After The BreakUp

My alarm clock is set to go off in a few minutes. I've been awake for the better part of the night, shifting back and forth, counting the lines between the ceiling tiles and mentally repeating the course schedule. Others may count sheep; I intend to. My mind never stops planning, and today, the most important day of my entire eighteen-year life, is no exception. “Tessa!” My mother's voice can be heard calling from downstairs. I roll out of my tiny bed, groaning to myself. I take my time tucking the corners of my bedsheet against the headboard, knowing that this is the last morning that this will be a part of my normal routine. This bedroom is no longer my home as of today. "Tessa!" she exclaims once more. "I'm up!" I respond by yelling back. The sound of the cabinets opening and closing downstairs indicates that she is in the same state of panic as I am. My stomach is in a tight knot, and as I begin my shower, I pray that the anxiety I'm feeling will subside as the day progresses. My entire life has been a series of tasks leading up to this day, my first day of college. I'd been nervously anticipating this for several years. While my peers were hanging out, drinking, and doing whatever else teenagers do to get themselves in trouble, I spent my weekends studying and preparing for this. That was not my fault. I was the girl who studied cross-legged on the living room floor with my mother while she gossiped and watched hours of QVC to improve her appearance. I couldn't have been happier when my acceptance letter to Washington Central University arrived—and my mother cried for what seemed like hours. I couldn't deny that I was pleased that my efforts had finally paid off. I was accepted to the only college I applied to, and thanks to our low income, I have enough grants to keep my student loans to a minimum. For a brief moment, I considered leaving Washington for college. But after seeing all the color drain from my mother's face at the suggestion and her pacing around the living room for nearly an hour, I told her I wasn't serious. When I step into the spray of shower water, some of the tension in my strained muscles dissipates. I'm standing here, under the hot water, attempting to calm my mind but actually doing the opposite, and I get so distracted that by the time I finally wash my hair and body, I barely have enough hot water to run a razor over my legs from the knees down. My mother calls my name again as I wrap the towel around my wet body.Knowing that her nerves are getting the best of her, I give her some leeway while blow-drying my hair. I know she's looking forward to my arrival at college, but I've had this day planned down to the hour for months. Only one of us can be a nervous wreck, and I need to do everything I can to ensure that it's not me by sticking to my plan. As I fumble with the zipper on my dress, my hands shake. I dislike the item, but my mother insisted that I wear it. I finally win the zipper battle and retrieve my favorite sweater from the back of my closet door. I feel slightly less nervous once I'm dressed, until I notice a small tear on the sleeve of my sweater. I toss it back onto my bed and slip my shoes on, knowing that my mother is growing increasingly impatient with each passing second. Noah, my boyfriend, will be here soon to ride up with us. He is a year younger than me but will soon turn eighteen. He's brilliant and has straight A's, just like me, and he's planning to join me at WCU next year. I wish he could come now, especially since I won't know anyone at college, but I'm grateful that he's promised to come as often as possible. I just need a decent roommate; that's all I'm asking for and all I can't control with my planning.