Hadrian's Wall

by Felicia Jensen

  The food line was not too long. In fact, there were very few people in the cafeteria. The Verano party was probably the reason for the small turnout here. On the other hand, the students who were traveling elsewhere for the weekend would already have left too. I wondered how busy this place would be if there weren’t any other events happening at the same time. I bet it would be buzzing.

  The delicious aroma of the food whetted my appetite. I walked to the serving table, picked up a tray from the stack and got into line to wait for my turn. Although distracted by everything going on around me, I noticed the clerk’s nametag on her spotless white uniform. “Miss McCloskey.” When my turn came, she offered me a genuine smile.

  “Welcome to the McPherson House!” she said in a cheerful tone.

  Although most of the tables were empty, I felt like I was the “new kid” and it was my first day at a new school—isolated, yet the center of attention at the same time. It was surreal! As I walked around, trying to decide where to sit, people stopped eating and whispered to those around them. Then I heard Delilah calling me. When I looked around, I saw her perched on the edge of the central table, waving incessantly.

  With an exasperated sigh, I went to meet her. To be honest, I would have preferred to eat alone, in silence. I wanted to reflect on my day, but oh well! My “personal cycle” would never end in a satisfactory way, if I didn’t stop doing this, but in Delilah’s company, I would have to make an extra effort to be sociable.

  I greeted her with a forced smile and set my tray down beside her. Looking around, it occurred to me that Sally Benson could be close by, but it was obvious that I wouldn’t find her near Delilah Key.

  “You must be careful to choose the right place to sit.” She gestured at the other tables with her chin.

  “Why?” I frowned.

  “Well...It’s not very different from high school.” She gave a cynical laugh. “This is Freshmanland. I can’t wait to complete the first semester so I can leave this dreadful title behind.

  I stared at her blankly. Delilah rolled her eyes and pointed discreetly to the groups around us.

  “Each one has a group around here.” She began whispering. “See there, they’re the ‘undecided guys’—those who haven’t yet decided what they will do after college. If you ask what career they wish to follow, they have no clue. They were dubbed the “idle geniuses” by the teachers because they do a lot of things well in various areas, but no specific course. They are more complacent, less worried about compromises. They are trying to live an easy life.

  All I saw before me was a bunch of guys and girls playing with their food and laughing at each other. Nothing more.

  She moved closer to me, staring at the opposite side of the room from beneath her thick lashes. “Up ahead, see? It’s ‘the intellectuals’—those who...” She paused dramatically for effect. “...prefer to ‘dissect’ the verb. They call themselves ‘analytical thinkers’ and brandish the flag of the letters, philosophy, psychology, political sciences, whatever. They promote deep discussions about human nature...although they don’t look very human sometimes.” She giggled. “These people are always on Facebook, Twitter, Cyberwall, and on Thursdays, they’re always at the new BP bar in the high town.”

  Cyberwall...was that the University’s social network? I opened my mouth to ask, but I changed my mind. Delilah would make a speech about it and I was too tired to listen. I could look into it later. I was more interested in hearing about this supposed “caste system” amongst the freshmen.

  Unlike the “undecided group,” the people Delilah defined as “the intellectuals” were fully identifiable by their look. Immediately, I saw a guy with a goatee, wearing a red plaid beret. Another guy was focused on a toothpick—as if creating a preposterous theory for its existence.

  Delilah’s words were beginning to influence my super imagination. I shook my head, worried.

  “The staff of ‘let’s get cracking’ should be at the next table, but most of them are probably at Verano’s party,” Delilah said with disdain.

  “Sally Benson’s people—adventurers, sportsmen, mechanics, and lab rats who eventually blow up their parents’ garage. They’re a ‘mix’ of people—the guys from engineering and architecture to veterinary and physical education. Everything that involves, you know, ‘hands on’ or ‘go getter’ stuff. Some of them are always around, picking up litter and scraps for their crazy inventions, especially the team working on the Sally’s race car,” she gestured again. “The races are her biggest hobby—Indy 500 and Paris-Dakar... you know, racing places.

  Right. I’d watched the re-run of Days of Thunder with Tom Cruise, so I had some idea.

  Delilah turned and discreetly pointed to another group. “The ‘bohemian guys’ like Dwayne usually sit over there. They’re musicians...artists, so technically, you should be there with them.”

  I cast her a sidelong glance. I didn’t seeing myself as a “bohemian” girl. Certainly, if the guys create the ‘survivors’ group’ I’d most certainly fit in well, but never a “bohemian” girl.

  “Here, where we are, is my space. Got it?” She was positively beaming. “It’s where the college celebrities sit—stylists, at last, the people who want to do interior design, publicity, theater, cinema, journalism...”

  I sat up straight.

  “Joe Verano sits at this table?” I asked, realizing that my voice sounded strident. I’d spend my whole year eating in my bedroom, just to avoid bumping into him.

  She looked at me strangely. “He would sit here, if he were a freshman...and if there had been a vacancy but that’s not the case in both situations. You can rest assured that your paths likely never cross again, unless he comes here to visit someone. We have some freshmen here whose dream is to join one of the fraternities.” She rolled her eyes. “Some of the freshmen who live at McPherson House are recruited by empirical fraternity guys.”

  “So Joe Verano is the President of Empirical?”

  “Strange that you should ask...” She looked down at her plate.

  “Why?” I nervously rubbed my hands on my jeans.

  “Because I don’t understand the power he wields within the fraternity,” she answered. “Nobody ever said that Joe Verano is the president, but obviously the guy is influential.” She folded her napkin and casually placed it beside her plate.

  We were silent for a moment, taking the opportunity to observe people at other tables. They talked quietly, oblivious to our scrutiny. No one else seemed affected by my presence. What a relief!

  “Oh, I can’t forget the ‘boring’ people. They rarely appear to eat, but when they do, they sit right there.” Her finger crossed in front of my nose as she pointed. “Sitting with them is social suicide.”

  Really? Would I become Cady Heron in Mean Girls? Except the “queen bee” of my life could only be Asia Chadwick, not Rachel McAdams.

  “And who are the ‘boring’ people?” I asked, not letting the conversation die.

  “C’mon... the ‘scientists’... or rather the ‘aspiring scientists.’ They like Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Math...blah, blah, blah!”

  “I thought Sally’s folks are…”

  “No, sweetheart. Even in science there are class distinctions. The ‘boring’ people are the elite. The ‘let’s get cracking’ ones are the plebeians. You know, the old quarrel between theory and practice.”

  I laughed and then resumed looking around. Suddenly, at the end of the last table, I spotted a familiar face, but I couldn’t recall where I’d met him.

  “And there...who’s that?”

  Delilah looked in direction I indicated.

  “Oh...Gibbs is alone today. Typically, the ‘aspiring to lab coats’ sit in that corner.

  Sure! Now I remember! The guy who stumbled on his shoelaces in the hospital.

  “People say that the ‘medical group’ begins large and soon gets smaller. The goal of the course is inhuman. See that among them, only the best of the best who come here mak
e it this far.

  Best of the best! I pursed my lips.

  It seemed amazing that within just a few weeks, the groups were already formed, as if they’d been together all their lives. I shouldn’t be surprised because it was the same during my earlier school days. At the beginning of the semester, “the freaks”—I was one of them—had to sit in the back row of the cafeteria where we wouldn’t offend anyone’s sensibilities.

  “Today, you’ll experience the McPherson House chow for the first time.” She grimaced when she said “chow” and pointed at her plate.

  I had completely forgotten about the food in front of me. I unwrapped the silverware and took a small bite of mashed potatoes. Contrary to what she said, it was delicious.

  “Nothing like food from home,” she sighed wistfully.

  As I had no home, I had no idea what I was missing.

  Suddenly, Derek Spencer set his tray down beside mine and sat down. He gave me a shy smile. I was surprised to see him there because someone had told me that he rarely left the music room.

  “Hi! Is it okay if I have dinner with you?”

  “Sure!” I said, forgetting Delilah’s rules about spaces. When I remembered, it was too late.

  Moreover, I always considered the “delimitation of territories” to be bullshit! Maybe because I was one of the excluded people or perhaps because the young cliques from school lived only for themselves in a make-believe world that was too mediocre for my standards. The fact is that I’ve always hated this kind of discrimination. What was the harm if I wanted to sit down with “the boring” or “the analytical thinkers" or “the let’s cracking”? It’s definitely much better than having to go through life having as a point of departure and arrival only one way of seeing things.

  Delilah was appalled by the “invasion” of her “territory”; however, she didn’t send Derek to sit with the Bohemians. Moreover, we hardly could fit Derek in that category. If one were to classify him, I’d say he was more a mixture of “intellectual” and “boring.” Poor guy!

  He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and smiled awkwardly. “So, what did you think of your first day here?” he asked, glancing at me.

  Wow! He was really trying to be...sociable. Delilah was so amazed she was speechless. If Derek Spencer was not considered an example of sympathy, at least at the present time, he was showing the opposite side.

  I started to talk about my impressions and the conversation flowed. Delilah seemed to relax, even overlooking the “division” of spaces, but then Sally Benson joined us and Delilah was again on guard.

  To me it didn’t seem natural for Sally to seek Delilah’s company. She must be feeling very vulnerable. Most of her colleagues were at the Verano party and after everything we’d gone through earlier, it was likely that she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night alone. That meant a truce between them...at least for today.

  When Sally announced that she had seen pictures of the party which already were circulating on the Internet, Delilah tugged her T-shirt sleeve and made her sit between us. Sally picked up her cell phone so that we could see the images that had come via the web blog.

  Thus inclined and concentrated, we formed a curious picture. I only realized this when I heard Derek Spencer laugh.

  “Girls, girls! Why did you leave the party if you’re so interested in knowing what’s happening there?”

  “Long story,” I replied without looking away from the small screen.

  After a few seconds, he pushed his plate aside, got up, and came to stand behind us.

  “I surrender myself to female curiosity,” he cleverly justified as he leaned over our heads to be able to see better.

  Judging by the images, the party was a hit! Guys and girls were laughing, dancing, swimming, talking. I saw a photo of Dwayne and Abby. They were holding each other, eye to eye, near the fire.

  “Wow! Look at the couple of the year!” Sally exclaimed.

  In another photo, Dwayne and Abby made a “V” with their fingers, laughing for the Nikos Tripopoulos as he took their picture with his phone’s camera. How had he managed to keep his phone dry when he leaped into the Bluewater?” I asked, puzzled. Oh, sure, when the fraternity staff brought the cars around and parked them on the other side, he must have gone to his to get his phone.

  “Why didn’t Abby tell me what was going on?” Delilah muttered, more to herself.

  Sally did not miss her remark. “It just so happens that you’ve had other priorities lately.”

  Delilah cleared her throat, looking at the empty plate.

  Sally’s comment and Delilah’s discomfort provoked my curiosity; however, Derek pointed at a friend of his in the images, which distracted me.

  He quickly lost interest. For someone so involved with his music, he should see this situation as superficial, even dull, so I wasn’t surprised when he returned to his seat and started talking to me about his musical routine at the university.

  Sally and Delilah were so excited about the pictures that they paid no attention to us. I’d seen enough, so I focused on what he told me. I soon learned that Derek was adding some classes for his B.A. degree and therefore was carrying a heavier load than most freshmen, except for “the lab coats.”

  At a certain point, he asked me about what classes I wanted to take. That question caught me off guard. I explained that I’d receive my proposed class schedule on Monday. If he thought that was odd, he didn’t react. He knew how to be more discreet than most of the freshmen that I’d met so far.

  Derek explained how the system works with regard to the common courses that are in much demand and if I understood him correctly, we could get some classes together, that is, if I passed the entrance exam and was admitted to the university and if he could meet the goals for which he had committed.

  Next semester, I would be the freshman of the freshmen. It’s going to be great!

  Delilah was right when she described Derek as a musical prodigy. Indeed, it was a trace of geniality in all of my new colleagues, each one stood out in a particular area of expertise that made me feel the weight of my inferiority.

  I was not good at anything. How could I compare myself to those guys? Even Delilah...behind her superficial mannerisms was a girl who knew about combinations and cuts of tissues. If she wanted to be a fashion designer, she certainly had all the requirements for it.

  Delilah and Sally hung up their respectively phones almost at the same time, having passed the images they’d received on to their respective social network pals. Among the laughter and jokes, the conversation became light, but then, the family “theme” came up.

  This kind of subject is always an embarrassment to me, yet I was accustomed to pass. I mean, I always felt like crap before the happiness of others. So, again, I was exercising the art of avoiding critical conversations, remaining apart from others as much as possible. No one noticed because they were too busy talking about their successful relatives or about the expectations weighing on their shoulders... Suddenly, they began to give outlandish examples about their parents’ protectiveness. I heard, between distraction and fun...until suddenly, Derek turned to me and asked, “What about you, Melissa? Have your parents been nagging you, too?”

  Like a flash, I remembered my father dying in a hospital bed. I remembered the loving manner in which he stroked my hair...and how my mother looked at me with anger when she saw us sitting together.

  “Well, I guess all parents are protectors, one way or another.” I shrugged. Scored top marks for diplomacy, girl!

  “Oh, my daddy is quiet, but my mother is unbeatable in terms of being overly protective,” Delilah replied. “Believe me, Mrs. Alexander Key calls me three times a day. It’s no picnic! Even today, before bedtime, the phone will ring one last time and if I don’t answer, she’ll back her Mercedes out of the garage and drive all night to get here, just to see with her own eyes that I’m okay.”

  Derek laughed incredulously.

  “After the accident,
I don’t doubt it,” Sally commented.

  What accident? Before I could ask, Delilah turned to me.

  “How is your mother, Mel?”

  Oh, damn! I was back in the limelight.

  “I lost both my parents when I was very young.” Could a half truth appease their curiosity?

  The silence enveloped us.

  “I’m sorry.” Derek was the first to manifest.

  “Don’t mourn,” I replied with a grin. “It’s been a long time!”

  The rest of the meal, thank God, was milder. The conversation revolved around trivial things: television, movies, games...but when we embarked into the field of music, Derek strongly was opposed to our favorite bands in order to make the most of the opportunity to defend classical music.

  “Ah, but I already got you listening to Queen,” Delilah said in a playful and accusatory tone.

  Derek raised an eyebrow. “Queen is different. Queen is Queen. Do you know that Freddie Mercury was a great fan of opera?”

  “And did you know that the theater and the opera had been popular in earlier times?” I asked, ready to finish the brawl between classical and popular. However, that remark put me on the firing line. “Once, I read on the Internet that meanings assigned to certain cultural activities determinate over the centuries if they belonged to the elite or to the plebe. There were occasions when both, erudite and popular ‘products’ became accessible to all castes because they did not have the same meaning they have today.

  For example, the opera was as much for the Renaissance’s beginning as hip-hop is for today.”

  Sally exchanged a look of awe with Delilah, who mimed the word “Wow!”

  “To distract the people...” I went on, excited about the idea of not wasting my chance to score points among “the wonder minds” of UWall “...the musical pieces were staged and shown in theaters, where the nobles hardly dare to enter, but in those cases, there were special presentations to the noblesse, too,” I added, just in time. “Is it not always like that? Today, some practice receives value and reaches a part of the population; tomorrow the market changes, expanding or shrinking, depending on the interests that are beyond our imagination, eager for fun. From time to time, music becomes erudite or classical. Assign values to them because of the traditions is commonplace in history.