May 2015

When I Am Bored, I Send a Random Text Reading, "I Hid the Body—Now What?"

It's amazing the amount of crap you can accumulate when you're off at college. I did it. Ray did it. (Boy, did he ever.) Charlie was doing it.

When she went off to college, we took the new-to-her-formerly-Ev's Saturn wagon and Ev's Prius and crammed Ev, Lily, Charlie, Lexi and yours truly plus all of Charlie's possessions in the various nooks and crannies. After unloading everything, we made a caravan trip to Target for new necessities—including a "dorm" fridge and two bookcases. Moving back home for the summer was going to take a larger vehicle.

(Back when I had a truck, my brother gave me a great bumper sticker: Yes, I have a truck. No, I won't help you move! Yeah, yeah—I did anyway. Though, one time I joked with a friend that the weekend she was going to move in the not too distant future, I was going to be sick and the truck was going to be in the shop. You guessed it—I was sick and the truck was in the shop.)

Being a Tetris champ, I can jam and cram stuff like nobody else. We got everything shoved into the two vehicles by lunchtime and we were both ready for food. (Fortunately, her cat, Sherman (who was smuggled into school at the beginning of the year), had been brought home over winter break.)

"The food is actually quite palatable," Charlie reassured me as we crossed the campus. I was a little doubtful; when I had been a student here, my forays into the commissary had been few and far between and a matter of desperation. I was attending on a scholarship, which didn't include a meal plan; my parents, remembering their cafeteria days (and hearing Ray's stories) opted for the lowest meal plan and instead put regular donations in my bank account. Occasionally I would slog through the cafeteria; it didn't kill me, but it was far from a five star restaurant.

"You win," I admitted. I had actually been impressed. Gone was the cafeteria that was a slight step above the one in high school. In its place was a collection of pods around a central eating area: a per-ounce salad bar, a Subway-type sandwich shop, a made-to-order pizza place, a breakfast only bar, and a packed location tagged "Mom's Kitchen." We had opted for the uncrowded not-Subway, where I had one of the best roast beet sandwiches in my life.

"Mom's is like eating in a restaurant from Pleasantville. Pot roast. Meatloaf. Fried chicken. All classic, vintage eats. They're always crowded, but the turnover is rapid. As is Wake Up and Smell the Coffee. When I return in the fall, we must schedule time for eating at both establishments."

"I'm game." We made our way back out and I marveled at the changes a mere quarter century had wrought.

"The only thing constant is change," Charlie chirped.

"Except from a vending machine."

Charlie grabbed my hand and tugged, acting more like 7 year old Lexi than her 17 year old self. "You'll love this!"

We wound our way through the paths until we reached the Computer Science complex. The entire building was surrounded with a cinder block wall with a solid gate at one end—almost like a cheap Jurassic Park enclosure.

"They decided the CS offices were inadequate and planned to add another twenty spaces, as well as new classrooms and lecture halls. The last class was last Wednesday. Faculty and staff emptied the building over the weekend, and Sunday night this temporary blockade was erected."

Bricks were not mortared in place; it looked like rebar and dirt were holding everything together.

"Then the next night some wag added…a bit of literary decoration."

I stopped next to her and followed her pointing finger. Someone, using bright safety orange colored chalk, had inscribed—with the last letters straggling at a shaky, downward angle:

"For the love of god, Montresor!"

It's nice to know that at least one person on campus was reading more than comic books.

As we ambled back to the dorm, I oh-so-casually asked, "How long is this supposed to go on? The construction?"

"All summer. If they stay on target and budget—" She smiled at my derisive snort. "—they should finish two weeks before the semester starts." She stopped and gave me a speculative look. "What deviltry do you have in mind?"

I sometimes forget that she's known me almost half her life. "I was just thinking…one of the plastic skeletons I use to decorate at the store for Halloween is missing a few bones. Rather than just throw him in the trash, perhaps we should dress him in tatters and toss him over the wall—right before they finish the job?"

"And if they've removed the signage, we can replace it." She grinned. "And perhaps add an empty wine bottle relabeled Amontillado?"

At least the next time we play "con you top this," Charlie will have her own stories to tell. I just hope Lexi doesn't!