(All the names of the characters in this story have been changed to protect the innocent. Actually no one is innocent, which is even more of a reason for protection.)
Growing up I always had a roommate… my brother. We were a family of two boys and a girl so guess who was the only one that got her own room… always. Well not always, because my senior year in high school I finally got my own room. It was divine. My brother went away to college and it was all mine. Life was good!!! When I started planning on going away to college I found out that I had to have a roommate.
Private rooms were expensive and hard to come by. I didn’t really know anyone that I could room with except my brother (been there, done that) so I signed up for the random roommate selection. During the summer before going away to school I received a post card with my room and roommate assignment. I don’t remember the room number but I remember the name… Slate Ustes. Seriously? “OK,” I thought, “this should be interesting.” Off I went to college. Slate turned out to be a nice fellow. We were both music majors. Slate could play the best southern gospel piano I had ever seen. He could sing too, but piano was his thing. Man, that boy could tear up a keyboard. As the quarter went on (the school I went to in Georgia was on quarters, not semesters) we became fast friends. Late one night Slate and I were sitting up talking about life and such, like roommates do, and Slate told me he was gay. I wasn’t really sure what to say. In 1981 this was not a regular topic of conversation. Later in our conversation, when Slate confessed to liking me, I was truly blown away. Here I was, the poster child for heterosexuality, so busy chasing every skirt in sight that it had never even crossed my mind that my roommate would be any less of a skirt-chaser than I was. The remainder of the quarter was a little strange between Slate and me, but we remained as friends. We still talked and sang together, just not quite as much as before. At the end of the first quarter Slate went back home and I never saw him again.
Private rooms were expensive and hard to come by. I didn’t really know anyone that I could room with except my brother (been there, done that) so I signed up for the random roommate selection. During the summer before going away to school I received a post card with my room and roommate assignment. I don’t remember the room number but I remember the name… Slate Ustes. Seriously? “OK,” I thought, “this should be interesting.” Off I went to college. Slate turned out to be a nice fellow. We were both music majors. Slate could play the best southern gospel piano I had ever seen. He could sing too, but piano was his thing. Man, that boy could tear up a keyboard. As the quarter went on (the school I went to in Georgia was on quarters, not semesters) we became fast friends. Late one night Slate and I were sitting up talking about life and such, like roommates do, and Slate told me he was gay. I wasn’t really sure what to say. In 1981 this was not a regular topic of conversation. Later in our conversation, when Slate confessed to liking me, I was truly blown away. Here I was, the poster child for heterosexuality, so busy chasing every skirt in sight that it had never even crossed my mind that my roommate would be any less of a skirt-chaser than I was. The remainder of the quarter was a little strange between Slate and me, but we remained as friends. We still talked and sang together, just not quite as much as before. At the end of the first quarter Slate went back home and I never saw him again.
Then came the second quarter. Donnie, my best friend and body guard, moved in with me. Donnie was 6’ 8” and weighed in at a stealthy 240 lbs. He was a gentle giant. He played guitar and loved to sing. We chewed tobacco and drank together like the world was coming to an end. We had a ball. With about three weeks left in the quarter Donnie told me he was moving out. Are you kidding me? But he was the perfect roomy. Drinking, carousing, spittin’ and chewing. What was I going to do? Donnie moved out because of all of the things we did so well together. He wanted to pass, not fail, and our roommate shenanigans were making us both fail. At the two-week mark Donnie moved out and another fellow, whose name escapes me, moved in. He was there just for those last two weeks. He was moving to a house for the next quarter; I was just temporary.
The third and last quarter arrived with a new roommate. Yes, I was up to 4 now. Larry moved in and I knew I was in trouble. Not only was I a partier and a scoundrel, but I was also a slob. No really, I mean an unadulterated nuisance to cleanliness. S-L-O-B!!!! It usually only took a few days for my bed to disappear. Rumor had it that each student had a desk but I never found mine. My walls were plastered from ceiling to floor with car pictures. Muscle cars, hot rods, every kind of car I could find a good picture of went on my wall. Larry, or Lawrence as he preferred to be called, was just the opposite. His closet was arranged by color. It started to the left with black and progressively lightened as it moved to the right. Shirts were this way and separately so were his pants. Even his shoes and belt were sorted this way. I was afraid, very afraid. All of the guys in the adjoining rooms began to take wagers on how long this guy would last. I had gained a bit of a reputation for running people off. Something a little different about Larry was he seemed to take a lot of naps. He had a hard time getting up in the morning (don’t we all?). I saw him more than once take a nap mid-morning and mid-afternoon in the same day. He was very quiet. Larry and I got along fine even though he wasn’t very talkative and I was overly so. During class one day the student director interrupted and pulled me out. About an hour and a half prior he had received a call from Larry’s mom. She had insisted that the student director find her son, pull him out of class and take him to the nearest hospital. She was adamant. She insisted. When Larry heard what his mom had said on the phone, he said, “Where is the nearest hospital?” Apparently this was not the first time his mom had sensed something. Larry said she was never wrong. She didn’t always have details but her intuition was right on. As Larry and the student director walked into the ER at the hospital 13 miles from the campus, Larry dropped to the floor dead. An aneurism had burst in his brain. Only if it had happened while he was on the operating table could he have been saved. The remainder of the third quarter of my first year in college I spent alone. The housing director said I could have a private room for no extra charge. I wasn’t sure I wanted one.
What was GOD thinking to put me through all of that in my first year of college? Did he not know how hard it is in your freshman year? What was he preparing me for? WHY?
The next year I had the same roommate all year long. I was still a slob but I think I learned to be respectful of my roommate… maybe because I didn’t know how long I would have him as a roommate.
Do you ever question GOD about the things that happen in your life? Sure you do. We all do. Job did. Remember him? Remember what he said after he had gone through so much and GOD asked him, “You are GOD’s critic, but do you have all the answers?” In Job 40:3-5, “Then Job replied to the Lord, “I am nothing. How could I ever find the answers? I will put my hand over my mouth in silence. I have said too much already. I have nothing more to say.”
Maybe it’s time to close our mouths and start listening.
Tommy Gilstrap, UBC Adult & Friend to College Students
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