Campus of Clarkwell College, graduation in the town of Clarksville, somewhere upstate, 1990
Hey there. Whew, what a day. First I did the Ellipticycle for an hour and then I had to run to the Dean's small cocktail party for Honors students and then I had to hurry up and turn in that Green Form so I could graduate.
You know, the Green Form.
The Green Form? You didn't turn it IN?! No, it's that green form that we got at orientation when we first came here four years ago. Yeah, sorry, but it kind of is important. It's the Green Form. They told us never to lose it, remember? No not the blue registration card, the GREEN Form! Maybe you just have it in your wallet and you didn't even know or something. Check it.
Wow, your wallet. You actually keep everything all crammed in together like that? No, it's just kind of amazing. I would freak out if I couldn't streamline my wallet. Oh—I think you dropped this twenty. Oh, no wait, it's actually mine. Sorry.
Well anyway, you need the Green Form to graduate, otherwise . . . No, I mean I'm sure they have an alternative. You probably just have to wait an annoying day or one term or year or something. Wow, I can't believe you forgot.
You are so funny, you. Man, am I going to miss college and all your crazy flakiness. Ha ha! You've always been the funny one in our gang.
It's so sad how we're all going our separate ways, our little gang! The Clarkwell College Cabal! Sheila: the smart one. Tyler: the artist. Greta: the icy beauty. Sam: the actor. Me: the stable one. And you! The fun, funny crazy one! With all your plans and your spilling wallet and poetry writing and music and acting and whatever you have going on at the time! You're like the outsider of the gang. Not outsider-outsider. But I mean like, like Outsider Art. You know, like cute, sweet, weird. Like those artists who build towers in their backyard out of, like, TV dinner trays or who scratch the entire Bible into a bar of soap with their fingernail or who paint a mural of Imelda Marcos with chocolate pudding and end up in mental institutions. I mean like not obviously insane but more like all your efforts may not get you anywhere, may not be fully embraced by the public, but you're gonna just do it anyway, no matter what. And that's just great. You're like the outsider in that sense!
But I think what I'll miss most of all about college is working on staff at the Loon. It's too bad you never decided to work on the Loon. I feel like they totally would have understood your oddball sensibility there at that fun, scrubby, award-winning, risk-taking college humor magazine that has launched the careers of so many late-night talk show hosts and comedians. Whatever: politics. Everyone has to be so "cool" these days, you know? I'm really going to miss the Loon staff: Carson and Craig and of course Conan. I don't know, you never know who you're going to stay in touch with after college, but I know I'll stay in touch with Conan.
Meanwhile Sheila is already gone! Yeah, she just sailed through her LSATs and is spending the summer interning in New York City for some hotsy totsy star lawyer at this huge firm in Midtown. I know! It's amazing. I'm gonna miss her. She's nervous, but she has always been one of those people who barely has to study and just gets a 4.0. She's such a genius, which is such a godsend, because I had someone to hang out with since I had so much spare time too, since I can speed-read. She just gets it. Aw, remember how we would visit you in your favorite little nook in the library? Working so hard like a little elf!
What are you going to do tonight? Sheila's gone, and Sam's got a big audition tomorrow, so he may be down for the count too. Sam's so funny. He always gets so nervous and intense when he prepares for a part, you know? I hope he gets this role. Good old Sam, following his dreams of being a big actor! I mean I believe in his talent, but I guess I'll have to be there for him through the tough times like I always have with all his difficult auditions and clingy girlfriends. He gets in over his head with one of them, then he always comes over to my place, sobbing and sad wanting to sleep over . . .
Me? No! Not at all, not at all. We're totally just close close close friends. I'm just the person he runs to when he's sad or upset. Poor Sam—it's so weird to be born with magnetism. His otherworldly, robin's egg blue eyes, his Greco-Roman statue stature, his broad shoulders and dark, worn-in leathery voice. It's so weird how people treat Sam differently just because he is beautiful. Being so close to him, I've learned so much about how to deal with the lookism and assumptions people place on beautiful people. I think he sees that in me, you know? That there is someone who sees there is more to him? I mean we've talked about it. You know, how there is this mutual attraction, how we are so compatible. Almost too compatible. But I'm just not interested in him like that. Like you were.
No, it's cool. Who wouldn't be? Sam's like one of those rare beautiful souls. But you know, that is what makes him so desirable to people, because he is so vulnerable and sensitive. He's real: he burps, he gets a pimple, and he gets sad. I've seen him cry, with me, over, you know, one of his girlfriends, or just looking at a sunset.
God, watch Sam and me totally end up together! Wouldn't that be hilarious? No way, no way.
Ha! Remember how you begged me to introduce you? We would see him at Wollman Hall, and I knew him from my Beaches, Coasts, and Rivers survey class, and you would stand next to me in your funny baggy blue painter's pants you always wore, dying to meet him. And remember you would wait in the waffle line at breakfast because he always got sausage there, and you would get big waffles every morning just so you could have a few moments to talk to him? So cute. I think that is totally where you gained your infamous "Freshman 15," don't you? Man you were so goofy then. But cool!
It's so dumb how you two never got along. I think he was just stoned that night at the Frosh Mixer when he called you "the Tagalong." I mean, sure, you do get along now, after all that awkwardness.
God that was such a fun night. You and me and Sheila and Greta, remember? You were so drunk that night! Greta got so mad at you! Remember? We were in the basement of Pi Kap. They were playing "Shout" just like in Animal House, and everyone was getting on the floor, for the "get a little bit softer now" part. You were totally making out with some random person in front of everyone. Greta was next to Carl, and she and him were totally connecting, in a quiet subdued way and then—it was so funny—you literally pushed her out of the way and made out with Carl too, and then lo and behold you two started dating! No, just joking. But yes! No! Yes! You totally have to remember! It was such a famous night. It's fine.
I mean you told me yourself over and over how much better you are for Carl because of how passive he is. How he is almost frightened by Greta's sort of dark sexuality, and her unsmiling exterior. Greta can be pretty unapproachable for that. She's aloof. Not, like, panting for approval. That's why she was always so weird around you and Carl. But of course you may still feel awkward around her. Just residual stuff from freshman year when you guys went to go see Henry and June and you pretty much locked her in your dorm room for the weekend, "experimenting!" Ha, ha! You were so intense! She was so not into it! You guys were so weird! Wow that was so long ago . . .
Narcissistic? Maybe, I mean in a way . . . yes I can see how you would think that. Intimidating? No, not really. Maybe if you have a low opinion of yourself. Greta just expects you to hold your own. She respects people who respect themselves.
By the way, have you even talked to Greta? No, I was just wondering. I mean I'm just wondering how you guys are with each other now. I mean all that is like ancient history, right? Right.
Just wondering.
Well anyway. Congratulations on your Folk and Myth degree. You concentrated on Florida Panhandle folklore, wow. I was so surprised you didn't get Honors since you tried so hard to be schmoozy with your advisor—I mean, I'm sure that's probably a good strategy. That's the way you get ahead in this dog-eat-dog world.
So what are you doing after college? Nothing yet, yeah. I know. It's hard to just dive into things and just shift gears. I'm not sure what I'm doing either. I know, it's so hard to choose the right path for you. It's like one false move and you may lead an entirely different life full of flaws and mishaps. Huh. Wouldn't it be great if there was, like, a pill that helped you chill out and make decisions? I know you would totally love that, right? Ha!
Well, if ya don't have a clue about your lifeplan, what are you doing this summer?
You got a job as an intern! Cool beans. Where? An art gallery in New York! Faw-faw! What gallery?
Bonwyck Gallery? Weird! Did they expand their program? I thought it was just for teens. No, I'm sure I'm wrong.
Speaking of art, did you hear? Tyler got accepted to RISD for grad school. Total free ride because they thought his work was "the best" and "showed the most promise" of all this year's graduates.
He hasn't told you? He probably didn't want to have you get upset and repeat all that interior drama that happened at his Senior Show. Anyway, whatever. God, after college, I don't know what I'm doing either (Hello! Where is that pill? Ha!). But I did get this really weird call from some animated TV show that is starting up? It's got this really boring name, The Simpsons? I don't know it's probably dumb, but we'll see. "The Simpsons." So lame, right? Whatever. The Simpsons the Simpsons the Simpsons. How boring, sorry to bring it up.
The Simpsons . . .
Well, anyway, they offered me a job pretty much the day after graduation, so I won't be getting hammered drunk like you and your other "constant party" friends will be doing tonight. I have so much to do and I have to be clearheaded so that I can get up early, have Honors brunch, say bye to Sam and his parents (they are so, so nice; his dad is like the Mayor of Santa Cruz and his mom is the Director of Development of Universal, so that's cool), so I have to say good-bye to them, open my special ceremonial present of keys from my family (we have this dumb Nantucket beach house heirloom tradition when someone graduates, it's totally psychotic), go to this little Dave Matthews Band unannounced concert, and then pack and get on a plane and—
Oh, yeah. He's playing. It's an industry thing but I can . . . probably . . . get you in. It's weird how I know him. I mean, that time he just basically saw me in the crowd and pulled me onstage in a total Bruce/Courtney moment was so long ago, right? He just felt the connection. I love things like that. It makes me have faith, you know, that people really do see your integrity through the complications of life. So now we keep in touch and he just showers me with concert tickets still even though we never see each other because he is on the road and all. Why don't you meet me outside of the F Level of the Amphitheater, the D-23 entrance? You should just get there and wait. I'll be meeting Sam and a bunch of people to hand out tickets. If I'm not there, we'll just try to meet up later. OK? God, sometimes I wish phones were affordably portable or something so we could call each other!
Gotta go! But definitely keep in touch. Bye!
