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The building we pulled up to didn't look much like home. It struck me as more of a miniature hotel. I scanned the row of windows lined up perfectly and symmetrically on both sides of the building's third story like a configuration of soldiers, wondering which one would be my new home for the next nine months as a College  

freshman

 .

My sister Alison stirred in the seat next to me and pried open her eyelids from a neck-wrenching stint of sleep in the passenger's seat. "Are we here already?" she asked, wiping a spot of slobber from the corner of her mouth. She looked how she always did after waking up--mouth drooling, face with a confused, sleepy look like the newborn animals you see on the Discovery Channel. Man--I thought, as I looked at her rubbing the sleep from her eyes--I'm going to miss that face.

The fresh, blustery August air was warm but very dry, the kind that wrings out the moisture from your nose and mouth with every breath. But it felt good after the two-hour drive, as I stepped out of the car to flex and stretch my legs. I peeled the sweat-soaked seat of my khaki shorts and the back of my gray shirt away from my body and fanned my shirt repeatedly to dry out the sweat puddle that had turned my back a deep shade of ash gray. We both retrieved a few bags from the trunk and slung them over our shoulders. The snug Dave Matthews T-shirt was now even tighter against my freckled reddish-tan skin as we headed for the propped-open double doors.

A gust of hot air followed us in to the lobby of Elsey Hall as I stepped up to the freshman registration table underneath a paper sign with "H-Q" scrawled on it. "Name, please?" chirped the girl behind the table, who was far too perky for the 8 a.m. check-in. "Perkins," I said. "First name's Brendan."

"Name, please?" The phrase replayed in my head. At this point in my life I wasn't used to people not knowing my name--I was pretty well-known in the sleepy community of Huntington, IN. I could roam the halls of my high school of 2,200 and not be stopped by even the most unforgiving teacher, but now, as a freshman, I had to explain myself to everyone again.

We continued up the stairs and stopped off at the third floor. Bags in tow, I trudged down the hall, dragging the front of my shoes along the rigid, color-speckled gray carpet. Pretty impressive, I thought as I scoped out the hall. It was much more impressive than some of the freshman dorms I had seen, whose damp, yellowed, cold brick features more closely resembled a fallout shelter. But this one was different--the white-painted walls were tall and lacked any visible marks of college dorm abuse. Bulky metal handles were attached to large wooden doors aligned perfectly across from each other all the way down the hall. There were even Braille markings underneath each room number marking. How modern, in a politically correct sort of way.

I followed the pendulum swings of my sister's dishwater blond hair down to Room 310. I went for my pocket to retrieve the key, but looked up to find someone had beat me to it, as the door had been propped open by a clothes-filled garbage can. I took a step and a half inside the room and stopped in the door, assessing my new 12-by-13 home. A breeze blew through the sliding screened-in window past a bare desk, chair, and set of dresser drawers. The only other furnishing in the room was the pre-bunked half of a bed with a dingy, powder blue striped mattress that reeked of the '70s. My own glorified jail cell, I thought, as my bags gave an echoing thud on the tile floor.

"Oh hi, I'm Russ' mom." My attention shot across to the back corner of the room, where a tiny, bony-faced woman unloaded some books from a box. She brushed sweaty strands of stringy hair over her ears as she walked over to introduce herself. "Donnie's down getting another load," she continued.

I had talked to this kid on the phone before, but we were pretty much still total strangers. I had talked to him long enough to know he was an only child, he wrestled in high school, and he was going to bring a TV. Just a few minutes, I thought, until I meet the person that would either become my first college friend or make my life a living hell for the rest of freshman year. I began to jettison things from my bags, displacing them but not putting them away. Nervous habit, I guess. The uneasiness I felt was no longer due to the pestering butterflies brought about by a trip to the dentist; now it was the stomach-lining-eating fear of the unknown. The paralyzing fear was making me nauseous. I sat down on the bed, put my head in my hands and started massaging my head.

"I got the last load, Mom. I think that's all of it." I cocked my head, using my best deductive skills to realize this was probably going to be The Roommate. "Dad's bringing up the refrigerator, and that's the last of it."

So this was Russ. Looks normal for the most part, I thought. He had nonthreatening and soft, cartoon character-like facial features, which were accented by his short, dirt-black hair. But there was something definitely wrong with him. There had to be. Maybe it was his nasally voice, or the way he walked with his feet pointed outward, kind of like a duck. Could it be his flabby knees exposed by his shorts that always rode the sides of his legs? I could have it worse, I reasoned, judging by the freak-show-worthy characters that were moving into rooms on both sides of mine.

I went back to unloading my things and to thinking how we could transform this room into something at least a step above depressing. I was actually excited for my Parents to arrive; I didn't want to ride down with them because I knew they would make me nervous. But now I really needed the reassurance. The ride down had been rough. Not usually one to show much emotion, it felt weird when I cried a little as I turned out the light to my room, and as I drove away from my house. I thought a lot about the future on the ruler-straight drive down I-69. It also kind of scared me to know I could fit all my earthly belongings into my little white Mazda that wasn't even big enough to have four doors. That nervous feeling gnawed at me with every load I displaced from my car to Room 310. Securing the elevator wasn't really an option on move-in day, so I resorted to hauling everything up the stairs. I weaved through the stairwells and the halls, past dads in tube socks bogged down with TVs and refrigerators and moms toting around pillows and bedsheets. The new residents of Elsey 3rd were all reluctant at first--we scoped one another out like mobsters at a poker game, doing a lot of looking, but not a lot of talking.

After the rest of my things had been unloaded, we decided to make a Burger King run. Food will make me feel better, I thought. It has to. Not quite. I couldn't even stomach a Croissanwich and an orange juice--I nibbled the edges of the sandwich and swirled swigs of juice in my mouth before choking it down like bitter cough syrup. At least one good thing happened--my parents were there when we got back to my room.

"How you doin', bud?" I hadn't given much thought to my dad's typical greeting and hug in the last couple of years. Now that I knew I wouldn't see it for a while, I wished I had appreciated it more. "Pretty good," I managed weakly, eyes on the tile squares as a knot grew in my throat. I shot a glance at my mom. No sadness in her eyes. Always trying to be reassuring, I thought. Why isn't she as terrified about this as I am? Doesn't she know what I'm going through?

"Just a few more things in the car," my dad concluded, after we had transformed the room into something at least resembling a presentable living situation. "Let's go for it."

I stood in the grass, trying to balance a desk lamp and a clutter of rolled-up posters. The doors of my parents' blue station wagon were still swung open, and I just wanted to get in and drive away, or at least have my parents take me with them. It was hitting me hard and fast. I was T minus 60 seconds from being all on my own. I felt a tiny stream of sweat trickle down my back again, and I could feel my heartbeat move up to my head. "Well, bud..."

Oh my God, this was it. My dad was beginning his final farewell, and I didn't hear much of anything after those first two words. After a while he stopped, gave me a ring-crushing handshake and pulled me into a gripping bear hug. Okay, that was easy. But now for my mom. This could be ugly. After all, she was the one in the front row of the movie theater blubbering all through "Father of the Bride."

"Be good," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I know you'll do great." She barreled into me with a crushing hug, as I wrapped my arms around her to where her mop of brown hair met her shoulders. They ambled for the car, and I just remained standing on the sidewalk. "We'll see you soon," my dad said in a shaky voice as they disappeared into the car. I continued to stand there, watching their car pull away. First the familiar numbers of their license plate melted away, then the car disappeared. I kept my eyes focused, half expecting to see the car come back. After a few seconds, I turned and headed once again for the double doors of the dorm.

***

"See you, Perkins. Have a good one. Still up for Cedar Point next week?" I looked up from stuffing a beanbag chair in between two bins of clothes to see Jason's face through his car window as he shouted at me while balancing a cigarette in his mouth at the same time. "Yeah, I'm definitely in. Give me a call."

It's nine months later, and again I have that queasy feeling in my stomach. Room 310 gradually evolved into home during freshman year, and saying goodbye to all my friends was like deserting family members. I looked up at the third floor, just as I had the first day.

A lot went on there over freshman year. All-night cram sessions, Tuesday-night parties prompting neighbors to whine to the R.A., and plenty of TV-watching and PlayStation tournaments that necessitated frantic, last-second studying. It'll happen again, I thought. Just not until next fall. I pulled out of the parking lot for the final time with the same dreadful feeling. I was going back home to a Job I already dreaded, and it was going to be just my parents and me at home again, since my sister found work in Philadelphia. A lonely summer ensued, and I already had the August move-in date memorized. There it goes, I thought. Goodbye, home. There was that feeling coming back again, that feeling of me being pulled away from my perfect situation, my comfort zone.

And I thought I would experience that just once in college.

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