Sometimes when I close my eyes I feel like I’m back home.
I can hear mom and dad downstairs, idly going about their day as the birds outside chatter away. The sun shines in through the window that separates me from the swaying trees and the endless Saskatchewan skies. I’m reminded of a warm summer day, dozing off as I finally catch some rest after swimming in the lake. In an hour mom’ll have dinner ready and after eating with my family I’ll be free to spend the rest of the day with the people I love.
But when I open my eyes, my senses come back to me. Instead of rich cedar, I’m greeted with piss-yellow paint peeling from old concrete walls. The cramped room, like myself, is scattered and in complete disarray. The dishes from yesterday’s lunch sit unwashed on my tiny table and Plato’s Republic lies closed next to me, my page lost.
There’s no lake.
There’s no free food.
There’s no family.
I’m alone in my dorm, surrounded by people who all feel the same way.
Maybe we can be alone together.