Is it too early to start my memoirs?
The only thing I will leave behind is stories. The lives that I’ve told.
And cash to whoever takes care of me after I’ve become decrepit.
My parents helped move me into my college dorm to start my freshman year. Even though I had arranged to move to campus a couple of weeks early to start working in the scene shop, my roommate had already arranged to have his stuff moved in even earlier because his family was traveling to China. I looked through his VHS tapes. Enter the Dragon. Nice. I’m going to like this guy, I remember thinking.
And turns out, yes, we are still best friends to this very day.
After my stuff had been packed into the room and items arranged and the Wal-Mart run was had and quick bite with Grandma at Arby’s was over, it was time for Mom and Dad to go back to their home.
“It’s all up to you now,” my mother said in her stern and commanding voice that she used when she wanted you to know something serious.
Today – if you go to Midland University you will find “The Cross at the Center” – a fountain and crucifix sculpture at the major cross-roads of sidewalks that snake their way over the campus. On the day that I moved in, that was a dirt hole. And there was a Bobcat (the machinery, not the animal) sitting in the middle of it. The site was under construction and behind schedule. The light loader had been left out overnight by the crew.
In my new dorm room, on my roommate’s coffee table, I rolled myself a nice little joint. And I sat in that Bobcat and smoked it. Then I walked around the campus about six or seven times. It is a very small campus, so this was not difficult. I probably smoked cigarettes too, as I was keen to do at that time. I walked to the corner of Military and Bell and watched traffic for a while.
It was all up to me now.