The flurry of brightly colored stickers in the hallway of my dorm this week are a bit of a throwback to kindergarten, but each time I pass the fluorescent greens and oranges, my heart beats a little bit faster.
These seemingly insignificant dots actually hold the fateful keys to the future of my life in Lyons Hall. Each circle coordinates with a possible home for each Lyonite next year, and room picks have nearly every girl waiting for the end of Tuesday night with bated breath.
Each member of my dorm stands waiting with the image of the perfect room in her eye, her lottery number in hand and her future roommate by her side. Should the stars align and the fates act graciously, rooming assignments will fall in into place perfectly. However, as the dots for mock picks are arranged and rearranged, the hints of desperation and drama are beginning to fill the air. Our perfect fourth floor double with the window overlooking the lake is suddenly an object of the most intense competition, and plans to beg and barter our way to that glorious room take shape while the fateful hour draws closer by the minute.
Realistically, we know that we will make the best of our situation, no matter how the cards are dealt. Our current room, though tiny and conveniently located next to the loudest pipes in the building, has been lived in and loved profusely. Yet we are anxiously awaiting the moment when we can escape the liberation of our tiny basement room for the more spacious settlements of the higher floors. As we envision our home for next year — the room that will house our comfortable futon, our many pairs of shoes, our collection of classic Disney movies, and (unfortunately) my roommate's giant cutout of Edward Cullen — can we help it if we find ourselves dreaming? This room will be the stage for Monday night dance parties, delusional pillow talk, late night study sessions, traditional Thursday night watch of The Office and midnight ice cream breaks — and we are carried away by far-fetched hope that our lowly pick No. 55 will secure our choice venue for these events.
So we watch with fingers crossed for good luck and hearts racing with anticipation as the board begins to fill with bright bubbles and numbers. The luckiest of the Lyonites walk with a certain confidence in their step, secure in their single-digit pick numbers and mentally moving on to determining the layout for next year's rooms. Others check their stickers between classes and fidget during lecture with anxiety. Alternatives are weighed over and over in each girl's head, and all the possible arrangements are considered should reality spiral into the worst-case scenario. We barely dare to breathe, stomachs fluttering, hearts beating furiously, waiting for a place to call home, sweet home.
