Spit up and the Suburbs

This. 

Could. 

Not. 

Be. 

Real. 

Alyssa had actually gotten into the sorority of her dreams! Yes, Alyssa Steinberg, a real Pi Tri Kappa, with the letters right there on her tee-shirt to prove she’d personally received that highly-coveted bid. 

Alyssa felt untouchable that day wearing her Pi Tri shirt, along with a pair of very-flattering jeans, if you must know. Her hair was blown out and her makeup was on point, too. As Alyssa strode confidently toward the cafeteria, it felt like all eyes were on her. 

If this moment had a soundtrack, the song would definitely be “Crazy In Love” by Beyoncé.

I’m not myself, lately I’m foolish, I don’t do this

I’ve been playing myself, baby, I don’t care

‘Cause your love’s got the best of me

And, baby, you’re making a fool of me

Was it just her imagination or was her hair blowing in the wind a la Beyoncé, too? Meanwhile, as most of the student body stopped what they were doing to watch the movie of Alyssa’s life play out (or at least it felt this way), her mascara-embellished eyes were busy scanning the horizon for her new “sisters.” Oh, here comes Aster and Bristol, she thought. Sure, they were indisputably two of the most admired girls on campus, but they were all in the same sorority now!

Alyssa stood up a little taller, pushed her shoulders back, and picked up her gait, or as much as was possible while wearing platform shoes. This was the moment that Aster and Bristol were going to notice her—maybe even talk to her, because they sure hadn’t given Alyssa the time of day yet. But now, finally, she’d have their seal of approval, as a bonafide sister for life, just as they’d all vowed on initiation night. 

Just a few words from Aster and Bristol might dissolve the nagging insecurity she’d been fighting to keep at bay since arriving at school. Until becoming a Pi Tri, she’d been consumed with thoughts of not fitting in. Again. Just like at the much bigger, urban university she’d transferred from after making few connections, and spending most Friday nights alone in her dorm, studying. Sure, she’d earned a 3.9 GPA freshman year, but if you’d asked anyone on campus if they knew who Alyssa Steinberg was, only her boyfriend and roommate would have confirmed her attendance there. That was the thing. Boys always seemed to notice Alyssa. Girls? Not so much. 

As such, since arriving at the new school, she’d sat by herself in the cafeteria most days, witnessing groups of girls congregating together, laughing and looking far more well adjusted than Alyssa felt inside. What was their secret? Were they all talking about people and events that she had no knowledge of having just enrolled at the new school? It felt as if everyone was in on the same joke, except her.

But that relentless voice in the back of her head insisting Alyssa wasn’t ever going to fit in anywhere was about to get a hand clapped over its mouth. Because this was it.

Except mere seconds later, the encounter with Aster and Bristol crashed and burned as hard as the first time Alyssa tried to shave her legs in sixth grade, and soon saw a chunk of her ankle floating in the bathtub. 

The next brutal moments played out in slow motion. Years afterwards, Alyssa could still remember how her heart sank heavily, painfully, as Aster and Bristol kept on walking right past her, right past her new Pi Tri shirt, and bright, friendly smile. How, deeply engaged in a conversation for two, the long-tressed, 7 For All Mankind-denim adorned coeds strode right by her best attempt at a knowing, familiar expression. Right past their supposed “sister for life.” As untouchable as Alyssa had felt in her imaginary music video just seconds before, she felt just as low now.

The realization that she’d never be Aster and Bristol’s real friend, no matter how much Pi Tri Kappa swag she wore, swept over her entire body with a cold, dull wave. Her comportment slowed from unstoppable, to as if she was moving through molasses.

The soundtrack inside her head began playing “Fix You” by Coldplay. 

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can’t replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

The scarring rejection she experienced that day back in college when Aster and Bristol showed not even the slightest interest in her presence on planet Earth was chillingly similar to what Alyssa was feeling now, years later, at the third grade back-to-school night, with Trish McCabe holding court, her holier-than-thou demeanor almost too much to bear witness to. What, was Alyssa supposed to bow down to Trish, right there on the scratchy classroom carpet to get approval for her existence? Probably.

As the teacher moved on to explaining the discipline policy, Alyssa gave Trish plenty of opportunities to register even the smallest gesture of recognition in her general vicinity. She looked Trish’s way more than once, waiting for a quick nod or mouthed “hey.” 

After all, she lived in her house, right? Who else knew as intimately that the primary bathtub’s cold water handle had so much hard water build up that it would need to be replaced to ever work properly again? Or the exact location of a few specific pool pavers that had cracked over the years? She and Trish had so much in common! They’d both sung their children to sleep in the same nightlight-lit rooms at 2 a.m. They’d laughed at Super Bowl commercials among the same four walls of the family room. The women had cooked endless dinners on the same stove, nursed babies and boo boos in that house, cried, made love to their husbands, yelled out in exasperation over burnt meals and oversugared kids.

And yet, it was if the house that forever tied Alyssa’s name to Trish’s in endless introductions didn’t exist. Because much like when she was in college, that “hi” never came. The entire teacher presentation went by without so much as a little wave or shared eyeroll over another mom’s too-long, too-highly-individualized question, that so didn’t apply to everyone in the room, and could have been asked after the 40 other parents left.

As the presentation wrapped up, and groups of BFF parents filed out of the classroom, chatting and laughing, maybe over another inside joke she wasn’t privy to,  Alyssa thought back to the only mom’s night out (MNO) that she’d ever been invited to by the PMS Club.