Each August makes me wax romantic about my years at Boston University, namely my first one. After that, the shit hit the fan and I found my intellectual ass at the local community college. It wasn't my fault, by the way.
I wish I could relive those days again. The bristling excitement of moving 6 hours away from my parents to an unexplored city. The swarms of cute boys I saw on my 2 campus visits there. Being able to walk down the streets at night because there were SIDEWALKS and STREETLIGHTS and NIGHTLIFE! Sidewalks, people, not ditches!
A few weeks before I went, Mom took me shopping for dormware and clothes. I knew I'd have an office job as part of my work-study program, and neither of us knew what the attire was. Just last summer, I tore up my green and checkered trim towel to use as rags. I had it for 14 years.
I never wore those white button-down shirts agan.
It's still fresh in my mind, the picture of me and my parents standing on the corner at the end of Bay State Road.
"Well honey," Mom said, "I guess we'll go." We Walkers aren't much for emotions.
"Okay," I replied. I was itching to unpack my stuff and start collaging my desk.
Dad got in the truck, and Mom and I hugged.
"Give us a call," she said.
They waved, well, Mom did anyway, and drove off. I could almost feel the apron strings break. A strange feeling came over me. Giddiness, elation, ectasy, thrills. I may have had a brief out-of-body experience.
"Holy hell," I thought. " I am COMPLETELY alone in a strange city, with cash in my pocket and nobody to tell me what to do! HELL FREAKIN YEAH!!!! College rules!!"
I mentally danced a jig in the afternoon sun and went back inside my brownstone.
My first month, I spent many Friday nights in Copley Square watching the skateboarders to their thing. I met Jahmal , who stayed cool with me for years. Unfortunately (or, in retrospect, fortunately) the rest of the skater bois ignored me. I met a guy named Chris, who took me to a million Mighty Bosstones shows.
On weekends, I'd ride the B-line to Downtown Crossing and sit in the park writing in my journal. Or, if I didn't have 85 cents, I'd sit outside Warren Towers, the main freshman dorm, and write in my journal. My hope was that a dark-haired hottie would be enthralled with my obvious intellectual-ness and fall madly in love with me. We would drink tea and listen to The Smiths. We would share eyeliner. He would weep at my beauty as we lay naked in his dorm bed.
I did develop a crush on a guy who lived on the same floor as my friend Eric from work. Can't think of his name right now, or even the nickname I gave him. We did talk a few times, and he played This Mortal Coil for me and we talked about "Lolita". He was friends with a girl named Belkiss, who was beautiful, and already hip/cool in a French way at age 18. I wasn't. I'm still not.
Years later, I ran into him at The Model. FLAAAAAMING! I was probably drunk on grape crushes or Cider Jack and hanging on Tom, but I knew this guy was probably never interested in my penis-less self.
Backtrack.....a month or so before I left PA, I had been babysitting Juliana (who turned all the guys' heads at my wedding). Nancy was driving me home, and we were talking about Boston. She and her husband had attended Harvard Business School, so she was familiar with Beantown.
"So, what are your goals for your freshman year?" she asked.
"Get laid," I thought. "It is time to shed the virginity."
"Get decent grades, make cool friends," is what I said.
Boy, I hope my mom doesn't read this.
That was a good year. And, Nosy Nellie, I stayed pure as the driven snow until the next year, but that's another Introspective Blog Entry.