ScavHunt 04
I heave a great breath. Not quite a sigh, or, at least, by know means a great sigh, but a great breath still. Scav Weekend closes. It is Sunday night at 11:39 in a college dormitory, and it is silent. Silent save the contented breathing of the several Snitchcokians either asleep or, like me, contemplatively basking in the glory of a day to match all other days. We have realized our dream that we have held in our hearts the year long. Already the memory of the weekend is romanticized; one is like to forget the weary sore feet, the frustrated googling on Dadan Carambolo's cross, and the blisters from carrying a 4 by 2 and a half foot vagina shaped cookie on a slab of sheet rock half a mile. One is like to forget these things, yes. In fact, these things vanish with the announcement of the second place team, not our team, but the stated enemy: Max Palevsky. One team name left, one name that hasn't been called, and one place vacant: first place. "Snell-Hitchcock!" The head judge's announcement goes largely unheard. I can't say I remember hearing her voice. All I remember is the roar filling my ears, the joy, the hugs, tight, tight brotherly embraces, no sissy shoulders taps here: squeezes--Jason lifts me up and spins me in a circle. Later, Josie does as well. We have done it! Moving as one large mass of euphora and happiness, our team dances arond, jumping in the air, skipping like tiny dancing particles of matter and slamming into each other. I am filled with absolute love for everyone I see; I see their love for me, for our TEAM (how marvelous the word), for what we have accomplished, "the fufillment of a wish." No one is calm, no one, not even those who forwent sleep the night before, is lethargic, half-heartedly explelling a small, "woo," or only surrendering enough energy to raise a fist. Yes, there are fists in the air, but they are fists of strength--the veins in each wrist popping with the strain of celebration. And the roar already mentioned, what a roar! Such a noise I have never heard. Everyone is screeeeeeaaammmming. The members of another team start a chant with our battle cry, "Fuckin' Yeah, Fuckin' Yeah!" Every team save our closest adversary adds their voices to the throng. I see a random member of Shoreland's team in the very middle of our crowd, so many people sharing the feeling, the elation.
The judges are cheering, too, though in my reconstructed memory I picture them slightly detached, standing back, clapping imperially, the perfect picture of calmness. Their existence, at least for these four days, is a mystery to me. The rest of the year they are Sebastian and Joe and Christian; this weekend they are Judge Sebastian, Judge A-Joe (whatever that means) and Judge Christian. They are the moving, living embodiments of cooldom.
Actually they were celebrating as well. Sebastian gave me a huge sweaty hug. Maybe I said, "We did it!" I don't know. In any case, he felt the need to distance himself somewhat by saying "You guys did really well." Not taking part of the glory for himself. I think I also told him that it was amazing. I think that I will remember that hug for the rest of my life.
Scav Hunt was sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo fun. I wish that I could cut out pieces of Scav and mail them to everyone at home. I tried to explain it to my sister and mother. Holly just said, "I don't get it. You're all exicted over nothing." It's true. Existensial, almost, the lack of purpose of Scav Hunt. The justification in the Bylaws reads, "The Scavenger Hunt exists as a group of individuals who subscribe to the philosophy that true enlightenment can only be attained through freedom, and further, that true freedom can only be realized through utter chaos." Chaos: good word. I now know the meaning. Surveying the Green Room tonight, the leftover papers and pens and carboad boxes and soda bottles and fabric squares, the definition of chaos comes to me with full force.
The judges are cheering, too, though in my reconstructed memory I picture them slightly detached, standing back, clapping imperially, the perfect picture of calmness. Their existence, at least for these four days, is a mystery to me. The rest of the year they are Sebastian and Joe and Christian; this weekend they are Judge Sebastian, Judge A-Joe (whatever that means) and Judge Christian. They are the moving, living embodiments of cooldom.
Actually they were celebrating as well. Sebastian gave me a huge sweaty hug. Maybe I said, "We did it!" I don't know. In any case, he felt the need to distance himself somewhat by saying "You guys did really well." Not taking part of the glory for himself. I think I also told him that it was amazing. I think that I will remember that hug for the rest of my life.
Scav Hunt was sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo fun. I wish that I could cut out pieces of Scav and mail them to everyone at home. I tried to explain it to my sister and mother. Holly just said, "I don't get it. You're all exicted over nothing." It's true. Existensial, almost, the lack of purpose of Scav Hunt. The justification in the Bylaws reads, "The Scavenger Hunt exists as a group of individuals who subscribe to the philosophy that true enlightenment can only be attained through freedom, and further, that true freedom can only be realized through utter chaos." Chaos: good word. I now know the meaning. Surveying the Green Room tonight, the leftover papers and pens and carboad boxes and soda bottles and fabric squares, the definition of chaos comes to me with full force.