Come, Dark

Once upon a time, there was a convent boarding school in Connecticut. It was built during the 1700s when America was still under British rule. It was run by a small group of nuns who transferred from different schools all over the country. It had a majestic structure with massive arches with gargoyles peering down them like rabid dogs, and it felt like they were watching you. Ready to pounce the moment you turn your back on them.

Greek-Corinthian columns supported dome-shaped wooden arches. The columns were thick and fluted with the design of scrolls and unfurled acanthus leaves. There were several stone staircases scattered throughout the convent. Each stair had a cemented lotus carved intricately on the side of the banister. The intricacy and detail of the craftsmanship were beautiful. It must’ve taken an insanely long time to build this convent.

Despite its age, the building was well maintained and in pristine condition, you cannot even see a speck of dirt on the sparkling white walls. The nuns loved white, a color that was predominant on every wall and design. There had never been any other color painted on the convent’s architecture.

The intention of setting up the boarding school was to educate young women and making them independent in every way possible. Women were subdued by patriarchy and were confined to the household. Sociology has taught us that women were not given much importance over men. They were the baby makers and oppressed in many ways. The nuns built the boarding school to make women as capable as men and to instill in them the core values of what the congregation stood for.

Treena flipped through the pages of the prospectus, yawning, staring at the crest of the congregation. This page explained what it stood for, without even bothering to read what it said she flipped yet another page. History was not her forte. If you ever ask her, she would tell you that history class is the best time to take a nap.

Almost all history teachers have given up on trying to keep her engaged in the class. They knew they were fighting a losing battle there. She yawned again as she stared at the faces of the long-dead Principals who sheltered young girls and women during the First World War. Although America didn’t fight the war, many British women found shelter from their families who were trying to sell them off because their father, husband, or fiancé died in the war.

During the early years of the boarding school, there used to be sewing and carpentry classes, but when the nun who was skilled in carpentry passed away due to tuberculosis, there was no one who could fill her shoes.

Years later, the nuns appointed a strict warden who was feared by all the twenty boarders living there. Margaret Christie, a name so innocent yet deadly in person. One look at her, and it would chill you in your spot. Margaret’s stare was enough to straighten up the deviant. Curfew was at ten pm sharp and any activity post that would result in severe punishment. Every student was supposed to have lights out at ten pm, and anyone found to have lights on would be punished severely.

Once Kora Chatterley stayed up past curfew to completed her science project. Margaret was on supervision at ten pm, and when she saw Kora’s lights on, she punished her by confiscating her phone. Yes, the phone. Every girl’s best friend after a freaking diamond. You see, Kora was looking for online answers to complete her assignments, and Margaret pushed open the door and snatched the phone like a hawk.

Savage.

There were tears, thousands of ‘please’ and ‘sorry I won’t do that again,’ but with Margaret, sobbing doesn’t work. Everyone peeped through their doors, watching Kora run behind the fat Margaret. Her heels clicked on the marble tiles as she stormed towards the banister at the end of the hallway.

That was Black Monday for Kora. It will go down in history. Some felt sorry for her, but others were annoyed with Margaret. Kora was using the phone to complete her assignment and not for chatting with her boyfriend, students argued at the dining table, but no one would dare to speak against Margaret.

It wasn’t even worth bringing it up to the principal who was a nun. Her judgment was clouded, always favoring the oppressor over the oppressed. She would hardly pay any attention to the students.

But Treena Alvars and her roommate Jennifer Ganher were not like most girls. They loved to break the rules, and they were brilliant at it. Treena befriended a small town, Jennifer, when she joined the boarding school during August 2019. The aim was to get accustomed to a claustrophobic room with a stingy roommate who fought and complaint about trivial things.

She sighed, looking around the room, which supposed to be hers for the rest of the school year. It somehow managed to look dismal and gloomy despite the bright walls and furniture. She hoped that whoever her roommate was, she would soon be kicked out by some godforsaken crime committed in this boarding school. She had read the rules while applying to this boarding school. Her father was unhappy with the way she was behaving at her previous school.

Low grades, hanging out with the drug addicts, chewing gum loudly, coming fashionably late to class was Treena’s way of dealing with life. The teachers complained, and since there was no one than her father to care for the bills, he decided on something drastic. She hated her father for that. They fought like cats and dogs, calling him a jerk. Then came the ‘respect’ statement. Treena was a spoilt brat, and her neighbors knew that.

“The sooner she’ gone from here, the better.” The female neighbor said when gossiping with her mother-in-law.

Treena had the whole house to herself. Her father was a wealthy real estate agent, and she had everything she could dream of. Their house gate was high with security system functioning at all times. It was weird that the Alvars hadn’t invested in bodyguards. It wasn’t that Treena was Kyle freaking Jenner, but she flaunted so much wealth that even Kyle would be jealous of her.

Treena didn’t care much about boys, for her life was just her, her phone, her television set, and her Rolls Royce. Yes, she was that rich.

Jennifer arrived two days later, leaving Treena two days to unpack and settle down. The bathroom was spacious, and Treena was grateful for that. Her tiny room felt cramped and suffocating. She would have lost it if bathrooms were claustrophobic too. Her bed was- she scratched her head, trying to get the appropriate word ‘ordinary.’ The mattress was white, and there were cotton and thick woolen bedsheets folded and kept on the sides.

“Yuck.” She muttered as if she was vomiting. She pictured the bedsheets as Margaret’s face.

Jennifer was an African girl with salon straight hair. Her eyes were black, and her clothes were- okay. Not as good as Treena’s, but at least they were per the current trend. Treena had the bad habit of judging people by their clothes, segregating a friend from a threat. Jennifer was least bothered of the roommate she shared space with. Her main concern was that the A.C was functioning and that the wall clock was not five minutes ahead than the actual timing. She didn’t want to climb on a stool to change the clock to the exact time. She knew her hands wouldn’t reach.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer.” She said, extending her hand.

Treena seemed to have been in another time zone. She stared at her as if she asked her why she was staying with her. She took off her feet down from the coffee table and saw Jennifer grimace. Treena knew at that moment that the relationship between them is going be just like the one she had with her father.

“Treena.” She said, squeezing her fingers a bit too hard. Jennifer squealed in pain, looking at Treena as if she was bonkers.

For days, both of them didn’t talk much other than asking each other about their studies.

“Do you miss home?” Jennifer asked her one day, to which Treena replied that her house was a living zoo. Jennifer gaped at her, unsure what that meant.

Treena was unapologetic. “My father is the reason why I am here.” She said, munching on Cheetos. She licked her fingers clean much to Jennifer’s disgust. “I don’t like living there.” She said, popping another one in her mouth.

Jennifer didn’t share much other than her parents moved from.

“Don’t tell me that.” Treena said, cutting her. “Which school were you in before moving here,” she asked her.

“I studied in South Africa before moving to America. I was living with my aunt for a month so that I could adjust to the climate.” She shrugged.

Treena watched how she smiled at the mention of her aunt. She concluded that she and her aunt had good relations with each other. “So, you like it here?” she asked.

Jennifer looked around the room, which we were living in, and Treena understood she thought Treena was asking her about the hostel.

“America, I meant,” Treena said, clarifying.

“Oh,” she said, her eyebrows raising. “It’s okay.” She said with a shrug.

Treena raised my eyebrows at her. “Okay?” She didn’t like it here? “Why, so?” It wasn’t her place to ask a complete stranger about this, but she felt intrigued. Jennifer looked like a nerd who would live anywhere with her books. Jennifer was nothing like Treena. Jennifer knew it in her bones. She and Treena wouldn’t get along as roommates, and she pictured themselves fighting over small things, screaming like participants of a reality show.

Jennifer felt uneasy. It caught Treena’s attention. What happened with her that was making Jennifer uncomfortable? “My aunt’s landlord is racist.” She said.

Treena pushed herself on her elbows. Her back hurt, sitting at an odd angle. Treena pondered over the words Jennifer said. Racist. “Okay,” she said. She felt sorry for her. Like genuinely sorry.

“She said that she would take extra rent just because we’re black,” Jennifer said.

Treena was shocked. That was shameful. “So, why are you staying there?” she asked her. Jennifer had dark skin, and her hair had faint traces of being braided in dreadlocks. Treena didn’t understand why Jennifer would tolerate racism by a white woman just because of some rent. She had a feeling there was more to her story.

“We did check with other landlords, but their rent was too much as compared to this one.” She said, looking at the floor. “We had no choice but to stay here.”

“That’s insane,” Treena said. “You know clearly that racism is a crime. So why help the criminal?”

“I want to study here.” Her lip quivered. “I want to live a better life. I am willing to do anything for that.”

Treena couldn’t believe that she said that. “You could’ve argued with her, bargained.”

“My aunt didn’t want to.” She said. Oh, so it was the aunt who was responsible for bearing the humiliation.

“You deserve better,” Treena told her. “She will keep doing this until you break.” Treena didn’t give two fucks about racists. Her blood boiled when Jennifer said that.

***

At dinner, everyone assembled in the dining room. It was huge, glass chandeliers hanged over the tables. The chandeliers crystals reflected the light from within and cast rainbow patterned lights on the walls.

As Treena waited in line to serve herself, she noticed how the wiring was changed several times before they installed the modern wiring system. They painted the walls a month ago, and she could see flecks of fresh white paint on the wiring.

The table was dark wood, polished to such an extent that she could see her reflection in it. She ate her food in silence, occasionally smiling at Jennifer. The food here was delicious. The cooks had made a chicken dish with tofu and gravy. Treena couldn’t stop herself from hogging. She looked up when Jennifer nudged her from under the table. She mimicked her hogging behavior, telling her to slow down. Treena rolled her eyes at her. Jennifer kicked her again and glared at her, signaling that she was eating like a pig.

One hour before curfew, Treena sat on her bed, scrolling through Instagram while Jennifer had her nose buried in a book she issued from the library. Five big hardbound books sat at her desk. Just imagining carrying them around in her backpack made her backache. Not to mention the dust would make her sneeze forever. The library was her no-go zone.

Jennifer sprang up, closing her books like a robot when the curfew ball rang at ten pm sharp. She nearly scared Treena, wondering what had gotten into Jennifer. Were nerds like this? Springing up like a Duracell-powered toy. She watched her as she set the books on the table, keeping them one over the other. She then carefully made her bed. She climbed up the ladder, anxiously sitting on the mattress. Then she joined her palms and prayed. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer to the Almighty. Treena’s phone buzzed in her hand, but she was interested in watching Jennifer pray. She felt terrible for what Jennifer had gone through. As someone who was a spoilt child, Treena was astonished by how a girl like Jennifer would go through racism to get a good place to stay.

Jennifer looked at Treena’s phone. “Can I switch off the lights?” She asked her.

“Yeah.” She replied. The room was now cloaked in darkness.