Article & Photo by Mattie Valinsky
Mckenna–
“That’s between me and my wife, not even god first!”
When you uttered this in response to some slimy men caressing the smalls of our backs to “scooch past” us at a concert, I bowed down to the random roommate generator from freshman year that paired us. Because instantly, I wasn’t thinking about the anonymous slinky fingers trailing down my lower back. Instead, we cackled together under dimmed house lights, danced around their outstretched arms, and thumbed through our never-ending Rolodex of conversation topics as we summed up their behavior as consequential of the moment. “Excuse me” does not justify their handsyness, but I'll still joke that perhaps they urgently needed to know the exact fiber make-up of my tucked-in t-shirt, 90% cotton plus polyester, or whatever. With that sentiment in mind, let’s “cheers” to god coming second, saving your lower back for marriage and your future wife.
This quote lives on in my notes section under the title “Quotes I Quote” along with others we reminisce about whenever I find myself, once again, sitting in the passenger seat of your car, our endless chatter producing an energetic chorus that only quiets with the reminders of our responsibilities. To be continued, always.
“That’s such a pretty curtain,” my mom exclaimed, during one of our first FaceTime calls after move-in, referring to your side of the room. We laughed about it in your red Toyota Camry as we drove up the highway to the concert, you guiding me through the history of the lesbian flag. I sat back, ears perked, and watched as the landscape of Colorado Springs blurred past.
On that drive, I smiled as I remembered that our first common ground was our shared distaste for the men who loudly watched wrestling outside our room. In the privacy of our forced triple, we frustratingly dissected how they would push their chairs into the cramped walkway, litter the floor as they continuously spawned from our neighbor’s triple, and refuse to move. We bonded over our hatred of how their presence forced us to awkwardly scooch past, towels held tightly, in a desperate pursuit of OUR door after a hike from the communal showers. The day the Covid patients claimed the gendy nooch, we mourned the loss of the last remaining sliver of alone time and privacy we had, as it was the only bathroom that avoided us having to wade through the sea of men with protein shakers. Soon after, we both started wearing robes. Yours a worn purple fluffy robe the texture of a weathered washcloth, mine a blue checkered flannel robe reminiscent of the ones grandkids give their grandpas on Christmas. Both were long.
We called one of those men “Headphones” despite knowing his name because it felt more fitting as he would strut around with his head held high, a gallon of water in tow, wearing blocky headphones and grunting in response to having to move over in the hallway. Grrr, sometimes I wish it was appropriate to growl at people as I feel it is more representative of how I’m feeling, but for now, petty nicknames and texting you whenever I see him will do.
Squirrel nuts. Forced triple. Sleeping early and chatting late. Every flavor of 99 percent shooters. All these flash in my mind as reminders of freshman year while we played a game of word association, intertwining stories to busy our minds on the long drive. We must’ve talked the whole two hours, only hushed by the destination coming into focus in the front window.
My forever hope is that you keep undermining men without thought whenever they are a public nuisance because you are doing all of us a favor.
From someone who’s always comfortable as your passenger,
-Mattie