A Love(?)Letter To My University

When a skateboard skids by, I still turn my head to look. I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I told myself to forget about this place, but here I am. Walking to the University Library. I miss it.

I walked this path a million times. I never thought I’d like it. The buildings look shinier. The breeze is more refreshing. The grass is greener. It always is.

My shadow looms before me as I make my way up the steep hill. I shuffle around, taking in the view and half-expecting to see the tall, pointed silhouette of the old administration building.

And for just a moment, I do.

For just a moment, I am 18 again, lost and a little too excited about everything. I have five books cradled in my arms and a backpack that carried twice my body weight, but I have never felt lighter.

I am 19, sprinting to a campus job interview. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window of a classroom. I’m a hot mess. There’s no way I’m getting this job.

I am 21, once again on campus after a whole year of isolation. I proudly wear my campus job uniform while humming to Lana del Ray, wondering where the years went. I can’t wait to get out of here. But I hold on to every minute. I’m scared to see this end.

Sights, memories, and fantasies flash before my eyes. I hear the echoes of past conversations, familiar laughter, boring lectures, the campus telephone ringing, school bells, sliding doors, my name being mispronounced at graduation, families cheering—

a skateboard. The wheels scrape across the cement floor; I do not turn to look this time, but the sound brings me back to reality.

I am 22. I no longer belong here.

The old administration building is gone. In its place is a construction site, a sea of debris. The pointed structure no longer blocks the view of the sky. Tonight, the moon is shaped like a toenail and it beams down on the university the way it did on the night I graduated.

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Lot F9 is cold and eerie as I drive away. In fact, the whole school feels dark, but I can’t help but sneak a peak at it through the rearview mirror. I hope to catch one last glimpse of a memory, but all I see is what is actually there: empty buildings, empty skies.

At a red light, a silver car stops next to me. I look straight ahead.

The light turns green.

I drive full speed away from a school that is no longer mine, and into a fascinating world that finally is.