Give me a minute, I'll come up with something clever: June 2013

Growing up in my small town I never realized how weird it is to make friends as a person older than toddler age. I was freaked out at the idea of having to start over in the friend department. I had finally gotten all the ones I had perfected. They laughed at my jokes, we shared secrets, we shared hard times. Then I had to pick up and go make new ones in a strange environment. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I left college with a small group of very close friends...each friendship began in the weirdest of ways...check it...

The first time I met my tiny, Italian friend it was the summer before we started college. We were in the same orientation group (side note: I left orientation and told everyone I wasn't going back, I hated it that much). Upon noticing her I was immediately not impressed. At first glance she was Naperville through and through. She was dressed impeccably and seemed to already know everyone. How did she know everyone? I remember very clearly that at one point some weirdo did something insane and she tried to make a face at me. I ignored her. No thank you, Naperville. I left orientation and did not give the small woman another thought, until I saw she was friends with my future roommate. Now I really didn't like her. Great, she knew my rando roommate and I was going to be completely cut off. AND SHE'S GOING TO LIVE RIGHT NEXT TO US. Grrrrreat. I was ready to be mortal enemies with this girl. The first time she spoke to me it was a shocked statement,
Ar: "Oh you live with Chels??? I thought you were roommates with that weird emo chick down the hall."
Me: "No I've been here for a month now."
I was less than thrilled. But it all changed the day she came to my room in tears. I paused my movie (The Phantom of the Opera, it became an important movie in our friendship) and I let her in, but not before informing her my roommate was not there. She helped herself to my roommate's bed and we sat in silence as the movie continued. The rest is history.

There is nothing scarier in this world than moving in with a complete stranger. I found this out moving into the dorms. My roommate had already been there for a while because of volleyball camp. So I realized that it was basically her room and I was just moving into her space. Honest to god that is what I felt like. All I knew about this girl was she was friends with that tiny Italian I did not care for. Hindsight I feel immensely sorry for Roomie. She called over the summer and I was basically out of it from post surgery drugs...she was probably more scared than I was.
I became even more afraid of this stranger when she basically highhandedly moved all my crap into the room. This girl lifted a roll of carpet over her head. I was moving in with a person who could crush me like a bug. Night time finally fell and I was scared to fall asleep. My roommate did not have this issue. She was instantly asleep and then instantly talking a mile a minute in her sleep. She became less intimidating. All fear of her melted away the day I came back from class and the room smelled awful She was bustling around with a pissed off look on her face and exclaimed, "SORRY I MADE THE ROOM SMELL LIKE ASS! DAMN MICROWAVE!" Roomies for life after that. The rest is history.

CRoss was also in my summer orientation group. I knew her as the girl that came up with the idea for us all to milk each other. So basically I thought she was insane. Upon my arrival to college I soon found that the "milk girl" was also a neighbor. She lived just diagonal from me in our hallway. Our whole hallway was forced to go to EVERYTHING together. Our little herd went to meals and events and gatherings and basically just anywhere together. I soon found the "milk girl" to be absolutely hilarious. She was just as sarcastic as I was and had a pretty sick sense of humor. She amused me.
I was a night owl in college and often had the hallway and communal bathroom to myself...unless CRoss was out and about. She too functioned best late at night. We kept bumping into each other and soon we were conversing like real people (well our conversations were veiled in sarcasm and loving insults). People thought we were being mean to each other but we knew different. Soon countless hours were spent just sitting in the hallway talking. The rest is history.

I did not meet the hallway's resident red head until Welcome Week. Even then I wouldn't say I actually "met" her. She was scary quiet, like at first I didn't believe she could actually talk. She was the exact opposite of her roommate (I'll get to her). Our hallway gatherings were filled with over the top, loud, BIG personalities. She was content to just watch us. I now know she was silently thinking we were all idiots, bless her. The first time I actually remember hearing her speak was when I went to her room in search of a lunch buddy.
Me: *knock knock* "Hey I was wo-"
Kate: "KATHRYN ISN'T HERE!"
Me: "Whoa, um just seeing if you wanted to go to lunch..."
Kate: "Oh"
Needless to say we went to lunch. I quickly learned that when she did speak, it was hilarious. She was super smart and quick to throw in one liners that left you stunned. But most importantly she tolerated everyone else's bullshit. I was smitten. The rest is history.

I don't remember much about my initial reaction to the "other Kathryn." I think the first real interaction we had was once classes started. The one class on my schedule that really worried me was Bio 101...it came with a lab. Now I'd never really had a true lab class. I was concerned. Plus it was looking like this class was going to be hard. Splendid. After the first two classes I noticed the brunette sitting a couple desks away...she looked familiar. Aha! She lived in my hallway. I was thrilled, it was someone I kind of/not really knew. The first day of lab came and we were instructed to pair off. Now here is where our friendship began. We tell this story two different ways. MY version (the correct version) is this. I simply asked, in a nice and pleasant way, if she wanted to be lab partners. She will tell you I was scary and forceful about it. She'll tell you I intimidated her into being lab partners. She's wrong. We became lab partners. The rest is history.

There are two famous stories Rall 2nd West like to tell (that was our fresh. hallway). Both involved girls falling down the stairs. One of those girls was "Julia Stiles." There we were, the herd, eating pizza out in the common area of the dorm. All of us were laughing and shoveling pizza down our throats, basically having a jolly time. We heard some people starting to come down the stairs so our natural reactions were to watch them. And thank god we did because we were in for a treat. I don't know how but all of a sudden some tall brunette chick bit it down the stairs. I mean limbs flailing in the air, hair a mess, bit it. And we did the only thing we could...laughed. We laughed so hard at this chick we were crying. Wait, just hold on here's the best part. I figured that chick was gone, probably halfway to Alaska. And then a miracle happened. This no name girl waltzed back up the stairs, stopped in front of our group (still crying from laughter), and took a freaking bow. Sheer genius.
A year later we met through a mutual friend and fell instantly in love with each other. A year after that we all realized she was the girl who bowed after falling down the stairs. The rest is history.

Last week I was texting with an old high school friend. We have been friends since we were 16 and kept a strong friendship right until the end of college. Like many relationships that start in adolescence, ours faded. Lucky for us we have one of those "pick up where we left off" things going. As we talked and laughed and played catch up, old jokes and stories were scattered through our conversation. At one point I mentioned her making me nostalgic and she gave me the most perfect reply "it's good to remember."

And it is, isn't it? Somewhere along the way, remembering and nostalgia became associated with negative connotations for me. Why? I really have no idea. Perhaps I feel this way because I am so afraid of getting stuck in the past. I don't want to become one of those people who only talk about what has already happened to them. But I realize that I have complete control over these fears. Remembering good times does not mean getting stuck in the past. So, thanks to Becks, I have spent the last several days letting old scenes wash over me. And it's been good.