I am sitting on my bed, cross-legged, laptop between my knees, and the cat beside me. I am listening to that Halifax cd I got yesterday; it isn’t very good. My bedroom floor is aflood with plastic bags, papers, books, clothing, and boxes. In 24 hours, I realize, I will not be here anymore. In 24 hours, my room will no longer be my room and I will be sitting on a new bed, raised high off the ground so that I can fit a dresser and small bookcase beneath it. My laptop will have a cable lock, and my cat will be a photograph on my bedstand. Instead of looking out a basement window at a carport and a propane tank, I will stare down three stories at a dusty campus.

I am crying because the thing I will miss most is this room.

It will not miss my family or friends or cat as much as I miss this place. I will not miss opportunities I didn’t seize, chances I didn’t take. Instead, I will miss the hours I spent in this room, through five years of depression and happiness. I will miss the days of hunting for that one poster, for that one calendar. I will miss watching my pile of cds and dvds climb.

I am material. So these things are important to me.

My relief was enormous when I called my roommate yesterday, because there is a chance of having a single room now. I won’t have to sacrifice all of it too quickly. But I’m also angry. I’m fucking furious! I wanted a roommate so that I would have to make choices. So that I would have to limit my possessions.

I have been trying to reach Kimberly for three weeks. I’ve called a dozen times and left four messages. Finally, I make my last ditch effort to contact her. The phone rings twice.

“Hello?”

Oh crap. It’s actually…a person. What do I do?

“Um, er. May I please speak to Kimberly?”

“She’s not here right now. Can I take a message?”

“This is Alisa. I’ve been trying to reach her for a while. I’m her CSUMB roommate.”

“Oh… She’s not going to Cal State anymore.”

…I beg your pardon?

“She’s actually already at her new college.” I don’t catch the name. This woman is a mumbler.

“Okay…”

“Sorry for the confusion. But maybe you’ll get a single room!”

“Yeah. Well, thanks.”

“Yeah. Well, bye!”

Click. It was all too cheery.

I look at the phone in my hand. I look out the window. I look back at the phone. The thing seems vile to me now.

“What did she say?” my best friend asks from the front seat.

“She’s not going to CSUMB. She’s already at her other college…something that starts with a ‘P’. Um, yeah. …Yeah.”

The drive continues. But. Dude. I’m kind of frazzled.

An hour passes. We are walking into the mall.

“I can’t believe she’s not going to CSUMB,” I blurt. “Can you believe it? I can’t believe it.”