When I moved into Hobson hall, I was unaware of a great many things. I didn’t know, for example, that the metal bed frames groan loud enough to wake the dead, or that the water fountain outside my door has the best water on campus, or that sharing four showers with twenty other girls apparently means removing their hair from drains (why??).
I was also unaware that I was adopting two children.
Danielle is thirteen at heart – as likely to roll her eyes and huff out an, “I’m too old for this,” as she is to stick out her lip in the largest pout possible and whine, “but whhyyyy???” She shows her love through sarcasm and nonlethal glares. Like the weird Li Hing Mui powder that she keeps trying to get me to like, she is both salty and sweet (and a little strange).
Sarah is either a confused 8-year-old or a disillusioned 20-year-old, no in-betweens. When I find her staring out the window at the rain like the Californian that she is, I never know if she’s going to plaintively ask, “what even is this?” or flatly proclaim, “I’m done with this.” She giggles at unexpected things and can zone out of any and every conversation.
Danielle and Sarah live across the hall, and they frequently get my attention by calling me mom. What’s weirder? I respond to it. I have distributed cookies, kissed boo-boos, and ensured that Sarah’s boyfriend has safely exited the building before floor hours.
Annika, my roommate, is 100% the dad friend; she encourages goofy behavior, laughs at her own jokes, and is probably everyone’s favorite. The four of us make an odd little family. And we can joke all we want about moms and dads and kiddos, but at the end of the day, when we’re all crumpled on the ground, laughing until we’re crying over something ridiculous, well –
We’re really just 18 year olds, friends and sisters, making it through this crazy college journey one shared joke at a time.