Get Over It Pt. 01

For instance, she brought some food back from the cafeteria in one of those take-away boxes. After a bite or two, she'd decided that she wasn't actually hungry anymore, so, she just left it on her desk. There it remained until the next morning, and while in the humid room, it gradually became smellier. Eventually, I had to intervene, and I made a show of picking up the food, and dropping it into the trash. "Let me get that for you," I'd said, in a short and annoyed voice. "Since you're clearly too busy to pick up after yourself."

Meredith was sat on her bed, relaxed with her feet crossed up on a pillow, all while she was watching something on her phone. "That's great, thanks," she said, without even bothering to look away from the screen.

I paused, completely taken aback that she hadn't even cottoned onto the fact that I was giving her a backhanded insult.

But then, after a few more weeks of me quietly keeping the room intact while Meredith seemed to live the life of leisure, by a chance encounter, we actually found a way to bond that overrode all of our social and financial differences. I'd noticed that Meredith rarely attended class, and it seemed like she was one of those girls that was just here for the fact that she could say she went here. I mean, her family was so wealthy that I supposed it didn't really matter what level of education she received. She was likely going to walk straight into whatever job her daddy created for her. I was already picturing the made-up title at the front of her desk, where she basically did nothing all day while receiving an inflated salary.

Meredith was sat at her desk when I came back from the library, and she seemed a bit distressed. Despite our differences, I was still quite concerned to see her so agitated, the empath in me striding forth.

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"I just don't get this," she said, while pointing at some work she was doing.

I stepped up next to her, and noted that it was a topic with which I was familiar, and then, for the next half hour, I sat there and helped her work through the answers. Academia was clearly not her forte, but, with my guidance and gentle instruction, she was able to work her way through the sheet.

And that's how our relationship improved somewhat, since she realised that I was actually quite smart and could help her. Gradually, I started to forget that Meredith and I existed in such different worlds. Unlike the other girls, she never went out of her way to bully or harass me on her doing, and it seemed that as long as I was generally keeping the room clean, and occasionally helping her with the work she struggled with, things were cool between us. I even managed to join her a few times for lunch in the cafeteria, which honestly did my reputation wonders.

One time, I noticed some of the other girls looking over in somewhat bemusement that someone like Meredith was actually willing to be seen in such a public area with me. As a result, though, the other girls started to mostly leave me alone, no longer seeming to label me as fair game for a bullying. Therefore, it seemed that a kind of transactional basis had been formed in my interactions with my roommate. If did the stuff she didn't want to do, and if I helped her with her work, she'd socialise with me in public. Even if it was only for ten minutes, it was enough to keep the wolves at bay, and for that reason, I was immensely grateful. I may have had the smarts and work ethic that she needed, but she most definitely had the public persona and reputation to which I was desperate for.

Therefore, over the past weeks, I'd occasionally bit my tongue whenever Meredith had said something a bit unkind. Now, just to make it clear, she never did this to be explicitly cruel or mean, and it was obvious that her views were slanted somewhat from the biases she'd been raised amongst. She'd say things without thinking, letting out comments of bigotry without fully understanding the consequences of her words. She wasn't doing it to deliberately hurt anyone, but it was like she had loose lips and felt to share the first thing that came to her head, as if there was no filter. I mean, she'd probably gotten away with it for years back in her regular life, but here, while sharing with me, I found some comments quite jarring. Still, even if I tried to educate her about why she shouldn't 'say those things' or how certain things were quite ignorant and misinformed, she'd simply shrug and move onto something else.

A few months after we'd been rooming together, and while we were somewhat getting along with our transactional, mutual understanding, Meredith surprised me one day by asking if I'd accompany her to the postal office. It was but a short walk, across the road from the school campus, and though it was frowned upon to leave the grounds, there was some allowance in regards to the row of shops that ran adjacent to the front gate.

Apparently, Meredith's boyfriend had sent her something from England, and she wanted me to come along as she wasn't familiar with how things worked over here. Evidently, the maid usually had responsibility for collecting packages, and actually doing it herself was all a bit foreign to Meredith. Anyway, it was an easy process, and only a few minutes passed before she received her package after paying a comically, large fee in customs charges. Darcy had sent her some expensive, designer perfume, which she delighted in spraying into the air before dancing through the misty cloud. I found myself sneezing, the aroma quite bothersome, which she swiftly rolled her eyes at, remarking that I didn't know good taste.

Once we were outside, Meredith had been in the process of fishing a load of dollars back into her purse, when she'd been somewhat startled, jumping back and placing her hand against her chest.

A homeless man, sat next to the entrance of the postal office, had held his cup out and asked her to spare a few dollars. He had a scraggly beard, and I noted his knuckles were rough and cracked. Instantly I felt the wrenches of sympathy tugging at me, knowing that thankfully, my mother had never had to resort to such desperation. Though she'd been close to destitute, at times, her determination had always allowed her to avoid the streets. However, not everyone was so lucky, as evidenced by this poor fellow.

Meredith, upon realising who was speaking to her, had screwed her pretty face up in disgust. "Ewww," she said, before pursing her lips and stepping straight past him with her hands raised in the air as if she'd just touched some toxic waste. "Do not speak to me, bum."

While the guy looked on, Meredith made a petty show of spraying all over herself with the perfume, seemingly wasting a load of it as far as I could see. She even squirted it all over her hands, rubbing the soft skin of her manicured fingers, before turning and squirting a misty cloud towards the man as if it were pepper spray, who in turn, burst into a flurry of coughs.

I looked on in confusion, as the guy had barely moved and hadn't touched her. He'd simply asked her to spare some change, and her whole performance seemed completely over the top. I mean, this is how she reacted when she simply had to breathe the same air as a guy on the streets? I knew she existed in a different world, but surely, she wasn't completely ignorant to the plight of those less fortunate?

I'd looked at the guy's face drop in devastation at being treated as if he was less than human, and despite being far from wealthy myself, I went over and put some change in his cup. "Hope things get better for you," I said, and I whispered so Meredith couldn't hear, "We all need a little help sometimes."

"Thank you, dear," he said, and I could already see the tears in his eyes.

Once I followed Meredith, I could see the look of disgusted bemusement on her face; her naturally pretty features somewhat contorted into a spiteful sneer. "Why did you do that?" she asked, waving her hand back towards the guy; the vintage, flamboyant ring on her finger twinkling under the rays of sunshine. "Daddy said giving them stuff will only encourage them to beg."

"Meredith!" I said, completely flabbergasted by her lack of compassion for those in need. "There could be multiple reasons why he's on the streets. We don't know his story, do we?"

She appeared completely unmoved by my attempts to invoke the slightest hint of empathy from her, merely shrugging instead. "Well, if he worked harder then he wouldn't be there, would he?" She screwed up her face again, while looking over at the guy. "Look at him, he just sits on his butt all day when he could go out and get a job!"

I couldn't believe the irony, considering she spent most of her days doing that very thing: sitting on her ass and playing on her phone. "Meredith—"

"I mean, at least do something useful," she mused. "Maybe he could offer to shine shoes or something, not just sit there and demand a handout." She bit her lip and shook her head, before rolling her eyes down to her luxurious boots. "He should shine my boots right now considering you gave him something."

"Meredith, really?" I asked, and I looked over at the guy and couldn't believe what I was hearing. Behind that rough, unkempt beard, there was clearly dirtied skin. His clothes were full of holes and he was only wearing a pair of stained socks. "You...want him to shine your shoes?" I blinked, and my head was almost aching from trying to compute the unnecessary callous nature of her demand. "For a buck?"

Meredith tutted, and she adjusted her feet while looking down, her tall, cream leather boots looking pristine and brand new. Most of her clothes were like that, as if they'd come straight off a shelf. These were about the forth pair of boots I'd seen her wearing now, but she seemed to love them more than all the others, choosing to wear them often since they were a 'one-off exclusive from my favourite designer'. As soon as previous pairs of footwear had become damaged in any way, even if the mark was minor and barely noticeable, she'd simply thrown them away, not wanting to be seen wearing scuffed shoes. She'd even handed me a pair of sandals one time, raised on a chunky, treaded heel, where the soles were too dirty for her liking. I mean, the soles, that touched the ground every day and that no one else would ever see. Originally, they'd been white, but obviously, from walking around the halls, they had turned a black. That wasn't good enough for her, and even though I'd only seen her wear them on one occasion, evidently, they'd already served their purpose in Meredith's frivolous life. While I was about to head to class one day, she'd handed them to me and asked me to throw them in the trash on the way out. I hadn't, of course, and they were currently hidden beneath my bed, ready to be worn on special occasions once I'd graduated. They were a little too small for my wide feet, but I was determined to squeeze into them and look the part whenever I might have the chance to dress up.

On the rare occasion when I was in the room alone, I'd shown my mother over video chat. When I'd held them up, her eyes had widened and she'd looked over the moon at me owning something that hadn't come straight from a thrift store.

"Do you know how expensive they must be?" she'd mused, while leaning towards the screen and checking every inch of the detailed leather.

My fingertip had run along the straps and I'd shivered at the neat stitching. "You can feel the quality."

"Where did you get these?"

"My roommate. She doesn't want them anymore."

My mom had narrowed her eyes and seemed quite confused. "What's wrong with them?" She had tutted, and the onslaught of questions had begun. "Where did you actually get these? Are they stolen? Who did you take these from? I thought I'd raised you better—"

"Geeze, Mom, they're my roommate Meredith's. She doesn't want them anymore and asked me to throw them away."

"But...why? These are perfectly good shoes."

"She's rich." I had shrugged both of my shoulders. "That's just what girls like her are like. They live on a completely different planet, Mom. To her, shoes like this are like...single use or something."

To this day, Meredith was blissfully unaware that those shoes were still in our room and how I cherished them. I'd even pranced around the carpet wearing them on occasion, feeling all fancy while posing in front of the mirror. However, I mostly kept them hidden, because I'd have been mortified if Meredith found out I was holding onto her abandoned shoes as if they were treasure. I mean, imagine she misinterpreted it and thought I'd kept them for some other reason.

Meredith grimaced while looking over at the homeless man. "Eww, no, I don't want him dirtying my boots up." She moved one towards me, and pointed down. "Do you even know how much these cost?"

"No," I said blankly, while staring down at the boot, its leather completely unblemished and without any scuffs or scratches. "How much?"

Meredith suddenly seemed confused, and she looked up towards the sky. "Well, I don't know, but a lot I imagine. They were gifted to me, but they're a one off."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes and not particularly caring about such a trivial issue. It seemed typical that such expensive boots had been given to Meredith for free though. Girls like her just had stuffed handed to them without effort. I nodded my head back towards the poor, homeless soul. "He just needs food to eat, Meredith. It's not like he's going to waste it, is it?"

"Daddy says there's too many people wanting stuff for free these days." She cocked her head and looked at me with consideration, not even registering the irony of the free, luxury boots she was wearing. "You know how many people come to this country just so they can get things for free? It's almost as bad as back home. Do you know they come over in boats?"

I felt a stabbing in my chest, and my scalp went tight as my hair seemed to pull back in a horrified flinch. Did she know what had happened with my own mother? How she'd struggled across the border while pregnant with me? Fighting every day to make sure I had a chance in life? Putting up with such comments as she tried to earn an honest living. Was she talking about...us?

"Well?" she asked again, and I could see the expectation in her big, blue eyes.

The desire to put her straight and tell her how wrong she was teetered on the tip of my tongue. I mean, she wasn't from this country either, yet she had no qualms coming over here and living it up. But, this was just something that happened often with her. Due to her life of affluence, Meredith could be a bit oblivious about things like this. She had no clue how much a loaf of bread, a pint of milk or a dozen eggs cost. Things like that were taken care of 'by the chef' as she'd say.

Sometimes if she said something rather heartless regarding the struggles of those beneath her, I'd have to step in and educate her on how she was wrong. However, Meredith would always stare back at me blankly, and then through an awkward silence, I'd just understand that she didn't 'get it'. It was like her brain simply couldn't process what I was saying, as it went against the reality she existed within. Like I must be wrong about something factual, because she'd never experienced it that way. A lot of the time, I even expected she was just parroting the comments of her father in their narrow view of life. She probably wouldn't even believe that snow existed if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. She just seemed to be so ignorant about things.

Alternatively, the revelation that she didn't know how to launder her own clothes was quite amusing, a task which, again, had always been taken care of 'by the maid'. This had been an incredibly hilarious experience for myself, showing her how to do such a thing for the first time. When I'd taken my hamper to the laundry room shortly after she'd moved in, she'd followed, figuring that we were going to hand it off to someone else to deal with. She'd been completely bemused while watching me lump the clothes into separate piles, before measuring out the detergent.

She'd screwed her face up in annoyance. "Why would you do this yourself?" she had asked, utterly puzzled while watching me sort through the dirty clothes. "This is just such a waste of time and energy."

It had been my turn to stare back at her blankly. "Ummm, because it needs to be done? How are my clothes going to get clean otherwise?" I'd shaken my head, biting my lip while trying not to laugh at her naivety.

Meredith's pretty eyes had been narrowed as she looked at me. "They just get done," she had said, while gesturing towards the door. "You know, they're just in the closet ready to wear when I want."

I had nodded my head slightly. "Because your maid washes and irons them for you, right?"

"I guess," she had said with a shrug. "I don't really think about it. It just gets taken care of."

I had bitten my lip while still trying not to laugh at her entertaining ignorance once more. "Well, there's no maids here, Meredith, so I guess you're going to have to launder your clothes a couple of times a week. It's easy, I'll show you how."

"I'm not doing that," she'd said, raising her nose in the air.

"Meredith, this is a life skill," I'd said. "You need to know how to do this stuff if you want to be independent and live away from your father."

"No, I don't." She'd crossed her arms and almost petulantly turned her head away.

I had scratched my own in confusion. "Well, who do you expect to do it for you?"

Meredith had stared at me with those big, blue eyes, and there was an awkward silence between us. I had felt my mouth becoming dry, as my heartbeat quickened. As she'd stared at me expectantly, I'd been fearful she was waiting for me to volunteer to do her laundry. I mean, I knew she came from a rich family and everything, and was used to maids and stuff, but we were equal roommates. Just because I came from a poorer background didn't mean I'd willingly act like a servant around us. At that stage, it had only been a few weeks since she'd arrived, and I'd only cleaned the room up for her a dozen or so times, figuring it wasn't going to become a regular issue. I had thought about saying something in my defence, but, since she hadn't actually suggested such a thing, I had felt like I was jumping the gun and stepping out of place.

Meredith had suddenly shaken her head. "I'll just ask Daddy to send me new clothes whenever I need, I guess." She had nodded to herself, apparently pleased with the decision.

I'd blinked, completely taken aback by that casual comment. "What? You'd rather buy new clothes than just wash them?"

"Sure," she'd said. "I'm not wasting my time doing that." She'd lifted a hand and glanced at her pink nails, fittingly matching her fetching, fuchsia lipstick. "Besides, I'll ruin my nails getting them all up in there."

Coming from such a background where I had to take whatever I could get, I had been most disgusted. It as bad enough she tossed shoes away so regularly, but actually clothes too? There were all kinds of people in impoverished nations that were forced to work in sweat-shops for next to nothing. The casual, dispensable nature of fast-fashion amongst the Western society had always been something that sat uneasily with me. I mean, I was the sort of girl that wore clothes that girls like Meredith threw out without thought; her shoes hidden beneath my bed being evidence of that. So, in some ways, girls like me benefitted from her wasteful nature. But still, there were people trapped in dire situations because of spoiled, selfish, wasteful girls such as Meredith, and the very idea of her constantly throwing her clothes away, simply because she was too lazy to actually wash them had been completely repugnant to me. "You can't do that," I had said with an annoyed grimace. "That's just...it's such a waste?"