(no subject)
Recently, I've found myself working myself to exhaustion and playing myself even further down into a ditch...
This past Friday, Vivian suggested that we, along with 5 others, each buy a bottle of champagne and drink it on the roof of the AFAM Studies building. After climbing five stories to the gables above College Street, we sat and watched the heavy sun dip below the spired towers of Yale, the ringing of Gothic bells masking the horizon. Popping our corks, Matt, Carmen, Will, Ryan, Sam, Vivian and I toasted to our first year of college.
We enjoyed each other's company, snapping pictures of each other, climbing turrets and terraces, slowly downing our champagne, letting the bubbles tickle our noses, and as night settled onto New Haven, I knew this was only the beginning of many brilliant things. As the moon meandered into the now-navy sky, we slid down ancient shingles and down fire escapes and dashed through alleys like Dickenian orphans, empty bottles in our wake, the echoes of our tipsy giggles chasing behind us like ghosts of a good time.
We headed back to Old Campus to make an appearance at Farnam. Friends were throwing a party. I could tell: hip-hop clouded the air like a smog of profanity and heavy beats Will swiped us in and we went upstairs to greet the hosts.
"MICHAEL! WILL! Want something to drink?"
"It's okay, I'll just have whatever you have available."
"We've got vodka and stuff."
My phone rang as I was fixing myself a screwdriver and as I sipped on my drink, Lucy's chipper voice lilted into my ear, "Party at Brian's. Be there." I smiled to myself. I went outside to wait for the boys to finish making their drinks and we loitered out on the sidewalk, my head spinning a little from the alcohol and a little from the cigarettes. I held onto Will's shoulder.
We headed over to Elm, Brian's house sitting on the corner of Linwood, door open, guests spilling into the street, red Solo cups littering the grass, the stench of tequila fogging up the air. Oh right. Cinco de Mayo, I thought. Danielle handed me a margarita. "I'm on pain-meds so I can't really drink," she said. I laughed.
"Party at our place tomorrow," Lucy laughed, tipped her hat, draped an arm around Danielle and me.
I nodded. "I'll be there."
After adequately inebriated, Will led us to a small Cantonese place down the block. Bantering in a sloppy mix of Mandarin and English, with splots of French and Spanish tossed in for good measure, we stumbled down the street, grasping onto each other, part for support, and part perhaps to know that we were not alone in our endeavors.
After a meal of beef intestines on rice noodles and stirfried frog legs, we went back to Brimer and Sam's suite to smoke hookah. I didn't make it out of their hazy den until the wee hours of the morning, the sun, well rested, peeked over the green, the leafy canopy of trees filtering the dawn.
Lucy called me on Saturday. "There's a party at my place tonight."
"I know. You told me last night," I said.
"Oh. I know. I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was just making drunk promises."
"I never doubted you for a second."
"Good. Starts at 11PM. Be there."
I rallied up some troops and after a quick pregame of tequila and vanilla Skyy, we went to Lucy and Danielle's apartment. What ensued was a mingling of possibly the most impossibly eclectic mix of people. With a vodka tonic in my hand, I wandered, navigating around the people lounging on pillows on the floor, the gesticulating hands, the abandoned Coronas, the forgotten purses. After having made the rounds, I joined Lucy, Nikita, and Jessica in the bathroom, where we had our own little party, the bathroom lights dimmed warmly across the glass tiles and the weathered porcelain, the white, the keys, the empty shampoo bottles glistening.
At 5AM, with our minds scrambled, our sight blurry, our noses runny in the brisk morning air, we made our way to A1 for pizza. Afterwards, as Mean Girls played on the television on mute, we passed out on the couches, covered in sweaters and comforters and afghans and scraps that we had salvaged from around the apartment.
Lucy woke me at 9AM, dressed in the same dress she had wore the night before, the fabric now wrinkled, her once immaculate makeup now smeared, yet looking as beautiful as she had in our substance induced haze, perhaps more beautiful now, despite my pounding headache, despite the blinding sun.
"Come on, Michael. Breakfast."
"I need a smoke," I managed to croak out. She slammed a pair of Marc Jacob sunglasses over her bloodshot eyes and I wish I knew where my sunglasses were. I had no idea. Perhaps they were on the carpet somewhere. Or perhaps they were with Chase. Fuck.
Eggs, toast, and coffee.
"So did you have fun last night."
"Yea, I did. I wish you weren't leaving so soon though."
"This afternoon. 3.30PM. It's what happens at the end of the year, you know," she said.
I knew.
After watching another movie with Danielle and Lucy, I went back to my room to start studying Structures. I have managed to remember nothing. Which brings us to now...
It's hard to believe that after tomorrow, I'll have been at Yale for a whole year. No longer a freshman, it's still unbelievable to see what Yale is capable of, its infinite resources, its unwavering support, the brilliant minds and charismatic talents that haunt its past. I still cannot wrap my mind around being here, knowing that I am joining, perhaps undeservedly, the ranks of legends. And yet, even in one short year, I can see Yale changing me, forcing me to recognize the responsibility that comes with such a privilege, but more so, forcing me to strive to achieve things that I couldn't have even imagined attempting a year ago. I realized that I am slowly becoming a person I never really thought I could be, and perhaps that's the best of Yale...Merely the mention of the word nurtures the dreams coursing through my blood, pounding in my head so hard I have a headache, pounding in my heart so hard I can taste it in my mouth.
This past Friday, Vivian suggested that we, along with 5 others, each buy a bottle of champagne and drink it on the roof of the AFAM Studies building. After climbing five stories to the gables above College Street, we sat and watched the heavy sun dip below the spired towers of Yale, the ringing of Gothic bells masking the horizon. Popping our corks, Matt, Carmen, Will, Ryan, Sam, Vivian and I toasted to our first year of college.
We enjoyed each other's company, snapping pictures of each other, climbing turrets and terraces, slowly downing our champagne, letting the bubbles tickle our noses, and as night settled onto New Haven, I knew this was only the beginning of many brilliant things. As the moon meandered into the now-navy sky, we slid down ancient shingles and down fire escapes and dashed through alleys like Dickenian orphans, empty bottles in our wake, the echoes of our tipsy giggles chasing behind us like ghosts of a good time.
We headed back to Old Campus to make an appearance at Farnam. Friends were throwing a party. I could tell: hip-hop clouded the air like a smog of profanity and heavy beats Will swiped us in and we went upstairs to greet the hosts.
"MICHAEL! WILL! Want something to drink?"
"It's okay, I'll just have whatever you have available."
"We've got vodka and stuff."
My phone rang as I was fixing myself a screwdriver and as I sipped on my drink, Lucy's chipper voice lilted into my ear, "Party at Brian's. Be there." I smiled to myself. I went outside to wait for the boys to finish making their drinks and we loitered out on the sidewalk, my head spinning a little from the alcohol and a little from the cigarettes. I held onto Will's shoulder.
We headed over to Elm, Brian's house sitting on the corner of Linwood, door open, guests spilling into the street, red Solo cups littering the grass, the stench of tequila fogging up the air. Oh right. Cinco de Mayo, I thought. Danielle handed me a margarita. "I'm on pain-meds so I can't really drink," she said. I laughed.
"Party at our place tomorrow," Lucy laughed, tipped her hat, draped an arm around Danielle and me.
I nodded. "I'll be there."
After adequately inebriated, Will led us to a small Cantonese place down the block. Bantering in a sloppy mix of Mandarin and English, with splots of French and Spanish tossed in for good measure, we stumbled down the street, grasping onto each other, part for support, and part perhaps to know that we were not alone in our endeavors.
After a meal of beef intestines on rice noodles and stirfried frog legs, we went back to Brimer and Sam's suite to smoke hookah. I didn't make it out of their hazy den until the wee hours of the morning, the sun, well rested, peeked over the green, the leafy canopy of trees filtering the dawn.
Lucy called me on Saturday. "There's a party at my place tonight."
"I know. You told me last night," I said.
"Oh. I know. I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was just making drunk promises."
"I never doubted you for a second."
"Good. Starts at 11PM. Be there."
I rallied up some troops and after a quick pregame of tequila and vanilla Skyy, we went to Lucy and Danielle's apartment. What ensued was a mingling of possibly the most impossibly eclectic mix of people. With a vodka tonic in my hand, I wandered, navigating around the people lounging on pillows on the floor, the gesticulating hands, the abandoned Coronas, the forgotten purses. After having made the rounds, I joined Lucy, Nikita, and Jessica in the bathroom, where we had our own little party, the bathroom lights dimmed warmly across the glass tiles and the weathered porcelain, the white, the keys, the empty shampoo bottles glistening.
At 5AM, with our minds scrambled, our sight blurry, our noses runny in the brisk morning air, we made our way to A1 for pizza. Afterwards, as Mean Girls played on the television on mute, we passed out on the couches, covered in sweaters and comforters and afghans and scraps that we had salvaged from around the apartment.
Lucy woke me at 9AM, dressed in the same dress she had wore the night before, the fabric now wrinkled, her once immaculate makeup now smeared, yet looking as beautiful as she had in our substance induced haze, perhaps more beautiful now, despite my pounding headache, despite the blinding sun.
"Come on, Michael. Breakfast."
"I need a smoke," I managed to croak out. She slammed a pair of Marc Jacob sunglasses over her bloodshot eyes and I wish I knew where my sunglasses were. I had no idea. Perhaps they were on the carpet somewhere. Or perhaps they were with Chase. Fuck.
Eggs, toast, and coffee.
"So did you have fun last night."
"Yea, I did. I wish you weren't leaving so soon though."
"This afternoon. 3.30PM. It's what happens at the end of the year, you know," she said.
I knew.
After watching another movie with Danielle and Lucy, I went back to my room to start studying Structures. I have managed to remember nothing. Which brings us to now...
It's hard to believe that after tomorrow, I'll have been at Yale for a whole year. No longer a freshman, it's still unbelievable to see what Yale is capable of, its infinite resources, its unwavering support, the brilliant minds and charismatic talents that haunt its past. I still cannot wrap my mind around being here, knowing that I am joining, perhaps undeservedly, the ranks of legends. And yet, even in one short year, I can see Yale changing me, forcing me to recognize the responsibility that comes with such a privilege, but more so, forcing me to strive to achieve things that I couldn't have even imagined attempting a year ago. I realized that I am slowly becoming a person I never really thought I could be, and perhaps that's the best of Yale...Merely the mention of the word nurtures the dreams coursing through my blood, pounding in my head so hard I have a headache, pounding in my heart so hard I can taste it in my mouth.