Finding Tom (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

A Strange New World

AT LAST, THE DAY ARRIVED
for me to depart. Throwing all of my worldly belongings into two worn leather suitcases, I was ready to go. My father had refused to take the day off to see me go, so I swung by the store to say goodbye. We both stood awkwardly before I went to give him a hug. He stuck out his hand instead. His cold, crushing grip swallowed my hand. “Be safe now, and don’t get into trouble.” I looked at him and saw a man drowning in whiskey and sorrows. Paralyzed by his pain and inability to address his emotions, he stood there stiff and tall. There were no exchanges of “I love you” or any pleasant farewells—just silence and a crushing grip. A customer came into the store, and we dropped hands. I picked up my bags and walked out the door. There was no looking back.

When I arrived at Locklear, I followed the swarms of students and parents, brothers and sisters, and nephews and nieces all moving toward the campus. The world was a giant hullabaloo of conversations and cars honking and people slowly trudging along sidewalks with overstuffed suitcases and all sorts of odds and ends. Coming to college was a true family affair, but there, in the middle of the chaos, I walked alone with my bags in hand.

As I came around a corner, Locklear University rose before me, situated elegantly on a hill overlooking the quaint town. A large stone arch stood at the entrance to the lower grounds, while cobblestone walkways wound their way up the hill, converging at an enormous chapel. Oh, that chapel, that breathtaking bastion of gray hewn stone rising into the sky, seemed to rest just beneath the clouds. Its drab walls were covered in stained glass that appeared to light up as if on fire when struck by the sun. The rest of the crowd shoved past me as I stared in awe like a gawking tourist. Climbing the steps up the hill, I passed between more gray buildings covered in the most elegant fashion by strings of green ivy. Ancient oak trees towered above, covering the campus in cool shade. This was a place of history and society.

Hopelessly unprepared and unsure of myself, I followed the people wandering around looking for the right building, wherever that might be. Snobbish-looking students with badges seemed to be directing the flow of newcomers. At last, I was given a packet of information and pointed in the direction of the freshman dormitory, where I checked in at the front door. An old, rather miserable-looking fellow was handing out room assignments. He seemed to size me up, looking at my pathetic clothing and then shaking his head as if in dismay over the fact that anybody could get into Locklear these days. “Room 221,” he barked, and I plowed ahead before he could say anything else.

Before me stood a large, open room with two sets of stone steps curving upwards. The floor was covered with a thick carpet, and a gaudy chandelier hung from the ceiling. Along the walls sat heavy upholstered furniture with carved ebony feet. The grotesque extravagance made me feel uncomfortable as I climbed up to my room. I entered a long corridor with doors spaced evenly on both sides, each with a shiny brass number. Navigating my way through the people and their piles of luggage, I arrived at a room marked by a bright, burnished number 221.

I barged through the door and immediately saw that I was the latecomer. One side of the room was already decorated very handsomely. A writing desk was fully furnished with pens, paper, and even a typewriter, while the bed was made up without a wrinkle or crease to be seen. Suit coats and jackets were hung with precision alongside pressed pants. My side looked shabby and bare by comparison. The room was rather small, despite the extravagant makings of the building itself. I placed my suitcases on my mattress and flipped open the lid. I stared at the few paltry items lying listlessly inside. One set of worn sheets, no pillow, two sets of slacks, one pair of jeans, a few pairs of shorts and t-shirts, holey socks, one brown and one black pair of shoes, and a pile of yellow pencils rubber banded together. The other suitcase carried in it a random assortment of secondhand books and a few paper notebooks of my writings. The books fit neatly above my bed, and I tried to spread out the pencils to take up space.

I sat on the bare bed, staring glumly at the floor, trying to fight the feeling of depression slithering in as I realized what I’d gotten myself into. I did not belong here. I could hear laughter seeping in underneath the door, and it made me anxious. I hated the hideous chandelier I’d walked under and the huge arch and the perfectly groomed lawn and hedges. This place was everything I was not. I was just a little country boy far away from home, even more alone now than I’d imagined. I lay down on the bed, wallowing in my misery as I stared at the blank ceiling. If I could have, I would have walked out of that pompous castle right then, but I couldn’t go home. On top of that, I reminded myself how Dr. Emory had vouched for me, and I couldn’t disappoint him. I had to prove that I belonged.

I have found that misery and spare time are not good bedfellows. They tend to bring out the worst in people, especially myself. The longer I lay there, the more depressed I became. I was in such a state of mind when I first met my roommate, Charles Montgomery. Charles burst into the room as if a pack of wild dogs were chasing him. No sooner had he slammed the door closed and bolted the lock than a thunderous pounding began. “Charles, let us in, you scoundrel! We know what you’ve got in there!” shouted a voice from the other side of the door.

Charles leaned against the door with a straw hat clutched in his hand. Between gasps of air, he retorted smartly, “Not a chance, gentlemen.” He suddenly realized that I was there and gave me a big wink. “I can’t let you in on account of my new roommate is taking a nap and I don’t want to disturb him. So if you would … please stop attempting to break down the door, and let the poor man rest. He looks like an absolute wreck.”

“A likely excuse, Charles. I know how you are,” retorted the voice. “You would say anything to get your way. You have no scruples.”

At this, Charles made a face as if to agree with the observation, but he did not seem bothered by this attack on his character. “I wouldn’t do anything that you yourself wouldn’t. Be off now, before my father gets here and sees you.”

There was a moment of silence as the pounder pondered the validity of the threat. “I see how it is. Call for daddy to bail you out,” the voice jeered. “Next time I see you, I’d better get a chance to win back my losses without you conveniently cutting out.”

“Sure, sure, you old boar. Just be sure to bring more money with you. I’d hate to take the clothes off your back as well.”

There was one final pound on the door, and I could hear angry footsteps stomping off.

Charles then looked at me and grinned. “You just have to love old friends who also happen to be sore losers. I apologize for all the commotion.” He walked over, stuck out his hand, and said, “Charles Montgomery, pleased to meet you.”

I sized him up. He was about six feet tall and wore pressed pants and a knit white sweater vest. He had a mischievous face with grayish blue eyes and thick, tousled blond hair—a rather handsome fellow, all in all. His most striking feature was his smile, which stretched from ear to ear much like that of a Cheshire cat trying to conceal a most delicious secret. I met his over-zealous hand with mine. “It’s a pleasure. My name is Tom.”

“Splendid. I was quite curious to see who my roommate would be. So … you best just tell me about yourself right off the bat. I’ll have it out of you one way or another.”

I was not exactly sure what to make of Charles. It seemed as if there was just too much life squeezed into him, and he did not know how to control it. He began to pace back and forth, waiting for me to reply while he fidgeted with his hands. “All right then. No need to be shy. I tell you what. I’ll start us off to make things easier.” Before a rebuttal was possible, he carried on. “Charles Montgomery, but of course I already said that. Anyway, I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing. I always tend to babble on far too long, so feel free to cut me off or butt in if I leave out anything important. I have two older brothers, and both graduated from Locklear at the top of their class. Rather big shoes to fill, wouldn’t you say? I rather gave up on all of that business a long time ago. In all honesty, the only reason I’m here is because my father happens to be on the board and our family members have been attending here for multiple generations now. I didn’t want to break the cycle. I’d have broken my father’s heart. As far as he’s concerned, Locklear University is heaven on earth. Seeing as I’ve been here on campus just short of a thousand times while growing up, I feel I can speak as a bit of an expert, and I can’t say I’m quite so fond of it. But it’s not half bad, really.”

He stopped mid-pace and swiveled to face me. “Now look, there I’ve gone off the path already. Let’s get back to business. My father is a lawyer, as are my two brothers, so you can imagine what I’m expected to study. I don’t give a rip about law, though. Of course, I have never said those words out loud at home, but there isn’t much room to blaze your own trail when your life’s already been mapped out for you. I don’t mean to come across as ungrateful or make it sound like my life is completely miserable or anything. I manage to find ways to keep things interesting.” With that, he broke into his slippery smile again.

I could only imagine all the things he’d come up with. He was a jokester if ever I’d met one. I expected him to pull a toad out of his pocket at any moment or whip a rabbit out of his straw hat, but instead, he continued. “Well. Not much more to say, really. My mother stays at home and looks after the house. She’s very pleasant. Not nearly as overbearing and demanding as my father. I’m expecting them to return any time now from their visit with some old friends who are also dropping a son off today.”

Charles didn’t seem to notice how barren my side of the room looked compared to his. He was obviously not the kind of fellow who cared about that sort of thing, for which I was grateful. I had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason his half looked as nice as it did was because of his mother. That made me sad. I wondered what Mother would have said if she’d been there to see me go to university. I have no doubt we would have gone out and purchased a completely new wardrobe and plenty of other odd items she would have deemed necessary. My side clearly lacked a feminine touch.

When I lay back down and closed my eyes, I soon sensed something hovering over me and looked up to see Charles staring at me. “Well,” he said, “you don’t think I’m going to let you just lie there and sleep the day away without telling me about yourself. That’s bad form. I just bared my soul, and you respond by taking a nap. If I were a more honorable man, I would take offense that.”

I stared back at him, unsure what to do. I really had no desire to share my life with him, but I realized that he would indeed get it out of me one way or another. “Okay, I’m not much of a talker. I’ll just let you know that right off the bat. I come from Greenwood. It’s a little farming town just a few hours from here. Nobody in my family has ever gone to school here—or anywhere else for that matter. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s just my father and me. He owns a little shop. That’s it. There’s nothing very special.”

“What about your mother?” He had no tact; he just spouted out whatever came to his mind.

I stated very clearly, while staring directly at him, “My mother passed away a number of years ago, and that’s all I intend to say on the matter. I’m finished with your little interrogation.”

Charles was taken aback by my response. I could see that he wasn’t entirely sure what to say, which seemed like a rather unnatural state for him. “I’m very sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. I do have a tendency to get myself into trouble with my big trap. Please don’t take offense. I wasn’t trying to pry. I won’t bring it up again—Scout’s honor.”

I could tell he was genuinely sorry, but I really
didn’t
want to talk anymore. It was easier to sit with my old friend misery. I closed my eyes and tried to block him out. I could hear Charles tinkering around the room for a little while, until he obviously grew bored and decided to make his escape from the awkward silence.

Sometime later, I heard Charles’ voice making its way down the hall toward our room. He opened the door more softly this time, and his parents followed him in. It was obvious that Charles took after his father. They were nearly the same height and shared the same color eyes, but Charles’ father had about him an air of coolness, and his gaze was sharp, as if he were taking in everything around him and filing it away. Just sitting there, I felt like I was undergoing an inspection. Charles’ mother was quite the opposite; she was a robust woman with a pretty face. I imagined that she was probably a real beauty back in her time, but the years had stolen her slim, youthful figure, leaving rather plump dimensions in its place. Her eyes were gentle and caring, the sort of eyes that only a mother can have.

I turned in my chair to face the trio. Charles jumped in to make introductions. “Mother and Father, this is Tom, my new roommate.” Charles looked at me, motioning for me to stand up and greet them properly.

I stood and uncomfortably stuck out my hand. “Pleased to meet you,” I mumbled quietly.

Mr. Montgomery stepped forward and met me with a firm handshake, as if attempting to show me how such things were done. “You may call me Mr. Montgomery. Do you have any more things coming, lad? I must say that you seem to be lacking some of the essentials for general living.”

“No, sir,” I said, turning bright red and hanging my head. “This is all I have. I’m hoping to find some work and purchase whatever else I might need.”

He stared at me knowingly, as if he’d seen my kind before. “Well, I’d recommend you go talk to the dean and see what he can do about finding you some work. I’m sure there are plenty of bushes to be trimmed and weeds to be pulled, as long as you find the time along with your studies. Charles told me that you are from Greenwood. Charity may have you gotten you here, but you will soon learn that the professors do not give handouts to those who cannot perform adequately.”