North Carolina State University - Agromeck Yearbook (Raleigh, NC)

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single face. There must hove been sunlight that sennester, o foil OS beautiful os they always are here, but really I cannot remember anything except being always lost, always alone. I guess the day after exams ended summed it up perfectly: it was raining, it was snowing and it was god awful cold. But I guess that was years before I met you, Sara. By our time I knew every spot of sunlight, the best shade trees, and all the empty classrooms where we ' d talk over our nights before and wonder how we ever became involved with each other. Funny in a way, we always were involved no matter whom else we were with— but that ' s another story. Yes, you could swing through the tunnel after you passed behind Carroll and as you come up the stairs behind Horrelson there would always be a big plume of snowy white steam, golden edged with sunlight against on electric blue sky over your right shoulder. Maybe I would attend a class or two — 15

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14 How do you wont it, Soro? Do you wont it softened, the edges blurred, rour ded, lines fodir g Qwoy; the whole thing dreonny and wistful? Is thot how you feel it should be? I often felt that was how it WQS. Sonne mornings in the foil conning down the walk behind Carroll and Metcolf with the light oil yellow, the shadows long, wet leaves pasted on the sidewalk, and the gross under the trees there the brightest of greens — nothing was more real and I didn ' t wont to be olive anywhere else but here because for once I felt I belonged. Do you remember when I was here the first time? I didn ' t belong at all. So alone and scared. All I con remember is walking around in circles inside Horrelson and almost never finding my doss until I was late, only to come in with oil those strangers staring straight at me. And knowing I was most surely failing every course I took. If I was ever in a lonelier place the memory escapes me. From that time I truly cannot remember a

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(I understood Horrelson by that time, though I fervently prayed that each fire alarm would herald its complete destruction) and then wander over to the librory to o carrel facing east on the fifth floor so I could cheat on physics and read poetry — Cummings, Browning, Whitman — or obout Hemingway when I was bored. Choir propped ogoinst the carrel behind me, sunlight sweeping over the poge — hot on the coldest of mornings — I ' d Just bunch up and read. Not worth anything at night really with all that cold fluorescent light and all those poor souls studying; the whole room full and everyone all alone or so it seemed. No, just In the mornings with all the sun and the maids, and the whole floor belonging to me. Leoving ot eleven, I ' d go ond sit in the gross outside in front of the library. Just sit on that concrete pipe cover in my down jacket and get worm from the sun (I hod the only orange downjocket on compus for two years). Just sit there in the sun, pretending to study, and maybe wander o ver to the old union for some tea or a Technician if any were left. Thinking obout Lourie or this weekend. Always got the seat closest to the window, near the front if I had to pay attention, in bock if an A wos in the bog, but olwoys neor a window so I could listen outside and feel the breeze or the cold against the gloss, the wind shaking them if it was winter. Coot, hot, books, just strewn about the desk— moybe the next desk too. Given a chance I would ' ve staked out the entire classroom. It just felt so good to know, to know the assignment ond the professor and to like both; like some sort of privote club which always eluded me in high school and in college the first time. After English, I ' d meet Laurie at the PR where the beer was very cold and the french fries excellent. That ' s oil I ever ate and drank there and for two years ofterwords my stomach would heave at the smell of a french fry. Yet it was good — dark like those pieces ore supposed to be and noisy enough to drown out promises we mode to eoch other. No one cared if we mode out. And besides, the beer would set me up for the next big class and I ' d always fall osleep half way through unless I hod Knowles that semester — he was a trial ond I imagine he still is. What time would it olwoys be? Always four-thirty or five and if it hod token that long I hod certoinly flunked it. All I knew about psych could hove been written in thirty minutes, but I sometimes took on hour and a half. I wonder if the professor understood whot I had to soy or if he just gave up trying to decipher my hand writing. Oh hell with it. Down the stoirs, on coat, on hot, on gloves, grab books. Bunch of grey light in Poe in the afternoon, filtering through the big windows and reflecting from the marble and concrete, very soft ond peaceful, especially in the outumn or eorly winter. The pines across the street were now in shodow, the sky orange behind them. Creoking in the wind, they cannot be heard inside, but still they sway ond whisper, creoking in the wind thot sweeps down the hill. If you go to the eleventh floor to those classrooms on the south side, the windows ore huge and run the length of the rooms, ond you con see forever, a good place to meet friends ond be olone, for no one ever goes there during fall semester. Often I ' d meet Lourie ofter she left Winston on Tuesdoys and Thursdoys. Laurie... I wouldn ' t wont to go bock to my room, it wosjust too lonely, the bockpocks, the photographs of old lovers, my books, none of that mode it like o home, just a museum. Out Laurie ' s wos different, across Hillsborough, In on old house off Brooks. She would get out of lob in Gardner ot five and I ' d be sitting on the terroce behind the old union ond see her as she walked across the way. And we ' d meet and go to the A P, buy some cheap cuts for shish kobob ond some tomatoes, and bell peppers and big white onions, and some Gollo burgundy and wolk to her place with her pushing her bike beside me. Always went post this old two-tone Heoley resting in someone ' s frontyord ond it ' d be olmost dork. When we got home I ' d begin to marinate the meat and later, start the fire