This is my last year in the college house that I have called home for the past two years. I’ve had various roommates come and go, but I’ve consistently stayed in this quadplex kind of home since my days in the dorms ended. Because of this, I know all of the little ins and outs of my three-bedroom, two-bathroom house.
Upon approaching my front door, you’ll find two trash cans. The blue is for recycling, which goes out on the third Thursday of the month. The green is for trash every Monday. The green can is actually quite accommodating for my full hands from practice or school and has two medium-sized holes on the top for easy disposal. While it may be from countless squirrels chewing away trying to reach my half-eaten Ramen noodles from the previous week, I appreciate their consideration, nonetheless.
The first step is more like a shove in my front door. We’ve got a thick rug right inside the door to wipe your feet, which my sister and I’s cats seem to love to push. They position it perfectly to get caught under the door, therefore making it tricky to get inside.
The kitchen and living room are to your left when you walk in, filled with hand-me-down furniture from my grandparents’ old house. The greens and blues of the couch mixed with the solid, dark oak of the TV stand create quite the confusing visual. The carpet lies flat, essentially taking the form of hardwood floors since we’re unsure of the last time it was replaced, and like most college kids, we’re just thankful to be able to say we have carpet. While the furniture choices may not be the most aesthetic, the memories of laughter, talking and eating dinner on that couch fill the cushions as I collapse into them.
My kitchen cabinets are also filled, again with old bowls, pots and pans from my grandparents. The countertops are littered with an air fryer that I’m convinced isn’t broken but won’t turn on, a coffee maker that leaks water and a moldy basket of bread and Ramen that I haven’t thrown away. My air fryer recently becoming out of commission has proven to be quite the challenge when crafting quick and affordable meals into my busy week.
In the basement, my room is tucked in a corner that serves as its own oasis. Be careful getting there, though.
My lights in the basement only seem to work if the upstairs switch is half-flipped. There’s also a cat tower square in the middle of the walkway. The little kitty hammock always seems to catch my toes after a long day of practice with gear and a computer in my hand. We can all imagine how that interaction goes.
My bedroom has a window that doesn’t close all the way and a thin ceiling, of which I can hear my sister’s alarm go off in the morning. But, it has three blankets thrown across a bed that I’m always excited to see. It’s like the reward at the end of my day. And, if you look hard enough, I bet you’ll find popcorn kernels, old puzzle pieces or photos under the bed from various movie nights and friendships.
My basement bathroom is also something I admire, besides the fact that it serves as a built-in laundry room as well. College houses tend to be pretty great at combining rooms while keeping the bill high. One of the lights is out above the sink, and a screw is missing on the toilet seat, but these minor details are something I don’t notice when I roll out of bed, half-awake in the morning.
Yes, I could be contacting a landlord who is at my beck and call, but as hinted at earlier, I have cats. I’m not allowed to have cats.
My street is far from campus, about seven or eight blocks, which means I’m submerged in the Kearney community. There are a few questionable houses, but during the summer and fall, kids are riding their bikes down my alley, screaming and playing in sprinklers. There’s always someone barbecuing.
One of these days, before I pack up and move out, I’ll ask them for a hot dog or whatever they’ve slapped on the grill. But for now, I’ll stick to my slice of home that I’ve designed, with two crazy cats and the minor issues that make my college house a college home.
