You have never seen a graduated Women’s Studies major. You hear of them, and one of them was your friend, once, but you do not know where they go once they are handed their degree. Every year there are more squirrels. That one looks like your friend.
You get an eerie feeling walking through the upper levels of main. Your friend told you this is where they filmed the Scream movies. You believe it, since you cannot shake the feeling of a masked person right behind you as you pretend you’re alone.
Air conditioning is a luxury. Campbell does, but those suites are reserved for a lucky few. If one may brave the apartments they can also find it there. Inman chooses the temperature of each person’s hell, frozen over or boiling, with not much in the ways of middle ground. It is whispered Hopkins has individual ac in the rooms, but nobody knows where exactly Hopkins is. Nobody has ever seen it.
There is a rocking chair that Betty White sat in, somewhere. She never actually left. In the witching hours you may hear her, still rocking. It’s been years.
It’s two am and the train is blowing it’s whistle. You sit in bed and listen to the wail, neither growing closer nor fading into the black, unseen night. It does not stop. You look at your watch. It’s three am and the train is blowing it’s whistle.
Those who are engaged are thrown into the alumnae pond. The alumnae in the pond reaches out, grasping with withered hands at the new sacrifice. She screams and is assimilated. Her friends cheer.
You have forgotten quite what men look like. You know that they exist, and some of them are your professors, but still the image cannot be brought to mind. You discover that female has become your default gender assumption, if you assume genders at all. You’ve forgotten the word ‘girls’. The word is ‘women’s’ and has always been.
No matter what time of day or night it is, there is always someone brushing their teeth in the bathroom. You do not know who they are. You wish they would leave as you stare at the back of the stall door, listening to the sound of bristles on exposed bone. When you exit the stall there is nobody there. Part of you wonders if there ever was.
The Black Ring Mafia claims those who pass one and a half years. The Ring shows up one night on your finger of choice. It cannot be removed and never will be. You have been chosen. Forever those who are marked by black obsidian will know each other by sight, and by a deliberate gesture of their right hand.
It’s August. A fan blows air into a room in Rebecca. The air is no cooler than the room already is, but it is supposed to help. A woman lies on her bare mattress naked, resigned to her fate of melting. She does not melt. The fan blows air and does nothing.
Hair changes colors overnight. Some are lucky, with only sections at a time changing, while others are not as much. One has their entire head hot pink. Another has a streak of green among black. So many are blue, but only the ends.
It is fried chicken Wednesday. People are excited. The line stretches past any other in Evans, stretching out the arch and down along the senior table. You don’t like chicken. Still, you stand in line. It grows longer as you wait. The woman behind the counter asks what you want. You do not like chicken but you ask for a drumstick. She searches under endless breasts and thighs. You are given your chicken and the contract is completed. Lunch is over. The line still stretches on.
People speak of declining. You speak of declining. It is precious and limited. You do not know how much you have left. You ration it for ice cream and pizza bagels. The woman behind the counter smiles at you, knowing better than you how much left you have to spend. You do not know what happens when you run out. She smiles at you.
Drop date is this week. It is always this week, when it wasn’t yesterday. You feel like you remember it being drop date already, but that cannot be right. Drop date is definitely tomorrow. You know that. You have always known that.
A few months ago I was trawling the internet for Agnes Scott’s gender policy. I swore up and down that I’d seen a statement from the college saying that they admitted anyone who identified as female at time of admission. I couldn’t re-find it when I was looking for it, but they just updated the 2014-2015 handbook.
There in all its glory on page 134, it says
In light of these commitments, we support students, including students who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex or questioning (LGBTQIQ). This support takes the form of a variety of campus services designed to create a safe learning and living environment for all. We admit undergraduate students who identify as female. Our goal is to embrace both our identity as a woman’s college and our identity as an inclusive community.
I figured I’d stick it in the Agnes tag on tumblr in case some queer babes are going through and need some resources.