What Does Emma Do All Day?

Emma and I met for the first time in high school, where she thought that I hated her. Whenever we meet a new person, Emma always tells them this and I always follow up with “I promise I didn’t.” Now, this repeated exchange feels like somewhat of a dance, a back and forth swaying that feels natural and needed. I always tell Emma that I would love to live inside her brain. I tell her that I promise I would decorate it nicely, with picture frames and a really comfy couch. Unfortunately, the technology to do this does not exist (yet!). So following her around for the day is the closest I can get. 

Emma’s first stop of the day is the kitchen, where she makes eggs and a bagel. Emma knows that I hate the smell of eggs, so she kindly texts me to beware. The kitchen in our apartment is not just a regular kitchen. Over the months, it has become a conference room, study area, debate hall, and gossip corner, with the occasional cooking of a meal. The kitchen is where we conduct whispering debriefs after late nights out and where we gather to tackle our homework as a collective force. Emma puts the carton of eggs back in the refrigerator. The fridge is covered with mementos; misspelled phrases, a picture of my brother with a mustache drawn on, fortune cookie sayings, an image of the Paw Patrol team. As someone who enjoys minimal distractions, it took me a long time to learn to appreciate these seemingly random objects. Now, I see that this is a makeshift collage of our relationship as roommates. 

After breakfast, we pick up Katja and drive to Emma’s parents house. The house is further into the mountains. We travel outside of the Boone bubble and into a foreign country, a land of ATV rides and gated communities. After spending some time in this magical realm, we have the sudden realization that we are technically adults with very adultish responsibilities. There are essays to write and discussion forums to respond to. Emma, Katja, and I drive back to the apartment, and sit outside on the patio to tackle the world and write some emails. As we work, in this parallel play environment, I suddenly feel at peace. Sitting outside with the sun on our faces as we exchange brief words of encouragement to each other, there is a momentary warmth. Everything feels lighter now. 

This peaceful experience is interrupted by a sudden rumbling of the stomach. Lunch time! We are back in the kitchen, where Emma decides to cook a burger. She uses the scratched up pan that we bought when we first moved in and realized we had nothing we needed in order to satisfy our basic needs. Walmart trips come often in this household, and are always accompanied by the purchase of random unnecessary items, like a Nerf Gun or an action figure version of Snoop Dogg dressed up as an elf. After lunch, it is time for more homework. This is what most Sundays look like, but I don’t really mind. The occasional conversational exchanges keep me going. One thing to know about Emma is that she always has something interesting to say. If I had a shrink ray, I would create a miniature Emma to sit on my shoulder. She might whisper me answers for a test or tell me when my fly is down. Mostly though, miniature Emma would say funny things that don’t really make sense but also make total sense. Comedic breaks like these act as sustenance for our friendship. We laugh at everything! Everything is a joke and that’s so beautiful. 

Emma’s final stop of the day is Taco Bell. Taco Bell is our ritualistic go-to. The drive through line is where we usually spill our guts. I’ll tell her all of my worries and all of my fears and all of the things that I can’t say when I’m not bathed in the red light emanating from the car in front of us. She’ll tell me the right things. Sometimes it’s the wrong things but that’s okay too. This is usually followed by a push and pull of who gets to play music. I push for “Booster Seat” by Spacey Jane. She pulls for Taylor Swift. We end up playing some combination of the two. This back and forth is so true to our nature. Emma and I are opposites in most ways. And yet, we are like alchemists, turning boredom into adventure whenever we get the chance. 

We’ve been roommates for two years now, and I think Emma is starting to trust that I don’t hate her. I’m not the type of person to really show outward affection. Saying “I love you” is awkward and makes my mouth feel funny. I have this big stinking fear that I’m being too cheesy, every day, all the time. I say it in other ways though, like by driving her to class when it’s raining, or by always picking her to be my pong partner. This narrative, which I may or may not show her, is another way of saying that she is important to me. Following Emma around all day, I realized how much I cherish time spent with her. Emma is graduating this semester and will be off in the world. New roommates will inhabit this space that was once just ours. The fridge mementos might disappear, the random trinkets may be thrown out, pots and pans will be replaced. I guess I don’t really know what will happen, where we’ll be, if we’ll still communicate regularly. All I know is that my new roommates have got big shoes to fill.