Guess where?

This is a story about a place that no longer exists.

But it did, once.

We were given the letter A, because of course they gave us the infamous scarlet letter, to remind us of who we were at our cores. Perhaps you've over-analyzed that bit. But if you wander the halls, you might hear indistinct wailing echoing from behind thick, wooden doors. Could be howls of joy, could be screams of sadness, exhaustion, and homework that can't be understood.

This is where we met. In a land of green carpet and white-washed concrete walls, of inconvenient fire drills and hidden liquor bottles.

The B for Boy land was a foreign and unreal place. Each time a door was kicked open, you heard loud rap and hip hop music, smelled dirty clothes and showers not taken, saw hallways littered with trash. It was definitely lived in. It was a place we dared not go, unless we accidentally started loving one of them.

C was for the miscreants, the odd ones out. Too old for purely gendered halls, too out of place, or just too angry to deal with people in general. It was clean. Fox News was their white noise. Every person a ghost, sleeping, at work, in class, avoiding homework. Sneaking in and out of those rooms felt natural, like we were all adults here and we could be trusted and besides the RA isn't our mom anyway.

They tore it down. We don't miss it, but we miss the memory of it.