Dear College Chums

Trying to have friends is rough.

Maybe it's the season. (Probably not, though.)

Image from HERE

If You Insist

I guess I am not too surprised that the only time the Dean wants to meet with me to discuss my calamitous college career is the morning after my twenty-first birthday, when I have breezed into town to visit friends.

Some Girls Cannot Remember the Last Time They Went Swimming

Once in a while, you ought to let folks talk you into things.

You will probably look very silly.

(You would be foolish not to.)

K.I.T.

"People there are like birds that come down in flocks, hop about chattering, gobble up their seed, then fly away, forgetting what they have swallowed. I love not to scatter grain for such as these. With you, friend, it is different."

-from Story of a Piebald Horse, By W. H. Hudson

In May, which seems just so very long ago, my dear friend L. took a train to Galesburg, missed her stop, and took one back from Princeton, having realized her mistake. Some hours later, she stood before a small, delighted assembly of old friends. The reunion took place over sweet potato fries, and we discussed plans for her weekend visit as The Oak Room slowly emptied of other students. After sopping up sherbet spilled by one of L.'s overzealous devotees, and publicly displaying our affections, this little band of the newly reunited went about their debauchery and adventuring and gossiping.

I am not really here to recount the story of L.'s visit to you in any great detail.  If you are curious, it was a lovely time. We started our weekends early. We stayed up late smoking cigarettes on porches, poking fun and catching up. We did all of the sorts of things that make for a splendid time in person but rather dull reading. I bring up the reunion, not because I think fondly of it (although of course I do), but because it was so surreal and bittersweet.

L. left Galesburg just about a year ago, because of a sort of change in educational plans. I think this sort of thing happens all the time. At any rate, L. is in Galesburg no longer, and there are few circumstances in the foreseeable future that might bring me to her whereabouts. "Give up." said Geography, "Proximity rules". "I'm coming to visit in May!" L. replied.

The reunion temporarily defeated separation. It was a swell time. The gang was all there. The strangeness and the sadness that just barely crept in, though, came from knowing that L. would leave, and that she was not scheduled to board any more trains and miss any more stops for Galesburg. There was the great hope that she would come back, but no assurance. What now? 
 

Drifting apart seems most obvious, and in some ways, inevitable. Proximity has its benefits. However, L. has reminded me that we can choose our friends no matter how unfortunate our geography, and what a timely reminder! Stuck here in Maryland for the summer once again, friendless and generally miserable, Geography would have me believe that she has crushed every human relationship I treasure. Instead, I write letters, have started a blog, and lo! Those friends that are dear remain so, simply because we correspond occasionally, and most importantly, because we like one another.