I Knew, Somehow - by Alissa Rae Funderburk

John Jay was the only building with single dorm rooms for freshmen but the rooms we considered small and most people generally preferred to have larger rooms and roommates. I preferred being alone. It's what I was used to. So, that night, I was alone again, in my own little cocoon on the 13th floor, done with the day and ready for bed, when I got the message to meet at Barnard.

I didn’t know what exactly to expect. I’d heard stories of pledges fetching meals or doing laundry, being called at all hours of the night, but we weren’t pledges yet. Even so, I knew not to ask any questions.

I showed up, reporting for duty only to meet a veritable tribunal. Others had entered the room before me and, presumably, were told not to utter a word as they left. I stood before my judges, nervous. For what, I didn’t know. I was asked some questions, but my answers don’t matter, they certainly didn’t then.

Finally, I was asked to do an interpretive dance, symbolizing what the organization meant to me. I was flabbergasted. Dancing? With the lights bright, in front of ladies I had hoped to impress? Clearly this was a joke. But the seriousness on their faces said, “No.” I had to dance. So, I smiled and, channeling episodes of “So You Think You Can Dance,” spun around the room. “Use the floor,” I could hear in my head. I waved my arms and added a leap, finishing with a flourish.

Afterwards, I left wanting to laugh at myself, but also at them. Was this what they wanted? To embarrass me? It would take more than that.

The next day, we got lunch, my mentor and I. She told me all the other girls had cried. That they were both surprised and impressed that I hadn’t. I knew, somehow, that this wasn’t for me. This wasn’t what I wanted, to be broken down and built back up in their image. I was already perfect, made in His image. Why would I change that?