’m ready for a change of scenery.  To tell the truth, I don’t even know what I am studying here.

Know-it-all Darius told me not to worry because you don’t claim a major until after your sophomore year anyway.  Sometimes his brains come in handy, like last year in pre-calculus class.  If it wasn’t for Darius, I probably would still be in Mrs. Hanes third period class.  He’s not too bad though.  I’ve known him since preschool; we became best friends on the slide at Priscilla’s Child Development Center.  Since then we have been inseparable...grade school, karate practice, little league sports, double dates, you name it.  We had said that enough was enough, so I was glad he had decided to go to Canton, and I thought I was Carolina bound.  Well, we ended up going to the same college anyway.

Darius’s brother, Derek, told us great advice and not to room together.  He said that nothing could break up a great friendship like living in one room for a whole year together.  That was funny because mama had told me the same thing.

She said that she and her best friend, Margaret Wells roomed their first year together at Canton.  Well, by Christmas, they hated each other, and by spring break, they weren’t speaking.  I thought that was pretty cool that two different generations could give the same advice.

“Get out and help me with this trunk, Brad; I can’t lift it by myself!”
That sounded strange coming from dad; he never needs help in the strength department.  I got out the truck and walked around to help pop out.  He had his head down, and he mumbled something.