The Roommate

I didn't want to kick Julie out--even though I wanted to kill her at times. Julie stayed in bed all day after her dean informed her that she would not be permitted to apply for tenure. Her father had recently passed away, and Julie had gotten more depressed. Prior to her father's illness, Julie was taking multiple medications; including painkillers and stimulants. I begged her to go to work and wean off some of the drugs. I even threw water on her to get her out of bed. She needed a mobile bed or a bed with an eject button. Sometimes she would stay in bed until supper time, and she'd wake up long enough t eat and go back to sleep. I begged her to look for jobs, but she refused.

She kept insisting she wanted to stay with me, but I asked her how she would pay for the rent.

"I"m gong to get a job. I want to stay here. I'm not going back to Texas," she said.

Her family lived in Texas, and she moved to get away from all the drama. She didn't get along with her older sister, and her younger brother constantly asked her parents for money. Her mother had enabled her brother for years. Julie's felt her siblings had taken advantage of her. She was always the "golden-child," but got tired of being put in that role.

I also did all the housework. Sometimes I wanted to throw cat liter on Julie or do something drastic. Every time I complained about her not doing her share of the work, she'd complain to her friends, and tell them I was abusive. She also constantly went to urgent care with vague complaints, and I quit taking her, so she made me look bad to the few friends she had.

It would be mean to kick her out. But she wasn't going to stay there anyway, and I had to do something. I waited until she got up.

"Julie, we need to talk," I said.

Julie walked into the kitchen and sat down at the oak table. I felt my pulse racing. I didn't want to kick her out, and I was afraid it would ruin our relationship.

"This just isn't working," I said.

Julie's eyes widened.

"What do you mean? I told you I''m getting a job.'

I shook my leg.

"You can't stay here. I think it would be good for you to go back home."

Julie's nostrils flared.

"Hell no. You can't just kick me out."

"I can if you're not paying the rent. I can't pay all of it," I said.

Julie sobbed.

"I'm ill. My Dad just died. I got screwed over at work, and now you're Turing on me?

"I"m doing what I have to do. I think you can get more help in Austin."

Julie glanced out the window. She wiped her face.

After our difficult conversation, the tension between the two of us got worse. I started slamming doors and I destroyed the impatiens. I would get so angry I couldn't stop. Julie called the police and told them I was suicidal. The psychiatric ward was worse than jail. Former inmates were in treatment for PTSD. The psychiatric ward was where inmates were sent to detox, and there was no way in hell I was going there.

When she called the police, I made the mistake of hiding in the woods. I had been hospitalized for depression before, and I knew how psychiatric patients had very few rights. I watched the search lights and cried. How did Julie and I go from being good friends to enemies? I couldn't believe she was willing to have me locked up after she knew about a bad experience I had with the psychiatric ward.

I finally emerged from the woods, as I knew the police weren't going away. When I got back to the house, the police asked me questions about the President. After I argued with them and told them about my horrible experience with the psyche ward, one of the officers decided I wasn't psychotic and didn't need to be hospitalized

After the incident with the police, I told Julie to pack her bags. I thrashed the house , and told her I never wanted to have anything to do with her again. When she protested I threw pictures on the sidewalk. Glass shards were strewn all over the front yard.

"Just leave. No one likes you hear. You're not welcome," I shouted. My family never wanted me to room with her in the first place, and they made fun of Julie behind her back. Mama called her a "lazy lying lump" and said she was essentially a worthless human being. I liked the "lazy lying lump," but I had a difficult time thinking anyone was worthless, I just thought she was sick and had gotten worse. She had a kind of sickness that wasn't easily diagnosed.

I threw Julie's blanket outside. Julie cried and called her family. Her sister came over to help her move out. I overheard her sister complaining that Julie always got involved in abusive relationships, and she wanted to get a restraining order against me.

My mom and stepdad came over during moving day and wanted me to stay in my room while the movers packed Julie's stuff.

"This is my house!" I yelled. I walked out of my room

"Get back in your room," my mom said.

I was worried Julie would take my stuff.

"You stupid bitch," I yelled at Julie. Everyone got quiet. My mom was crying, and Julie's sister threatened to call the police.

I smashed pictures. I wanted to smash more things. It was all so unfair. Now I was in a situation where I'd have to rush out and find another roommate because Julie didn't want to get out of bed. Then she would complain about being a victim. I hated her, and loved her at the same time. We'd been through so many difficult things together, and it was hard to just write off her friendship.

After Julie finished packing, I wanted to tell her bye, but no one would let me talk to her. When Julie walked out the door, I wondered if we would ever speak to each other again. The garden we planted would come back every year and would always remind me of her. I believe a piece of a person always remains behind.

I cried myself to sleep that night. I thought about how losing a friend was another kind of death, and sometimes that was even more painful than losing a loved. There would never be any closure. Julie might get sicker. I later found out she'd told people I tried to hurt her. I felt a combination of anger and grief. I could've sued her for slander, but I decided it was best to move on.

On cool summer evenings, I'd think about how she loved to sit on the porch and listen to the chickadees. I could hear my grandmother's voice in my head saying, "Remember the good times."