Roommates

It is weird to have a roommate at the age of twenty-five. No, not a housemate, DC-style, but a proper roommate. We don’t sleep in bunks, but that is a mere technicality. I sleep in the loft above her bed, just like college. At least in college, my roommate and I were of similar age and habit. We were both eighteen and students. Here, my roommate and I could hardly be more different.

She just graduated from high school. I’m seven years her senior. She works in the Outfitters’ Store. I’m a raft guide. She’s the National Open-boat Downriver Whitewater Canoeing Champion. I barely understand what that is. (In fact, if she ever reads this, she will probably correct me on her proper title.)

On the other hand, we’re both from the North. She’s from Maine (hence the canoeing), and I’m from New York. She hates spiders but can handle snakes. I have no problem with spiders but cannot deal with snakes. She drives an awesome truck, I get to ride along. We make it work. It’s actually kind of fun.

While my last roommate experience was college, this one reminds me of summer camp. There are lots of early mornings, long days spent on the water, campfires, impromptu sing-alongs, and plenty of gossip. It just wouldn’t be the same without a cabin-mate to share it with.