The People vs. Peabody

My best friends dropped me off at home from what would become our last day of high school on March 18, 2020. Right before the final bell rang, our principal had gone over the intercom and announced that Governor Mike DeWine was sending Ohio students home for three weeks.

We couldn’t believe our good luck – three weeks of spring break. At that point, we had all committed to a college for the fall and senioritis was hitting hard. 

I was the first dropped off at home after our weekly McDonald’s run, and I cheerfully told my friends that I would see them on Monday … three weeks from then.

Of the four other people in that car, it was the last time I saw three of them in person.

By July, the cabin fever reached an all-time peak. You can only go on so many family walks and rewatch the Harry Potter movies so many times before you feel like you’re about to snap.

I had set my sights on the upcoming fall semester. I would refuse to listen when people tried to tell me that I’d be lucky to go to school at all, let alone have any in-person events.

I was making dinner with my mom when a text from my future roommate popped up on my phone: “Housing assignments are out! We’re in Peabody Hall.”

I looked up at my mom. “Peabody Hall? I don’t think I remember that one.”

Before she could answer, my older brother, who was about to be a senior at Miami, chimed in. 

“Shit, they’re putting you in Peabody?” He scoffed. “That sucks.”

My heart sank. 

All my hopes that the fall semester would save what had become the worst school year imaginable came crashing down.

First, the school musical I had spent three months tirelessly designing the costumes, hair and makeup for was cancelled. Then, my prom dress was returned to the mall in the shiny plastic the sales assistant had wrapped it in, tags still clipped to the sleeve. By the time graduation was called off, I couldn’t even muster up surprise. 

My excitement for move-in weekend turned to dread. No amount of research made me feel better. My twin brother, who had been placed in Hepburn Hall, would be a 25-minute walk away. King Library, a 20-minute walk. And no spot uptown would take less than a 30-minute commute.

And on top of all that, the building was haunted. I’d be bunking with a damn ghost.

Just a week out from move-in, my roommate and I found out we’d both been placed in rooms by ourselves, due to the amount of students that had chosen to stay home.

She was the one friend I’d have waiting for me at school, and now we’d be alone. In Peabody.

“I can’t believe it,” I texted her.

“At least we’ll be down the hall from each other :(,” she replied.

Finally, move-in day came. 

My mom went to find parking while my dad and I began carrying my things up the two flights of stairs to my dorm room because, of course, the elevator wasn’t working. When we came out of the stairwell, my dad laughed. I groaned.

“Guess they were inspired by ‘The Shining,’” my dad said.

The resemblance was uncanny to the movie. The pale, flickering fluorescent lights, the geometric-patterned carpet, the strange, peach-pink walls. 

My parents tried to be encouraging as they helped me unpack my things. I’m a pretty optimistic person, but the ‘glass half-empty’ metaphor felt shockingly applicable to my half-bare dorm room.

When they finally went to leave, my mom wrapped me in a hug. 

“Try to make the best of it,” she whispered in my ear.

I stood outside the building and watched their car drive off. When I finally made it back to my room, a thrill of panic jumped through me.

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For the first time in my life, I felt completely and truly alone.  

In all fairness, I really did try to take my mother’s advice. I spent that first week with my door propped open, waiting for passersby to waltz in and become the best friends that would someday be my bridesmaids, like I’d always been promised. 

I went to the (Zoom) welcome events hosted by our resident director. For about a week, it seemed like Peabody Hall might not be so bad.

And then that week ended.

Life quickly fell into a pattern. Wake up, go to class on Zoom, get lunch from Western Dining Hall, eat in the room, go to Zoom class again, bring dining hall food back to the dorm again and watch “Friends” for the thousandth time before falling asleep.

There were days – yes, days consecutively – where I did not speak to a single person.

That isn’t to say the silence was all bad. I learned a lot about myself, and existing on my own. I learned just how long you can wait to do laundry before you run out of clean underwear, and the best spots in the dining hall to sit and do homework. 

But you can only exist so long in complete, oppressive silence before you wonder if, when you do finally speak, anyone will bother to listen. 

I’m not vain enough to assume Peabody Hall was the root of my isolation. First-years all across campus reported feeling increased isolation due to the pandemic.

But some contributing factors to my loneliness were distinctly Peabody-based. When residents in other dorms would pile into their floor’s common area for movie nights or baking cookies, we had Zoom trivia nights (one of the “perks” of living in an almost 200-year-old dorm: no common areas.)

The few friends I was able to make through Zoom classes typically lived 25-minutes across campus and refused to walk all the way over to Peabody, leaving me with a choice: risk walking alone at night, or bail.

More often than not, the answer was to call a rain check.

I can’t speak to the experiences of living in Peabody during a non-pandemic year. Maybe it’s the hot spot on campus most years.

Probably not, though. The moldy showers and consistent bug infestations in the dorm rooms make that a moot point. 

So, Miami, here are my closing arguments in the case against Peabody Hall; maybe it wasn’t a good idea to put first-year students alone, in the most isolated dorm on campus, during a pandemic that restricted most in-person social gatherings.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad. In spite of the isolation and the loneliness and the mildew in the hallways, there were friends to be made in Peabody. 

But more importantly, there were friends to be made outside of it.