Full of energy and ‘Monsters of Rock’ bravado, she freely charges around her side of the dorm room, fingering and fretting her ESP LTD-KH202 electric guitar. Batteries, Bluetooth transmitters, and the like ride her shoulder strap, allowing her to play without wires. And she has not dressed to impress. For bottoms, a pair of standard boring gray sweatpants. For tops, Aunt Mildred’s ‘Winger’ T-shirt. She has cut off the sleeves so her electric green tube top can shine through. A matching electric green scrunchie ties back her mousy brown hair, keeping ANC headphones in place. Her forearms glisten as it’s her practice and workout in one.
Spin has an old soul, certified by the vintage posters and magazine inserts hanging about her side—likenesses of Lita Ford, Joan Jett, Chrissie Hynde, Bonnie Raitt, and Dolores O’Riordan dominate. Each one sends inspiration forward to do it her way, come hell or high water, tearing it up with their signature ax, hair flying and dripping with sweat.
Midterm exams for four of her core subjects are up tomorrow. Medical textbooks are spread out across her bed. Because Spin has a photographic memory, she does not have to study, which frustrates and alienates her from other classmates. One look at anything written and she has a complete recall of text and diagrams. This includes sheet music.
Loafers naturally wander by their room. They gawk too long at Spin’s time warp. Then, they fire jovial cracks at Monica, her roommate. About her shortness. About her wearing kid-sized Miraculous Ladybug sweats. Their final crack against her oversized bifocals always turns fatal. These are glasses Monica only wears to bait prejudice. When they fall for it, she strikes with Koreatown-thug profanity so vicious that visitors run in fear out the door. It is always a great show for Spin.
When it’s just the roommates, Monica sits at her ‘K-Pop’ decorated desk, feet dangling above the floor and cursing away at whatever extra credit assignment she took on. This is the real reason Spin must wear headphones. Between them exists a respectful balance. Spin guitar-dancing around barefoot, sporting toe rings, Monica lining up lattice, vectors, and ciphers.
Enter Doug, flip-flops flapping, also wearing gray sweatpants. Sleeves also cut off. Like, today the Tide detergent-branded T-shirt shows off too much of his flab. His putrid cologne wafts in a second before him, sending the roommates’ harmony into cardiac arrest. “Hey, now.”
Spin pulls off her headphones from one ear and gives him a death glare for interrupting. She softens quickly, remembering Monica once calling him a chubby Clark Kent and remembering Mom retelling her first meeting with Dad, him being a walking block of raw material. Unfortunately, Monica has a more tragic reaction, as she is allergic to most mass-produced colognes. She coughs and sneezes almost at once. “What… do… you… want?”
