Get Over It Pt. 01

Meredith had looked at me confused, before she shrugged. "Well, what do you expect me to do?" She had glanced over towards her laundry basket. "You can have it if you want." Her eyes had then narrowed slightly as she looked towards my waist. "I'm not sure they'll fit you though."

I had narrowed my eyes, my mouth sinking to a frown. "There's no need to be rude," I had said, while stomping over towards her laundry basket and looking down at it, though most of the clothes had indeed been too slim for me to wear.

"I mean, I wasn't suggesting you were fat or anything," she had said, watching me closely. "Maybe you could wash it for me when you do yours?" I had looked over at her in shock, just in time to see her shrug. The sheer audacity of her had left me bewildered. "You know, since you'll be coming here often anyway?" She had then smiled sweetly, before sitting on a row of chairs and grabbing her phone. She had crossed her sandaled feet up and rested back against the wall; the picture of relaxation. It had almost been as if she believed the discussion had come to an end, and she just expected me to now go and do her laundry for her so she didn't have to bother with it.

I had continued to stand there awkwardly, picking at the overhanging, fraying sleeves of my sweater. I hadn't quite been able to make out whether she was being serious, or just messing with me or something. Throughout those first weeks, I'd been going out of my way to impress her, determined to make a friend and companion. Being honest, I envied her life so much, and I had also been kind of selfish in my motives, figuring that befriending Meredith might provide me access to the privileges her wealthy family were afforded. I wasn't stupid, I knew however hard you worked, it was more about who you knew, rather than what you knew. It had seemed that Meredith's father knew everyone.

I mean, she hadn't explicitly expressed as much, but insisting that doing laundry was a 'waste of her time' then barely seconds later asking me to do it for her only projected one simple fact: that Meredith felt like her time was more valuable than mine. What had she been planning to do while I did both of our laundries? While I had looked at her, I figured she had nothing better to do than play on her phone.

"I can't do that," I had said, surprising myself somewhat with my resolve.

"I'll pay you," she had said abruptly, not even bothering to look up from her phone. "Will you do it then?"

That had made me pause and wrinkle my forehead. With my scholarship mostly covering the fees, I wasn't left over with much else. "How...how much do you usually pay your maid?"

She had shrugged again. "How should I know? Daddy's assistant takes care of all of that stuff."

I had scratched my head, and though I had found it humiliating to even consider doing that for her, the offer of money had changed everything. "Would...would ten dollars be too much?"

"Deal," she had said, and with that she had risen to her feet. "Can you bring it back to the room later?"

"Wait," I had asked, causing her to pause at the door. "Meredith, could I have...could I have asked for more?" I had been totally taken aback by her willingness to just throw money to solve a situation. The fact she had agreed so easily left me wondering if I'd been too cheap. I'd thought it a lot, but considering how wealthy Meredith was, it was likely nothing to her.

She had looked up from her phone, her foot tapping the floor impatiently. "Well, I guess you'll never know," she had said, and she nodded towards the hamper. "Could you fold it for me once it's done too?"

My face had already been blushing as I began sorting through her dirty clothes, and once Meredith had left, I had felt a strange conflict within me. On the one hand, I had, of course, been embarrassed to be doing my snooty roommate's dirty laundry, for what, in effect, was a paltry level of compensation. It had almost confirmed some of the imposter syndrome I often felt while attending the institution. Despite my grades being top notch, and being fully deserving of my scholarship, I often still felt somewhat out of place. I spoke with a Hispanic accent, probably as a result of being raised by my Mexican mom, whereas all of the other girls here could be best described as posh. They didn't want for anything, whereas I was constantly checking my account to see if I could afford things that fell outside of my scholarship expenses. Despite sharing a room, Meredith and I were from completely different worlds, and there was just like an expectation within her eyes whenever she stared at me. She expected me to do things for her, and to handle the things that she found bothersome, because that's what she was used to. It was so inappropriate and racist, but in her world, people that looked like me did what she wanted. She didn't know any different, and in some ways, I actually felt sorry for her ignorance.

Sometimes it made me blush, because she'd mentioned the very first day we'd met, that both her maid and her gardener were Hispanic. She'd said it casually, not as if she were bragging, but rather just making a simple observation. It had been like since the thought had come to her head, she was somehow compelled to share it. She'd stared at me intently for a few seconds after saying so, leaving that casual observation dangling in the air, and then, she had added a final thought that truly cut me. "Actually, you kind of remind me of Rosita," she had said while scoffing to herself. "I can just imagine you running off to make my bed." She must have noticed my face sour, because she had let out an awkward giggle. "That's why I kind of assumed you worked here."

At that time, I'd blushed a very deep shade of red, because with that comment, Meredith had likened me to her maid simply because of my appearance. That had been her immediate, first impression of me. She'd reduced me from the position of her roommate, of her peer, and instead, labelled me as similar to the hired help back in her affluent life. But, the comment, whether Meredith realised it or not, had been laced with even deeper hurt. She'd specifically mentioned the fact that her servants were Hispanic, the same as me, and how I had reminded her of them. That's how she saw me when she looked at me? When her bright, blue eyes had fallen upon my tanned skin and thick, brown, wavy hair, she hadn't immediately thought of a fellow student, or a potential friend, but instead, she had only seen the servants that existed within her affluent life.

And then, straight after she'd said it, she'd simply flopped onto her bed, crossed her bare feet up on the end, and proceeded to play around on her phone as if no insult had occurred. Meanwhile, I'd just stood there, truly shaken by her attitude. I hadn't known what was worse, how she had been comfortably saying something so casually racist, or the fact that she hadn't even realised she had done so. It was like she had been ignorant to the hurt of her observations. Observations that she'd needn't have shared, but had done so without even considering the consequences.

At the time, my eyes had lingered over her feet, as her arches flexed, her toes casually wiggling in time to whatever music video or the like she had been watching. That in itself had only depressed me further, her relaxation seeming almost joyous while I'd been left there reconsidering my whole worth and right to even attend the privileged school. She had been chilled, feet up, whereas I had been chilled to the bone by her off-handed and cutting remarks.

Yet, looking back, Meredith's observation hadn't been wrong, had it? Her first impression of me was that I was her hired help, and she'd abruptly given me her handbag. It hadn't intended to be mean, or offensive, but it had just been her privileged assumption. Likely in her world, people who looked like me were just always in service to her without any exceptions. She'd pictured me making her bed for her that first day. Later, I would be doing her laundry, without any effort on her part. Just like with everything else in her life, rich, spoiled girls like Meredith always seemed to enjoy things going their way. Just as she'd first deemed me of similar standing to her maid, she'd relaxed on the bed, her bare feet flexing and toes wiggling, the same had happened once she'd dismissed me with her laundry.

After I'd awkwardly fingered through her linen, noticing how soft and high quality the garments were, I had separated them out according to colours and delicates, and then put them in the machines. While they were washing, rather than just sitting around and wasting time, I had headed to the library to get ahead on some revision. Returning later, I had moved both of our clothes to the dryer, then once everything was finished up after another short spell in the library, I had folded everything neatly and headed back to the room.

Surprisingly, Meredith had still been laying on the bed, though she had a washcloth strewn across her forehead. Again, my eyes had lingered on her feet, the softness and blemish-free nature of her soles somewhat startling me as I had entered the room; struggling to carry both of our hampers. My own feet were rough and callused to hell, in testament to the number of hours I'd spent each day on my feet, labouring away through my youth to make my studies just a bit more affordable. Meanwhile, Meredith appeared as if she hadn't walked a day in her life, and from that those first weeks forth, she wouldn't be walking to the laundry room anymore either, because I was going to be doing it for her. Why? For no other reason than the fact she was richer and more privileged than me. That had been the discrepancy, and why I had jumped at the chance to do her laundry for her: because I needed the money and she didn't. The same reason that Meredith had a Hispanic maid and gardener back at her mansion, because they needed the money to do tasks she felt beneath her.

Just then, I had felt something shiver and tingle inside me. It's difficult to explain, but it had been like a warm, fuzzy feeling on the very brink of igniting a panic attack. It had been like all of my fears and insecurities had been abruptly brought to the fore, and my heart had beaten faster as I considered the fact that perhaps I was beneath Meredith. I wasn't a peer, I was someone that did her laundry.

While my head had been undergoing all kinds of mental gymnastics, trying to deal with the growing realisation within me, Meredith had been relaxed back carefree, evidently oblivious of the trauma she'd just invoked. With her forehead covered with the damp towel; she hadn't even been aware that I'd returned. She'd left me to deal with her problem, and just assumed that I had nothing better to do than her laundry. It had been such an offensive seizing of my own time, yet, because I'd needed the money, I'd allowed it to happen.

Throughout my youth, I'd had to watch people talk down to and belittle my mother all the time. I had to watch her move between shitty job to shitty job, usually in the service industry and working for people that thought she was worth nothing. She'd bite her lip, muck in and act as polite and professional as could be, in the face of disrespect and discrimination.

At that moment, I had realised I was dealing with the same kind of situation, yet, none of it was intentional. Meredith hadn't been deliberately mean or malicious. She had just treated me the same way she'd treat everyone that looked like me. It was like there was a bias that existed from the way she'd been raised, and there had been nothing vindictive about her actions. She had simply assumed I would do her laundry, because people that looked like me always followed her instructions. That's just the way the world was for her, and I'd had the perfect opportunity to educate her on her internal prejudice. We were peers, and I deserved to be treated with respect. I could have taken a stand and defended myself, but instead, there I'd been, doing Meredith's laundry for her while she had been relaxing on the bed. Why? Because I needed that pittance she had been willing to throw my way. I had needed that scrap from the rich girl.

"Are you okay?" I'd asked, while placing both of our hampers down.

"I have a migraine," she had said. "Could you be a dear and fetch me some water?"

Despite rolling my eyes out of view, I had done that very thing, feeling some slight pity as she'd groaned and grimaced from her headache.

Once I had returned with her drink, Meredith had lifted the towel and smiled to herself. "You really do remind me of Rosita, you know that?" She had giggled, watching me closely to sense my reaction. She had then flapped a hand towards her handbag. "You can take your ten dollars or whatever," she had said, and after having spent a couple of hours getting her laundry done, it suddenly hadn't seemed worth it.

I'd frowned, and embarrassingly fingered through her purse to take the money. Despite there being way more inside, I had only taken what was agreed; my honour shining through any feelings of jealous need. Then, I had made my excuses and left, but looking back, it had been the first evidence of Meredith, though being incredibly wealthy, also not being willing to share it so easily.

The next months were kind of an awkward affair. As had been established early on, I was constantly doing Meredith's laundry a couple of times a week, and she'd lazily hand me a few bills in exchange. It was intensely embarrassing, of course, I mean, I'd enrolled in this school to better myself; to step away from the life my mother had led to get me here. That life being one of a lowly cleaner who worked for minimum wage and served the households of the high society. Yet, here I was, doing the very same thing: doing Meredith's laundry in exchange for meagre scraps. When other girls stepped into the laundry room, I'd pretend I'd just let things go, and the laundry had built up, never letting slip that I was doing my roommate's too.

However, there was another odd feeling to it as well. She was so dismissive whenever she gestured towards her laundry hamper and she'd never explicitly tell me to do it, but instead, she'd make some remark that would spring me into action. For instance, the one time it was 'shouldn't you be getting on top of that?' Another time it was 'my clothes are not going to wash themselves, are they?'. Another time, which brought a particularly queasy feeling to me, was 'do you want the money or not...what was your name again, Rosita right?"

We'd been rooming together for months by this point, and it was plainly obvious she knew what my name was. It was like she deliberately called me that, just to instil in me the fact that she saw me as no better than her maid and to communicate her indifference to my existence, as if she were merely tolerating my presence. Anyway, it seemed to achieve what she wanted, as I was left red-faced, sheepishly carrying her laundry away while she giggled to herself about her 'mistake'.

"It was an easy one to make," she noted. "I mean, you all look—" She covered her mouth with her hand, in a rare moment of self-awareness, eyes wide in surprise before finishing that sentence, but, we both knew where it was leading. If anything, I was actually surprised she'd realised what she was about to say: usually the bigoted diatribe flowed freely from her lips like a sewer outlet.

But, things largely continued on in that vein. I generally kept the room clean and did Meredith's laundry as she needed. In exchange, she occasionally sat with me in the cafeteria over lunch. Other than that, we didn't usually socialise, unless she needed my help with something, like an assignment, or some administrative matter that she wasn't familiar with. I'd usually be asked to tag along in those instances 'to help' but often find myself at the forefront, taking care of things while she stood idly by and twisted her hair or played on her phone. Though I had to sometimes humour the brat and listen to her complain about something that wasn't that big of a deal, she largely left me alone. Often times I'd still go to the library for my revision, and when I was actually in the room, I'd quietly work at my desk with headphones in, trying to drown out the waffled conversation from her bed.

She did attend class, sometimes, and she seemed to be maintaining her grades, but of course, not to my high standards. However, she was more interested in all of the extra-curriculars, and often headed over to the fields for the equestrian activities. Dressage, show-jumping, as well as polo and even sometimes, if she was feeling extra energised: croquet. These were all things that weren't part of my scholarship, but still, I wouldn't have had an idea how to play them anyway, being the indulgences of the high society.

One time, while I was studying quietly, there was a knock at the door from one of the office staff. Meredith had called them because she'd forgotten a headband back in the room, and asked the staff to tell me to bring it over. So, being somewhat curious of the kind of stuff that went on in that section of the school, I dutifully took it over to her on the way to the library. From the side-lines, I watched the rich girls walk around in their short pleated, skirts, knee-length socks and zig-zagged sweaters, noting how ridiculous it all seemed as they punted balls through small archways. None of them were sweating, with the game appearing as physically draining as reading a book. Anyway, Meredith took her hairband, and her flowing brunette locks were swiftly tucked away, making the shapely, chiselled nature of her model-like cheeks even more obvious. Even during physical activity, Meredith was a total knockout, and while watching her enjoy an activity out of my reach, the pangs of jealousy were reignited as she made no offer for me to join in.

Whenever she asked for my help with an assignment, I'd patiently sit and talk her through things, actually enjoying the fact that I was better than her in at least one thing. Though she listened, and wrote down the answers, I found that most things seemed to go in one ear and out of the other. She did the work because she had to, but didn't seem particularly interested in learning. Often, I found that she was still struggling with material we'd covered before, and it became quite frustrating. Meredith similarly found her lack of progress annoying, and after another couple of weeks passed by, she tried to get me to do an assignment. Not help her with it, but rather, do it for her.

"I just don't get this," she whined, while chewing on the end of her pencil. She looked over towards me as I was folding her laundry for that week. "Do you understand this stuff?"

I looked up and narrowed my eyes towards her laptop screen and noticed she was working on a paper I'd already completed. "Yes, I finished that last week."

"Could you give me a hand with it?"

I let out a tired sigh, because questions of this sort had been on the rise the past few weeks. She was gradually asking me for more and more help on our schoolwork, and it was becoming painfully obvious that she was kind of out of her depth. Of course, this was incredibly annoying for myself, as since I was on a scholarship, I'd had to take entry exams and prove that I was actually academically worthy of the school. Meanwhile, because Meredith's daddy had been able to afford the fees outright, she'd apparently been ushered in as a means of respecting her family's status.

I folded the last of her laundry, then scooted up next to her, pointing at the screen. "You're working on this one, right?"

She squinted. "Yes, I think so."

"Do you remember when we went over this before?"

"I'm not sure?" She scratched her head. "Can you remind me?"

I bit my tongue, but then, pulled up my seat, and went through it with her all over again; all while her perfume irritated my nose. As usual, 'tutoring' her gradually turned into me just 'dictating' the answers and Meredith quickly scribbling them down.