White Dew
Before graduation, the five of us decide to rent a four-bedroom apartment together.
My older brother, Brandon Wiley, takes the master bedroom with the balcony. My childhood friend, Ricky Sparks, who streams for a living, claims the most soundproof room. My boyfriend, Gerard Albon, says he's swamped with work and needs a room that doubles as an office. And the bedroom with the best natural light goes to my best friend, Joan Corbet.
No one asks where I'm supposed to sleep.
Joan offers to share her room with me, but Brandon shuts it down at once. "Joan is a light sleeper."
Ricky says, "Cynthia can sleep anywhere. She's been doing it since she was a kid. We can buy a sofa bed for the living room."
Gerard nods. "She gets up early anyway, so the living room is perfect. She can make breakfast for everyone."
They remember that Joan is a light sleeper. They forget why I've had to learn to sleep anywhere.
When I was 17 years old, Brandon had to repeat a year and needed a quiet room to study, so I gave up my bedroom and slept in the living room for a whole year.
At 19, I stayed up countless nights with Ricky while he streamed.
At 20, when Joan couldn't sleep, I held her hand and sat with her until dawn.
At 21, when Gerard had an internship in another city, I took a six-hour train ride just to bring him medicine for his fever.
For five years, I gave up my bed, my time, and my own needs for them. So of course, they expect me to give in yet again.
The rent is 4,000 dollars a month. I have paid the security deposit and agreed to cover half the rent, with the other four splitting the rest. And still, everyone gets a room except me.
The real estate agent hands me the lease and asks me to sign as the primary tenant.
Brandon urges me to hurry. "Come on. Joan is waiting to pick out the curtains."
I take the pen, cross out my name, and hand the lease back. "I'm not renting this place anymore."
I'm going to find a place where I have a room of my own.