the sky is wicked huge.
like an excellent night? It was one of the most embarrassing moments of life, but I will remember it forever. One weekend in the middle of October, when the weather was cold enough to wear a jacket, but warm enough for your fingers to be exposed to the cold air I went out with some friends. After I drank some wine, drank some beer, went to a party, and came home (the same thing I did the weekend before), I stumbled upon some incoherent people on my floor. All of us, imbalanced and dazed, talked and laughed at the simple things before going to bed. When I stumbled out of my room, my feet squeaked against the hard tile and I almost fell into water fountain that was directly in front of me. The narrow hallways seemed like the streets of New York City. People were loud, running around, acting like they were eight years old again. I was trying to remember where I dropped my toothbrush when I heard some gagging noises coming from the men’s bathroom across from my room. Being curious, and still in a drunken stupor, I entered the bathroom to find
one of my hallmates hovered over the toilet. To my surprise, no one was taking care of him, so I offered him some crackers, a bottle of water, and hug and tried to be as motherly as possible without making him feel uncomfortable. The next day, when I saw him in the hallway, he grinned at me with a sincere look in his eyes, telling me thank you through his facial gestures. This nod, this grin, this look of recognition, was the first time since I moved to The Little Building that I felt like I was genuinely appreciated for my random act of kindness. Since that night in October, I began to notice the many people who roam my hallway during the night. I began to notice the people who live four doors down from me, six doors down from me, even eight doors down from me. It began with small talk, then with conversations, and then to appreciating what these people were passionate about. Soon enough, we were saying hi to each other on Boylston. Through getting to know so many different people, I was able to discover the true meaning and beauty of people that I
wouldn’t necessarily know without being assigned to live within such close proximities. That’s the beauty of college. People show what they know, reflect on their past, and share stories. I realized over the course of the year that college lasts four years, but you are only a freshman once. Virtually a fourth of my life is over, perhaps the best fourth. But as I look back, I realize why this year has become so close to my heart. The people on the twelfth floor supported all of my immature activities, reckless partying, and irresponsible decisions. I love the twelfth floor because we all believed that this was the only time in our lives when we can go to bed at 2 am and it feel early. We can walk into a friend’s room, see them basically naked, and continue to eat C-Store food like nothing is wrong. I love the twelfth floor because we can all drink Mr. Boston and Natural Ice Beer and still feel like the classiest people alive. If one of us were to pee in the elevator, we would all laugh and salute him. As these once strangers became my friends, my family, I have be-
Magazine project for Emerson College's WR121 Writing for Civic Engagement class, Spring '10.