This is an installment of the Daughter of the Patriarchy series that I have been slowly putting together over the past couple of years. Read the rest of it on No Longer Quivering.
A month after my acceptance, I was moving onto campus for my first autumn semester at Rowling College.* Most of my community college credits had transferred, leaving me a semester ahead of that year’s incoming freshmen. The same summer, my mother and I had finally filled out the paperwork to get me a diploma from a Pennsylvania homeschooling agency. I was deeply self-conscious about the 2005 stamp on my diploma; it was an emblem of what I perceived as failure, as my other homeschooled friends liked to boast about graduating early, and I was a year late. I also desperately wanted to be part of a group of people my age, for once, so I aligned myself with the previous year’s incoming class and corrected anyone who tried to fit me into the later one. I had started college when they had, I reasoned, only I’d started out in community college instead of coming right in.
I was anxious about my roommate situation and listened raptly to many warnings about setting boundaries early. I learned that the girl I would room with was named Molly, a year ahead of me, and a straight-A student. I’d requested an all-girls dorm with air conditioning; in retrospect, both excellent decisions. I was in no way prepared to share a dorm with men, even if they did live on opposite floors. Knowing that Rowling was a posh college – and quickly unloading my stuff so we could hide our shabby car from the ranks of brand new BMWs and glaringly clean Lincoln SUVs – I became terrified that Molly would be all the things I was raised to believe about “worldly” girls: shallow, selfish, boy-obsessed, condescending and wasteful.