Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [94]
This was the Beth Michal had instantly taken to when they’d first met, the roommate who was full of mischief, a prankster. One who always found something to laugh about—even in the worst of situations.
When Michal had been devastated by a C on her first paper for Dr. Brown, Beth had thrown her into stitches with a perfect imitation of the professor. The way he sucked in his bottom lip when making a point. How he’d rub his bald head, smoothing the few strands that still grew on an otherwise barren landscape. The way he used his index finger to push up wire-rimmed glasses on his long bony nose.
By the time Beth had finished her comedy routine, the paper seemed much less important. Because Dr. Brown was less important, less intimidating. Michal attributed the A- she got on her next paper to Beth’s “magic.” From then on, she realized how fiercely she’d come to love Beth. And vowed to be her friend forever.
Lately, though, it seemed like Beth had moved away from Michal. Not physically, obviously; she was there every morning when they woke to the dreaded alarm; they marched off to chapel together (though where Beth disappeared to once they arrived was anyone’s guess); they shared lunch and a couple classes, and dinner was always a “community event” for all the suitemates. (Unless one temporarily snagged an interested male. Which Michal and Beth vowed was “so not on our agenda.”)
When they came back to their suite after dinner, both would socialize, teasing about who was seen with whom, discussing gospel teams, sharing a gripe session about professors and tedious assignments and tricky exams. But usually Michal and Beth were the first ones to excuse themselves to study.
Lately, though, Beth studied only a short time until her head would begin to droop. Then it was only a matter of minutes before she’d announce, “I’m too tired to study,” or “This is a waste of time,” and get ready for bed. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to brush her teeth, change out of her clothes, or put on pajamas. She’d pull down the sheet and ratty quilt and climb in. Fully dressed.
The worst change of all, however, was how Beth’s laughter had faded like the tide slipping away from the beach. As Michal fretted over her beloved friend, she realized she hadn’t actually ever seen the tide recede; it was too gradual, too furtive. And it was the same with Beth. Was it that I couldn’t notice, the changes so slow, so slight? Michal quizzed herself. Or that I didn’t want to notice?
But now Michal was encouraged by Beth’s animation, wondering, Maybe I’ve been imagining it all? Aloud she offered, “No. What do you really need, roommate? Your wish is my command.”
“Chocolate.”
The glistening sparkle in Beth’s eyes was so wicked Michal erupted with laughter. Between giggles, she lamented, “But we don’t have any more chocolate, remember? We polished it off over two weeks ago.”
Beth stood, imitating Dr. Brown’s gait (eliciting more laughter from Michal) as she stiffly walked over to their “stash”—the drawer where they kept a popcorn popper and snacks. At the start of the semester, they’d enjoyed assorted candy bars, bags of chips, cookies, and granola bars. But the drawer had sadly dwindled in supplies, and was now empty except for the dreaded popcorn.
Michal watched curiously as Beth rummaged around, making an exaggerated show of her search. Dramatically drawing out a scarf like a magician pulling one from a sleeve (from Michal: “How did that get in there?”), Samantha’s stuffed teddy bear (“Beth, Sam’s been looking for him for days … she’s going to strangle you when she finds out you’re the one who snitched him”), and finally, the objects of their desire: two candy bars.
Beth held them up, one in each hand. “A-ha. Once again Beth the Magnificent has shocked the world with her brilliant powers.”
Michal laughed delightedly as Beth tossed one to her. “Yum. Where did these come from?”
“Revealing my source means I’d have to shoot you.” The sly look she gave Michal seemed to