The Ex-Files, Ep. 3

It was about a month or so into my first semester of college and I had learned a few things...

1) 7:30am classes are ALWAYS a bad idea.
2) 7:30am classes in a foreign language are also not a good idea.
3) Sometimes a stomach ache is not a stomach ache, but acute appendicitis.
4) Dorm "quiet hours" are anything but quiet.
5) The Office was probably the funniest show on television.
6) Having a total stranger for a roommate, regardless of said roommate's sexual orientation, can make for some very interesting/uncomfortable moments.

Like I was saying, I had survived my first 6 seeks of college, despite a rogue organ and super weirdo for a roommate. I was hanging tough and feeling pretty good. Rachel (Remember, its spelled exactly like "Rachel," but pronounced "Rachelle") and I had learned how to avoid/live around each other and so far, things were still relatively normal. Ish.

One day I got back to the dorms to find her crying. She had just gotten off the phone with her mom, who had called to tell her that her grandfather had died. I started blurting out all of the "appropriate things" to say. After a very awkward hug (Hey, it seemed like the right thing to do "in the moment") she went to go hang out with her real friends and I started studying. *Read as looking through my Religions of the World text book while watching The Office.

A few days passed. There were some teary moments where she told me that he was her favorite grandfather and they were very close. But, all in all, things kept chuggin' right along.

Then, one evening I got home from having dinner at my mom's to find a large brown box on her bed. It had been opened and a bunch of old-ish looking "stuff" had been haphazardly strewn about her side of the room. I didn't really think anything of it and started working on a paper for my ENG105 class. After an hour or so, Rachel got back to the dorm, mumbled some greeting, and immediately went over to the box on her bed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she gingerly pulled out an old, over-sized green wind breaker, put it on and slowly zipped it up. Then she started sorting through an envelope of what appeared to be old photos. After a few minutes, she went over to her bag and pulled out a glad-ware dish. She carefully opened up the container and walked over to me.

R: "Look."
M: "Oh, grosse. What is THAT? Is it sand?"
R: "No. It's my grandfather."
M: "....Oh!!" Crap crap crap! Morgan, come ON, SAND??? "Wow....So he was cremated, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
R: "Yeah. My mom sent him to me. I'm going to get a tattoo soon and I want him to be in it."
M: "Oh. That's nice! Like portrait of him or something?" Him??? And why the heck do you need ashes? Is it legal to even mail ashes?? How would you go about packaging something like ashes? And WHY are they still in front of my face??
R: "No. I found a tattoo artist here in Tempe that will put ashes in tattoo ink."
M: "...Wow! I have never heard of that. That sounds really...special!" This is the weirdest moment ever. And seriously, why is "he" STILL in front of my face???
R: "Yeah. You don't need a lot of ashes though. So today I kept him with me and was scattering him all over campus."
M: "..." Come on. Something! "Oh gosh, that's really nice....Um, where exactly did you take...erm...him?" Correction, THAT was the weirdest moment ever.
R: "All over. Outside the dance studio. Next to the MU. In the bushes outside out window. The secret garden. Anywhere that I thought he might like to go."
M: "Oh wow. That does sounds really, really nice." Mental note, never go to any of those places wearing sandals. Or in windy, or even potentially windy, conditions. Wow.

The next week, Rachel invited me and all of her other friends to go watch her get her tattoo. Unfortunately I was unable to attend the event. Shucks. But when I got back to the dorm she was of course, very excited over her new "ink" and asked if I wanted to see it. Now, I have watched my fair share of L.A. Ink and had a general idea about what RIP tats were about. And while I don't think I will ever get a commemorative tattoo honoring a loved one's life and passing, I was at least familiar with the concept. I was expecting maybe some symbol that represented how important her relationship with her grandfather was. Or maybe a portrait of him and her. Something sweet. Something normal. Something that wasn't even remotely similar to what she actually got permanently tattooed on her body. When Rachel lifted up her shirt and folder down the top part of her dancer pants, I found myself staring at a recently balmed pair of closed black and white hand cuffs. Strategically placed over her uterus. To symbolize the oppression she had overcome in her 18 years here on planet earth.

R: "Well? Isn't is awesome?!"
M: Never mind that OPEN handcuffs are usually representative of overcoming oppression. Never mind that it's exactly over your UTERUS. Never mind that IT HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER IN IT!!! Just...nevermind."Yep. Looks great!" Awesome.