I Love College... by Natalie Koly (feel good books .txt) 📖

Nearly a dozen jet-black, four-wheeled, “Easy Travel That Rolls on Gravel” suitcases were neatly stacked along the front door’s walkway. Mom and dad were frantically searching through the house, determined to find something that could have been forgotten; seemed as if it were a challenge, and the winner would forever be granted the power to dangle such a victory in the other’s face, as a “told you” or “remember last time” type of ploy. Uninterested in taking part in the so-called scavenger hunt, I stood impatiently, guarding my bags while gazing intently out the fingerprint-covered window.
A few minutes had passed and there had been no sign of human life outside of the four walls with which caged me in. Figuring that staring out the window would only delay my departure, I let out a sigh and turned around in hopes to redirect my attention. Turning around, I couldn’t help but acknowledge my sister in the distance. Her lengthy, fake, blonde hair draped down her shoulders, lightly brushing against her cheek as she kneeled over an assortment of packing material.


Like most people during moving days, my sister had gone above and beyond to give off the impression that she was busy helping out. Although being annoyed at the fact that she wasn’t really doing much of anything, I did have an underlying appreciation for her skills. Not skills in the sense of her knack at packing like a pro, but rather her skills in having the ability to create the illusion of furious work activity; she practically had it down to an art form, mainly by taking on the role as “director” as she bossed around anyone holding a box. I even believe she quoted Shakespeare with the whole "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, followed by an evil laugh with a mutter under her breath of “and I’m the coach”.



Growing with anticipation, I returned my attention to the window, only this time, there was the taxi. It’s vibrant, orange paint stuck out like a sore thumb as it glistened in the blistering sun, parked parallel to the grass that had been taken over by the infamous chinch bugs. I swung open the door as an adrenaline rush took over my body, which explains why in all the excitement I failed to bring any of my luggage out to the car; so there I stood, empty handed with a look of confusion written all over my face. Soon to follow me were my parents, both managing to bring out all my bags in one trip.
Tears rolled down my mom and dad’s faces as we said our final goodbyes. My dad leaned into the unrolled window of the passenger’s seat and told the driver “Tampa International, please”, and with a swift smack along the top of the taxi, I was on my way. Normally I’m one to be shy around a stranger, but once again, the excitement had just gotten the best of me. So of course, I found myself to start singing along with the radio.
“Making my way down town, walking fast, faces pass and I’m hom-”, but before I could even finish the first verse, the taxi driver had turned the radio off. As a sort of reflex, I looked into the car mirror and our eyes met. If that wasn’t awkward enough, we began to engage in what seemed to be the most embarrassing conversation of my life.
Feeling as though he had to explain his actions, the driver said “The radio uses up gas.”
“Oh, yeah I understand. How ‘bout those gas prices, huh? Do you know what the deal with the oil situation is over there?” I replied, unknowingly insulting the man.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Because I’m middle eastern?”
“No no no, I just figured driving all the time you would maybe know what’s going on. But um I can get out here. Yeah, right here is fine. Perfect, I love crossing the street.”
And with that, came the screeching halt of the taxi. As quickly as I could, I gathered all my bags and began hauling buns to the nearest entrance, throwing my money through the taxi’s window, not even glancing back at the man. Once in the airport, things really seemed to take off, no pun intended. My bags were checked without a hassle and I was being boarded on to the plane in less than twenty minutes. I thought to myself “This is going to be a great trip”, and that’s when things changed.

I got onto the plane, surrounded in chaos as everyone was eager to find their seat and get settled. Pacing around, I finally was able to identify my row. Already sitting there was an elderly woman; she looked like your typical grandma with her cotton-knit sweater, and curly, snow white afro atop her head, accompanied by glasses with thick, square lenses practically the size of a sliding glass door.
Through a few pushes and some excuse me’s, I managed to make my way to my aisle seat. The elderly woman extended her arm as she introduced herself. Although it was a nice gesture, I was hesitant to shake her hand, considering planes are not necessarily a germ free place. But, regardless of the germ issue, I returned the gesture and also introduced myself. It wasn’t long before the woman started talking to me about her life story and how her grandchildren are threatening to put her in a home if she keeps trying to poison their food. Apparently, one day she made them dinner and one of the kids noticed Drano on the stove, but she claimed the allegations to be erroneous.
Obviously after that little over share, it was only right for the flight attendant to wheel out our food on the shaky cart in terrible need of some WD-40. Along with my meal, the flight attendant had handed me a “spork”. For what reason, I am still not sure, since the meal consisted only of a sandwich and a beverage, no need for a stab then scoop device.
Halfway through our meal, I noticed Mary, the elderly woman, start to unbuckle her seat belt and begin to make way to the overhead compartment where her baggage was being held. She was rifling through her belongings for a good five minutes before she burst out saying “Found it!” and slammed the compartment back shut. Walking back to her seat, she carried what looked to be a pair of socks. They were red and blue, baby socks with a collage of old time, famous Cub baseball players on them with white stitching.
Mary grabbed my hand as she said “These socks belonged to Sammy Sosa when he was a youngster.”
Puzzled, I asked “Why would you have Sammy Sosa’s baby socks?”
She squeezed my hand and closed her eyes, “I used to baby-sit him when his parents were struggling to take care of their other four children at the time. This is the only memory left that I have of him, for I’m too old to go see any of his games. But, as a new comer to Chicago, I want you to have them. My children wouldn‘t appreciate them."
Appreciative, I thanked her repeatedly throughout the rest of the flight, even when we went our separate ways. Now the time had come to make my way to the University of Chicago, unlike my first taxi ride, the second time was more relaxing, and in no time I was making my way up to the dormitory. On the way up there, I was so flabbergasted at the sight of the campus. It reminded me of a castle with its neo-Gothic architecture, surrounded by a countless number of trees swaying in the wind. I dropped my bags off in my dorm immediately and started heading back out to do some sightseeing around the famous Hyde Park neighborhood.


Included in the neighborhood was the Museum of Science and Industry. They had recently just put in a new edition to the museum, Harry Potter: The Exhibition. The exhibit could make any forthright, anti wizard person turn into a hypocrite, for it instantly inspires a newfound love of the craftsmanship in the many authentic, artifacts displayed, which had been used throughout the films.
With all the wizardry craze, the time flew by and the museum was getting ready to close. Rather than continue my site searching, I decided to return back to the dorm and get acquainted with my roommate. As soon as I walk in, I become terrified and let out a scream.
My roommate enters the room and all concerned she asks “What’s wrong? What happened?”
With my voice shaking I tell her “There’s a rat on the floor!”
Picking the animal up she says, “That’s no rat! It’s my pet ferret, Freddy.”
“Oh, my bad. Wait, what is Freddy wearing?”



To my surprise, Freddy the ferret had been wearing the exact same socks that Mary had given me. It turned out that Mary was a habitual liar who had never baby-sat for Sammy Sosa and probably did poison her own kids. She, along with many other Chicago tourists, had just invested in a tourist souvenir on her earlier trips. It was an odd ending to a hectic day, but as Shakespeare said it, "I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it".

Text: Google Images, hallmark
Publication Date: 02-12-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
For my parents, who always asked if I was on drugs.