Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [96]
Michal cut her off with a fierce glare.
“Okay. I’m not saying it. But you are the only one who would freak out like this.”
As they entered the spacious dining hall, Michal pulled back from the group, hesitating. After all these months, she was still intimidated by the scene before her—the mass of students milling about, filling the vast room with a rush of bustling energy. In their midst were large bars offering everything one could ask for: salads, breads, sandwiches (cold deli, or a hot sandwich made to order), varied full entrées, one bar devoted entirely to pasta and pizza, and lastly, the dessert and drink bars.
Walking into that dining hall presented Michal with a multitude of choices she’d never had to face before, dozens of possibilities she couldn’t even have imagined in Ethiopia. The result was almost overwhelming. As she stood in the doorway, momentarily frozen, she observed students walking in confidently, with decisive purpose. They hurried to the salad bar or were quick to peruse the entrées, choosing one easily. Others ordered sandwiches with apparent aplomb, pairing bread with meats cooked a certain way.
When Michal was a child back in Addis Ababa, she wouldn’t have been able to conceive of this much food in an entire city—let alone in one room. And the variety was still nearly beyond her comprehension. Her diet in Ethiopia had been consistent and predictable: wot (a stew), yams, taro, a cabbage like kale, squash, peppers, onions—often wrapped and baked in the ensete leaf (termed “false banana” since it resembled the banana plant). Corn was a rare luxury from their family garden. There was no such thing as choice. You ate what was placed before you—gratefully. Or rather: You acted that way.
The staple bread of Ethiopia had a tough, dense texture and was made from the ensete plant. When Michal first stood before the bread bar at McMaster’s, she’d sucked in her breath in amazement, eyes roaming over the display of bagels, yeast rolls, sweet breads with nuts, biscuits, cornbread, luscious sourdough loaves, and French baguettes, everything from plain white to healthy multigrains. She’d felt uncomfortable and guilty, thinking of her family and the villagers back home. Living with … so little.
But that was nothing compared to the waste she observed daily. Michal knew her views on what students flagrantly threw out wouldn’t be appreciated; she kept those thoughts to herself. At the same time, she was careful to eat whatever she put on her plate—which made her selections that much more cautious and deliberate. Along with the entire dining hall experience, the process of selecting food was harrowing for Michal.
It was also the perfect setup for major teasing.
Suitemates razzed Michal mercilessly about how she came to a complete stop when she first walked into the dining hall. How she then proceeded to advance in slow motion, waiting timidly for others to move out of the way. About her tendency to choose only the familiar, to approach the least crowded bar, choosing small amounts of what she could easily get to. Michal was always the last to arrive at the table with her very predictable food. No custom-made hot sandwiches. She’d invariably have the smallest portions. And she ate every bite, leaving her plate conspicuously clean, another mine for significant unwanted attention.
By the time Michal made her way to the table, Samantha was already primed and grinning.
“Did you see the spiral-sliced ham, Michal?” She held up a forkful. “It’s got that maple glaze on it—yum.”
She gave Samantha a vacant look. “Ham? Where was that?”
Samantha giggled while Ruth poked her with an elbow.
“Hey. Cut it out. I’m only pointing out the obvious. It was over on the entrée bar, silly.”
“Oh, so that’s what everyone was hovering around.”
Samantha started to make another comment, but Ruth kicked her. “Ouch. All right, already. So tell us about Allistair, Michal. You’ve kept us in suspense long enough.”
“It’s nothing. He just asked me to the basketball game.”
Several looks of obvious envy