There's No Crying at Redmond

September 2016

Carl Meredith clutched the edges of a cardboard box. His palms were sweaty, his breath coming too fast, the straps of his overburdened backpack cutting into his shoulders. In front of him, the green lawn of the First Year residential quad unfurled in lush splendor, looking for all the world like a staged tableau in a brochure. The grass was so unnaturally uniform in color and height that it might have been a carpet, and the trees were on their very best behavior, pruned until every last one looked more like a picture of a tree than the thing itself. Brick dormitories rose on either side of the quad like Georgian sentinels with their white columns and palladian windows queening it over the scurrying First Years as if not yet convinced that they were worthy to scuff the steps.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" said Jerry, adjusting his hold on a second box.

"It hardly looks real."

"Oh, it's real enough," said Faith, slamming the Subaru's hatchback and extending the handle on Carl's rolling suitcase. She balanced his comforter and a bulging plastic shopping bag on top and pointed her chin at the papers he had balanced on the top of the box. "Do you have your room assignment?"

"I'm in Gardner Hall, Room 126."

"Straight ahead, then," said Jerry. "You're lucky — Gardner's got the nicest rooms."

Carl nodded. Lucky. What he felt was terrified.

"Let's get on with it," said Faith. "I told my roommates I'd be late, but not this late."

The three Merediths carried Carl's luggage up the quad. Carl couldn't help but notice that there were an awful lot of parents around. Mothers and fathers toting garment bags and rubbermaid containers while upperclassmen in scarlet shirts that said "Welcome, Class of 2020!" gave directions and handed out welcome packets. A cheerful junior gave Carl a key at the check-in table, but it proved superfluous given the number of people eager to hold any door open for someone wearing a Redmond hoodie.

Gardner Hall teemed like a hill of ants. Every door was thrown open as parents and teenagers and a few younger siblings scuttled in and out, this one carrying a lamp, that one searching for trash bags, another determined to hunt up the Residential Advisor and have a word about the chipped paint in room 304.

Carl navigated the packed hallway, his stomach writhing as if he had swallowed several particularly unruly eels. In just a few moments, he would see his room, meet his roommate. It was all really happening.

Room 120 . . . 122 . . . 124 . . .

"Here we are!" said Faith. "Home sweet home."

Jerry gave an encouraging nod. Carl returned it, took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold into his new life.

*/*/*

The first thing Carl noticed about his room was that it was already occupied. A slender, red-haired woman of around fifty was smoothing a quilt over one of the twin beds while a tall, broad-shouldered man with brown-and-silver curls unpacked books onto the built-in shelf. Both looked up when Carl entered the room, bright smiles illuminating their features.

"You must be the roommate!" said the man, bounding forward, his hand outstretched.

Carl attempted to shake his hand, but bobbled the box he was holding and gripped his fingers awkwardly.

"Whooooops," the man said. "Here, let me help you with that." He took the box from Carl, still beaming. "I'm Dr. Blythe."

"I'm . . . Carl Meredith," said Carl, at least half-sure that that was accurate.

"Oh, Gilbert, give the boy some space," said the red-haired woman. She wore a large button on her shirt proclaiming to all the world just how delighted she was to be here. "Welcome, Carl! I'm Anne Blythe. Our son is your roommate."

Carl craned his neck to see farther into the room, where someone was emerging from the walk-in closet.

Oh, Christ.

Carl felt his knees go weak. That was his roommate?

Dr. Blythe was grinning. "Carl, let me introduce you to . . ."

"John," said the other boy with grim emphasis. "John Blythe."

"And this is Carl," said Mrs. Blythe.

That was good. Carl could not have said anything half so confident at the moment.

John Blythe stepped forward to shake Carl's hand. He was good-looking in a careless, jockish way, as tall and broad as his father, though without the friendly demeanor. Brown-haired and tan, he had deep brown eyes that might have been beautiful if there had been any warmth to them. Instead, he was all business.

Carl shook hands, reminding himself to firm up his elbow, which wobbled like a soggy noodle.

"Yes. Carl. I'm Carl."

John did not smile. "And they are . . ."

Carl had quite forgotten Jerry and Faith, hovering at the door all this time.

"Oh!" he said, dismayed. "My brother, Jerry, and my sister, Faith."

Dr. and Mrs. Blythe exchanged a surprised look.

"Faith Meredith?" Mrs. Blythe asked. "The same Faith Meredith who is rooming with our daughters? Di and Nan?"

"That's me!" Faith said. "Sorry, I should have realized."

"Not to worry," Dr. Blythe chuckled warmly. "I'm afraid there are rather a lot of us running about the place."

"The girls are so excited to be rooming with you," Mrs. Blythe assured Faith.

"Me too," Faith replied. "You remember Di Blythe, don't you, Jerry? Comes to basketball games sometimes? With the pink hair?"

"Blue now," Mrs. Blythe interjected. "I can sympathize. I did once try to dye mine black, but it went all wrong and turned out green."

"That was before it was the fashion, of course," Dr. Blythe said, twinkling at his wife.

"Are you a student, too, Jerry?" Mrs. Blythe asked kindly.

"Yes, ma'am. I graduated last year, but I'm starting my first year at the law school."

"Well, good for you!" Mrs. Blythe beamed. "We don't have any lawyers in the family yet, do we, Gilbert? All doctors and poets so far. Did you perhaps know our son Walter? He was in your class."

"Walter Blythe? That sounds familiar. Dark hair? Read a poem at Commencement?"

"The very same! He's off traveling now."

"We've sent all the kids to Redmond so far," Dr. Blythe said, grinning. "Shir . . . John is the sixth."

John scowled briefly in his father's direction, but Dr. Blythe did not appear to notice. No, in order to notice, you would have to be staring at him like an idiot, watching every twitch and tremor of his beautiful . . .

"I said, do you have any more stuff to carry?" John asked, exasperated.

Carl blinked. "No. No, this is it."

"Fine. Well, that bed's yours. I left half the closet for you."

"Thanks."

Dr. Blythe was laughing now, Faith having told some successful joke or said something startling, as she always did.

"You must let us take you all to dinner," Mrs. Blythe said. "Are your parents around here somewhere?"

"No," Faith admitted. "They both had to work and couldn't stay overnight."

"Did you have a long drive?"

"Longer than we expected," Jerry admitted. "There's construction on the Confederation Bridge."

"The bridge?" Dr. Blythe asked, interested. "You're Islanders, then?"

"Born and bred," Jerry confirmed.

"How about that, Anne-girl!" Dr. Blythe said, jostling his wife with his elbow.

"Why, we're from Avonlea," Mrs. Blythe smiled. "We still have friends and family there. Whereabouts are you from?"

"Oh you wouldn't know it," Faith assured them. "It's much too small."

"Try us."

"It's a little village on the shore called Glen St. Mary."

"You don't say!" Dr. Blythe's surprise was genuine, as was his delight. "We used to visit my great-uncle and aunt in Four Winds years ago. Beautiful place! Maybe we know your parents."

"Probably not," Jerry said apologetically. "We only moved to the Glen ten years ago, when our father was called to the church there."

"Your father's a minister?" Mrs. Blythe asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Presbyterian."

"I suppose our old friends were gone before you arrived," Dr. Blythe said with a twist of his smile. "The Fords moved to Toronto and Captain Jim died long ago."

"You knew Captain Jim?" Carl piped up in surprise. How many times had he heard that name passing back and forth among the old salts who sat in the lee of the harbormaster's shed across from the Tastee Freeze, playing checkers and scowling at tourists? Usually attached to some wild yarn about the bygone days when the Gulf was full of fish and the young folk stayed on the Island.

"We did," Mrs. Blythe said, eyes shining like stars. "He was one of our dearest friends. I suppose he must be a Four Winds legend now."

"He is," Faith said. "Mrs. Marshall Elliott is full of stories about him."

Dr. Blythe frowned. "I don't think I'm acquainted with Mrs. Marshall Elliott."

"No?" Jerry asked. "If you knew Captain Jim, I would think you would have known her, too. They were great cronies. She lives in the green house down near the light."

Mrs. Blythe clasped her hands beneath her chin. "The green house? You can't mean Miss Cornelia Bryant, can you?"

"Yes!" Faith laughed. "The very same!"

Dr. Blythe chuckled. "Now that's a story I'd like to hear. How on earth did Cornelia Bryant get over her hatred of the men sufficiently to marry one of them? Next you'll be telling me her husband belongs to the United Church!"

This startled a bark of laughter out of Faith, with Jerry and Carl joining in. How odd to find that Kingsport might not actually be located on the moon.

"You really must let us treat you to a meal," said Mrs. Blythe. "You can tell us all the Glen news."

Faith shook her head, still grinning, golden-brown curls bouncing in her ponytail. "Sorry, but we've got to get going. I didn't mean to keep Di and Nan waiting so long."

"I'm sure they'll be very glad to see you, dear," Mrs. Blythe beamed. "And you have a open invitation to our Sunday dinners once you settle in a bit. Don't stand on ceremony; our door is always open."

Faith and Jerry thanked the Blythes for their hospitality, then turned to Carl to say their goodbyes.

This was it. They were going. Carl was horrified to find a lump rising in his throat.

"You're all set here?" Jerry asked, looking at him with concern.

"Definitely. Fine." Carl replied, hoping for something approximating his normal voice.

"Ok," said Jerry. "Text if you need anything. Remember, we're just across campus. And we'll see you at the chapel on Tuesday for Morning Prayers. 8:30 sharp."

"Yep." Carl bit the inside of his lip to keep from sobbing. Oh, this was absurd! He'd see Jerry and Faith practically every day! And he was here! At Redmond! There's no crying at Redmond!

Faith gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "I know you've got orientation tomorrow. But if you want to get coffee, just text me, alright?"

Carl could only nod his thanks. He had never exactly been the stoic type, but it would be humiliation past enduring to blubber in front of the Blythes. Much better to pretend indifference, waving silently rather than take the chance of speaking.

Faith turned once at the end of the hall and blew a kiss. And with that, they were gone.

"Isn't it time you two got going as well?" John drawled in his parents' general direction.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay a bit longer, sweetheart?" Mrs. Blythe asked. "Or take you and Carl to dinner, perhaps? We could all get to know one another."

"No," John said curtly. "We're fine. Really. You can go."

Mrs. Blythe looked to her husband, who gave a reluctant nod.

"Alright. But you call us if you need anything at all. Dad's just over at the hospital, and I can come by any time."

"I'll be fine, Mum."

"Don't forget Sunday dinner."

"We have orientation tomorrow."

"Next week, then."

"Ok."

"And let us know which courses you've decided on."

"Bye, Mum."

"Alright, we're going. We're so proud of you, sweetheart."

Carl swallowed again, watching John endure his parents' embraces. He knew why Father and Rosemary had to stay home, of course. They couldn't be running off to Kingsport at the start of every term, what with the congregation and the daycare families relying on them. But just for a minute, he wished that they had fussed over him like the Blythes fussed over John. Carl knew that they would rather he have a little cash in his wallet than spend that money on a hotel room, but he wasn't sure, in this moment, that he agreed.

"Bye, Dad," John was saying, tolerating a hearty hug from Dr. Blythe.

"Have a wonderful semester. Study hard, but not too hard!"

"Ok. Bye."

Dr. Blythe grabbed his jacket from the back of John's desk chair. As he swung it on, Carl blinked at the lapel pin: the unmistakable concentric rainbow circles of PFLAG Canada. He wasn't surprised that one of the Blythe kids was queer — really, there were enough of them that it would be stranger if they weren't. Blue-haired Di, maybe? But Carl was struck by the sight of Dr. Blythe wearing his PFLAG affiliation just as prominently as Mrs. Blythe wore her "PROUD REDMOND PARENT, CLASS OF 2020" pin. Just out in the open like that.

You're not in Glen St. Mary anymore.

With a last round of hugs and cheery waves to Carl, the Blythes disappeared through the door.

"Finally," John muttered.

With that, he swiped a handheld video game from his desk, popped in his earbuds, and flopped onto his bed without even the briefest glance in Carl's direction.

Carl turned back to his naked mattress. There were sheets in one of these boxes, those weird extra-long ones that only fit dorm beds. He had inherited them from Una, practically new. Carl did not relish the prospect of wrestling them awkwardly onto the bed while John looked on, though there was really no indication that his roommate had any interest in anything other than his screen. Nothing drew his attention, not even when Carl repositioned his desk, screeching it across the floor until it sat under one of the room's two windows. Yes, that was better. There was a green slope out there with a pretty little fir-lined path that ran down into the marshy outskirts of tiny silver pond. It looked like a good place to study.

For now, music. The phone had come with brand-new earbuds, which Carl uncoiled lovingly, savoring their sleek beauty. He was still almost afraid to touch the phone itself for fear he might mar it somehow. He'd need to get a case to keep it safe, but is seemed a sacrilege to blunt the rose gold curves. Did they make clear covers? Thin ones?

With Adele crooning in his ear, Carl busied himself, emptying the contents of his backpack into the desk and chewing his lip to keep from singing along. He could not help dancing a bit, bopping along silently as he unrolled his charging cables.

Despite his efforts to remain unobtrusive, Carl did need to cross to John's side of the room to hang up his shirts in the empty half of the closet. It was impossible not to notice John's wardrobe, even if Carl hadn't been curious, which he was. The somber row of shirts made even Carl's modest wardrobe of blues and greens look positively spritely, though Carl could not help noticing that there were some interesting jackets hiding in the back. The shoes looked promising as well, though they were partially obscured by the gigantic hockey bag taking up most of the floor.

It did not take long for Carl to unpack his worldly possessions. At home, his room was full of odds and ends — a mason jar full of sea glass, half a dozen shed snakeskins, a fan of feathers he'd collected in the Hollow — but he had left most of that behind, bringing only the black, sea-smoothed pebble he always kept in his pocket. He touched it for reassurance now, glad that it still felt the same in this alien place. Other things helped, too — the framed family photo on the corner of his desk, his confirmation Bible on the bookshelf, the Sunday shoes tucked under the edge of the bed. When it came to his little makeup bag, Carl hesitated. Should he put it right there on top of his dresser? Just out in the open like that? He darted a look at John and decided to shove it into the back of the drawer instead. More like home every minute.

*/*/*

Carl was nearly finished transferring clothes from his suitcase into the drawers of his dresser when someone knocked at the open door. John remained absorbed in his video game, but Carl looked up, only to feel his insides perform a now-familiar flop.

The man in the doorway was tall and athletic, dark-haired and gray-eyed, with clear brown skin several shades darker than John's. He carried a hockey bag big enough that Carl could have folded himself into it without much trouble. This was no freshman, judging by his air of casual amusement. As quickly as possible, Carl shoved the underwear he was holding into the drawer and slammed it shut.

The dark-haired man did not notice. He looked past Carl, shouting, "Yo, Blythe! You ready?"

For the first time since his parents had left, John looked up from his game.

"Just let me grab my stuff," he said, tossing it aside and hopping up from the bed.

"I told the guys to hold a spot for you on the roster," the man said, coming into the room. "First Years generally have to try out for intramurals, but I vouched for you."

"Thanks."

When John ducked into the closet, the man caught sight of Carl for the first time.

"Ken Ford," he said, extending a hand and unfurling a smile that could sell a million tubes of toothpaste.

"I'm Carl. John's roommate."

Ken wrinkled his nose. "Who's John?"

John reemerged with his bag and stick, using his free hand to clap Ken's shoulder in a gesture half-comradely, half-threatening. "I am. Try to keep up."

Ken shrugged. "Well, John and I go way back. Our families are old friends. I grew up with his older brothers, but now that Jem's got his nose buried in his medical books and Walter deserted me for parts unknown, I'm stuck with this jackass."

"You're perfectly free to leave me alone."

"I would, but we're short a defenseman."

John gave a grudging little snort. "Let's go."

Ken obliged, turning back into the hall. "See you later, Kyle," he called over his shoulder.

Reflexively, Carl put up a hand in a gesture of silent farewell, even as the door slammed shut.

Notes:

Thanks so much to all you lovely Guest reviewers! I cherish your reviews — thank you for taking the time to comment! I can't answer every question (except with an evil little laugh as I twirl my mustache) but here are a few answers:

- Sylvia will have some differences from her Dispatches/Happiness incarnation, but some things never change :)

- Definitely more Nan soon! There are 11 point-of-view characters in season 1, and Nan is one of them.

- I can promise lots of fun with Jem and Faith. I might have to publish an M-rated companion piece for this universe as well!