His name was Greg and I met him the beginning of my freshman year of
college. We were both attending the university on athletic scholarships,
he for soccer and me for football, and we wound up being roommates. The
athletes started school a few weeks before the rest of the students in
order to get our orientation out of the way and get a jump on practice.
Most of the dorms weren't ready to be opened so we jocks were stuck in some
of the oldest dormitories on the campus temporarily, until the official
start of the semester when we'd be assigned to our permanent rooms. Greg
and I wound up sharing this tiny room in the attic of McDonald Hall, barely
the size of a walk-in closet. To reach it was four flights of stairs, then
through a heavy oak door and down a long, thin corridor to a narrow flight
of steep steps that ended on the threshold of our room. There was no other
door, just the opening to the stairs, and it faced directly out the dormer
window. At either side of the room were small closets and the room itself
was furnished with two small beds, two desks, two lamps, etc. It was the
third week of August and the old dorm wasn't air conditioned so it was
unbearably hot in that cubby hole but, somehow, it seemed wonderful all the
same.
