Chapter 5, Part 3

Note: Click here to read Chapter 5 Part 1 and Chapter 5 Part 2

“Where’s Chris?” Cheryl asked, as they settled around the table. Chris had texted to say that he wouldn't be able to pick her up and their parents would. Daniel and Angela had brought the girls to the one of the most popular and upscale restaurants in the town. She had been here before with them but never on her birthday. “He did not tell me what’s delayed him.” She had been tempted to ask but finally didn't  He would have answered her and not really liked it. Her brother was very busy, training to become a surgeon.

“He has been held up at the hospital”, Angela informed her. “But we don’t have to wait for him. He asked us to start without him.”

“Oh.” Cheryl had hoped that Chris might be able to make straight to the dinner on time even if he was unable to pick her up. She caught Joyce’s eye across the table and smiled.

“Here you go, Cher. For you.” Bertha caught her attention.

Cheryl kissed her sister, while her mother urged her to open the gift. She unwrapped the small package to find a jewelled pen set. “That’s so beautiful, Bertha. Thanks.” Her parents had already given her a new laptop, when they had come to pick Cheryl and Joyce from the hostel.

“I hope all that you write with this pen brings loads, loads and loads of fun”, Bertha said, before adding, “to your boring life.”

Cheryl scowled at Bertha as everyone else laughed.

“What do your parents do, Joyce?” Daniel asked. The main course had just arrived.

Joyce with her open and exuberant nature had won Cheryl’s parents. She recognized Bertha and Cheryl had been afraid that her friend could become star-struck. But while Joyce had almost gushed for the first minute after meeting Bertha, she had quickly become her confident self.

“Dad teaches history while Mom is a maths teacher”, Joyce replied. “They...”

“Chris is here!” Angela exclaimed with a broad smile.

Chris settled at the table between Bertha and Cheryl. “Hey, kid. Sorry, I am late. Happy Birthday.”

Cheryl waved his apology away and kissed him. “I understand. Too much work.” She did, even if she wished otherwise.

Chris flashed a charming smile and all was forgotten. Cheryl introduced her friend to her brother. She was a little puzzled to see Joyce’s effervescence dim a little after Chris’ arrival but thought not more of it as she was drawn back into the conversation flying around her.

“I can’t believe my kids are so grown-up. Chris and Bertha barely have time these days. And now Cheryl is also away”, Angela commented a little emotionally, as their plates were cleared and Daniel signalled for the check.

Bertha groaned. “Oh, Mom. Do you have to? You used to crib all the time, I was at home.” And then grinned wickedly.

Angela glared at her older daughter. “You must think, Joyce, what ill-mannered children have I raised.”

Joyce laughed. “Not at all, Mrs. Woods. Cheryl is perhaps the only good  girl I know. You must be so proud of her.”

“Yeah, yeah. We are”, Angela replied. There was warmth in her voice but Cheryl could almost taste the undercurrent of resigned disappointment. Maybe her mother was herself not aware of it. She looked at Joyce and saw that her friend’s smile had also noticed what her mother had not said.

“it was truly a pleasure meeting you all”, Joyce’s voice encompassed all the Woods, though it lingered  - a little less warmly, perhaps? – on Chris. “I was going to say, privilege but then I realized how functional and formal it sounded.”

“It was pleasure all round, Joyce. I am so glad that Cher has you to watch her back.” Daniel’s eyes alighted on her with affection.

Chris offered to drop Cheryl and Joyce back at the campus. It was his way of trying to make up for turning up late, he said.

“As if.” Cheryl heard Joyce mutter as she settled in the back seat. Cheryl turned to look at her but her friend’s face was her usual smiling self.

Chapter 5 - Part 1

Whispers woke her up. Cheryl frowned and poked her head out of the covers, with eyes still closed. She groped for her cell phone. It should have been somewhere under her pillow...ah, here it was. 9:30 AM. She tried to ignore the whispers and burrowed back under the covers. She did not have her first class for the day till 12. She could sleep for at least another hour.

But the voices persisted. Damn.

“Joy.” She tried to keep the grumpiness out of her own voice, as she got into a half-sitting position and yawned.

“Sorry, Cher,” Joyce apologized. “I had forgotten that you were sleeping in today and we were already here, so..”

It was then that Cheryl noticed the guy. Lanky, on the taller side. Dark hair. She could not make out the eyes at this distance but he smiled apologetically at her.

“Hey”, he said.

“Hey.” Cheryl was polite.

“Cher, meet Ashton. He is my project guide. Ash, this is my room-mate, Cheryl”, Joyce introduced. “And we will soon be on our way. Bye, Cher. See ya in the evening.”

Project guide, Cheryl wondered. He looked too young. More like a student. She shrugged. “How does it matter, anyway?” she wondered aloud and contemplated her options. She could try and catch a nap before getting up or she could get up.

In the end, she decided to sleep a little more.

The day turned out to be more hectic than she had thought. She missed lunch. So, she grabbed a quick sandwich on the go from the cafeteria and settled down for ten minutes of break in the university garden. She just sat there, trying hard to empty her minds of all thoughts.

She had almost succeeded, when she had company.

“Hey.”

She looked up to find the guy from the morning. Ashton. “Hi.”

“We met in the morning. When I woke you up.” He smiled disarmingly.

“No worries.” Cheryl smiled back. She resumed eating, feeling awkward and conscious. Apparently, he had no such issues. He plopped next to her, very comfortable and carefree.

“So? How are you liking here?”

“Good.”

“Joyce tells me that you are studying Literature. Do you want to teach?”

“No.”

“Write?”

Cheryl got up, gathered her books. “Look, I am sorry but I gotta go. See ya around. Bye.”

Ashton watched her go, unfazed by the monosyllables. And grinned.

Chapter 3

Next morning, Cheryl woke up a little disoriented, before she remembered that she was not home. She opened her eyes to find Joyce stuffing books into a satchel that was already weighed down by her laptop.

“Hey.” Joyce turned around at Cheryl’s voice. “What time is it?”

“7 o’ clock.”

Cheryl fell quiet for a moment while Joyce resumed trying to turn her satchel into a bottomless well. Her instincts told her that Joyce had looked her up on the net last night. So, how should she act now? Make a big deal? Let it go? There had been instances in the when people looked upon her with new eyes once they got to know about her family. A mix of expressions – wonder, jealousy, pity. But above all, curiosity. And that she hated most.

She was still undecided about the situation here, when Joyce opened the door and left.

Relieved that she would not have to face that dilemma now, Cheryl began her morning ritual of convincing her body that it was time to get out of the bed. For some reason, her alarm had not rung today and she was already late. Her first class was at 8:30 and she had to get her butt moving.

She was yawning and rummaging her cupboard, trying to decide what to wear, when she heard a knock on the door. Joyce poked her head in. “Would you like to come for breakfast?” her smile was sunny and disarming.

“Yeah.” Cheryl smiled back slowly. She would have a little faith. For now, at least. “Yeah. I will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Cool. I will wait.”

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“’A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.’

Thus ends the unfinished Kubla Khan by Coleridge”, Professor Schulman said.

Cheryl was attending her first lecture in the university. She had deliberately chosen a seat in the corner, to do her own day-dreaming.

She was in Xanadu, the capital of Kubla Khan and was the Abyssinian maid. She could almost hear and touch the strains of music that her dulcimer created. Her mind envisaged the beautiful and magnificent pleasure dome of Kubla Khan on the banks of sacred river Alph that ran through caverns, measureless to man, down to sunless sea.

“Coleridge, it is said, composed this entire poem in an opium induced dream.” Schulman’s crisp voice made Cheryl snap to attention. “In those days, Coleridge was not very well. He is said to have developed a dependency – shall we say – on opium. He was reading an account of Kubla Khan’s palace, when he fell asleep under the effect of the drug. He dreamt of Kubla Khan’s pleasure dome, which was a magnificent piece of architecture. When he woke up he almost conjured two hundred lines of the poem without any effort. He immediately began to write but was called away for an urgent work midway. When he came back, he could not recall the rest of the poem and it remains incomplete to this day.”  He paused for a breath and then continued, “It is remarkable that if this incomplete piece of poetry is full of such splendour then the whole poem in itself would have been a timeless and matchless classic. That speaks volumes about genius of Coleridge. He had this amazing ability of making the supernatural elements fit into natural surroundings as if they were never apart. He talks of impossible things, paints a picture that is full of suggestions that are not ordinary or natural. Still we never doubt him. We believe every word that he says. He naturalises the supernatural and so smooth is the transition that we are not even aware of it.” The bell rang just as he was winding down and the class ended.

Cheryl still sat in the class for a moment or two, recalling her dream of completing Coleridge’s unfinished poem. Wishful thinking, she thought and smiled to herself.

She collected her books and was trying to find her way through the labyrinthine aisles of the university building, when she was hailed.

“Cheryl!” it was Joyce.  “Hi! How was your first lecture?”

“Rather nice. Not boring.” The two girls fell in step. “How was yours?”

 “Not nice. And rather boring”, Joyce grumbled. Then she brightened. “You know, there’s a party tonight. For us. There’s a big flyer. Come on, I’ll show you.” Joyce caught Cheryl’s hand and started leading her. She stopped in her tracks when Cheryl held her ground.

 “Joyce”, Cheryl said. “I’m not really interested. I’d rather stay in the room.”

 “You are joking, aren’t you? You can’t possibly be serious!”

 

“I’m serious.”. One look on Cheryl’s face and Joyce knew that she was truly not interested.

“I will see you at lunch?” Cheryl asked. When Joyce nodded, she smiled and walked away.

Joyce shrugged. Nerd, she thought amiably and then started thinking of what she would wear to the party. 

Chapter 2

Cheryl took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and knocked on the door.

A blue-eyed, petite blonde opened the door. “May I help you?”

“Hi. I am Cheryl Woods”, Cheryl replied. “You must be Joyce. We are to be roommates”

 “Oh yes. Come in”, the other girl smiled. “Hi. Call me Joy.”

Joyce stepped aside to let Cheryl in. She looked around to familiarize herself with a place that was going to be her home for sometime. It was a little room with two single-beds. They were covered with white bed-sheets that looked clean and came with a pillow and a blanket each.

The windows allowed plenty of sun and air in. They looked out to the lush green campus of the university. The walls must have been a sunny yellow once upon a time but now were faded to a dull, indiscriminate colour. But the paint was not peeling and in place above the beds, the original colour showed where the former residents must have put up some posters.

 “Home”, Cheryl murmured.

 “No”, Joyce said, hearing the murmur. “Home is where the heart is, isn’t it? My heart is with my Mom and Dad.”

They settled the issue of beds amicably with a coin toss. The luck of the draw was in Cheryl’s favour. She picked the bed under the window and Joyce settled for the one by the door. The bathroom was a non-issue with Joyce being an early-riser and Cheryl preferring to lounge in bed as late as possible.

 “I am here to study Literature”, Cheryl told Joyce as they unpacked. On receiving no reply, she turned to find Joyce standing over her bed, looking baffled. Neat stacks of clothes covered her bed, while she gazed into the cupboard lining her side of the wall.

“Problem?” Cheryl asked. In reply, Joyce moved aside and just waved first towards the clothes on the bed and then the cupboard. Understanding dawned. “You have more clothes than cupboard size”, Cheryl smiled. “Look, I can lend you the left-over space in my cupboard after I have stowed away my stuff.”

“Thanks. But I don’t think that that would be enough.” Joyce looked dubious. “Anyway, I guess that will have to make do and I will have to lice partially out of the suitcase.”

All the unpacking, adjusting and running around to figure out the hostel amenities and rules tired the two girls out quickly. They ate an early dinner in the mess and settled into their room for the night, chatting quietly.

“So, what do your parents do? Got any siblings? Feel free to tick me off, if you think I am prying. My mom says that I don’t usually know when to stop.” Joyce grinned unabashedly. Having given Cheryl an unsolicited account of her family, she had moved on to knowing more about her new roommate.

Cheryl wondered how much should she say. On one hand, she had moved here to avoid the fame of her family but on the other, it was no state secret either. “My father’s a surgeon. My mom used to be a model. Now, she has retired from the arc-lights.”

“How cool! Is she anybody I could know? She must have been from before our time – no offense meant – but, still...”

“Angela Woods. Her maiden name was Cromwell.” Cheryl tried to keep her voice nonchalant and hoped that it would not strike a chord.

“Sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it.” Joyce scrunched her face in an attempt at recall some information but gave up after a few second. “Yet, it must be so awesome. Your mom being famous and glamorous and all. Does she...” Joyce’s question trailed off when she saw the expression on Cheryl’s face. Not quite anger. Neither sadness. Just something not happy.

“Yeah, it is. I am tired and wouldn’t mind turning in. Good night.” Cheryl smiled and got into her bed, switching off the bedside lamp.

Joyce knew a brush-off, when she got one. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. She switched on her laptop and connected to the net. She quickly googled Angela Cromwell and the results were impressive, to say the least. But why was Cheryl so cut-up about it? Now that was something that Joyce did not understand. She would have been so proud of her family.

She whistled softly and glanced towards Cheryl. The other girl was almost completely still under the covers. Joyce felt almost certain that she was awake.

Why? Joyce mused again when it suddenly struck her. All the sites and articles spoke about the parents and the siblings – their achievements, their glory. Cheryl was just the daughter or the sister of the beautiful, the famous and the prodigies.

Joyce glanced one last time at Cheryl before shutting down her computer and turning in herself.