Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, August 22, 1995 TAG: 9508230098
SECTION: WELCOMRE STUDENTS PAGE: WS-59 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ADRIANNE BEE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I smile and take over typing in his classes and explain the wonderful world of force-adds. The boy forces a smile in return.
The rookie leaves, mom and dad on each side, his first college class schedule clutched in his sweaty hand. I'm left alone in the corridor. The "plunk, plunk" of the computer keys is the only sound. I push print.
Soon I'm holding the last classes I will ever take at Tech. Two almost-freshman girls scurry by, tan, sporting mighty short cut-offs, talking loudly and popping gum. I'm seeing their future dorm room, flowered curtains, matching bedspreads, perhaps a picture of Brad Pitt somewhere.
I wonder what they are expecting from this place, what they hope to find here.
A group of boys wearing big pants and striped shirts stand outside a nearby door. They playfully push one striped boy towards a door and say "Go on, ask her for her number." I slip by their attempts to woo, undetected, and leave the building.
A girl sits outside on the steps of Burruss Hall, tie-dyed shirt, long brown hair parted down the middle. She is leaning her head into her hands, elbows resting on her knees, a pile of literature sits unread next to her on the concrete. She takes out a cigarette, looks across the Drillfield and sighs.
I walk to my car. I see my windshield is sans a bright-orange parking ticket. I glance at the words "meter expired" in front of my vehicle. I never did get around to getting a parking permit, always meant to do that.
I drive around the big patch of grass in medias campus. It's sunny. I'm listening to Bob Marley. No ticket. I'm graduating in one month. Today is a good day. I decide to let pedestrians cross each time I spy one at curb-side. I smile and wave them on. Today I feel no stress.
But back to the parking meter. Quarters. You need quarters around here. I should have told the boy at the computer terminal. They will save you from parking tickets, get you a Mountain Dew before class when you've pulled an all-nighter, clean your clothes at the Laundromat. Four will get you one Genesee Cream Ale at The Cellar when you're broke.
Good friends. You need those, too. They're sometimes as hard to find as a quarter when you pull into a metered space, but when you do - you'll know it. They pick you up when you've had too much to drink and aren't exactly sure what direction home is. They sometimes say wonderful lovely things like "Hey, I've got 50 dollars left in dining dollars and I need to get rid of them this week, want to help me?"
Quarters, friends, you also need to get away every once in awhile. Hike, climb rocks, explore woods and waterfalls. There are many places that can make you forget about the bad things that fill your mind, things like professors who don't curve and credit card bills.
Four years fly by. So do the five, six and seven it has taken some of my friends to get through college. There have been many times I thought graduation couldn't come soon enough. Like when I leaned back in my chair one morning at 6 a.m., proud of the 15 page paper I had stayed up all night writing, only to accidentally rip the computer plug out of the wall and lose it. All of it. SAVE FREQUENTLY I learned.
Or when my roommates got in a screaming match and I had to flee for safety when a big picture frame flew across the room and shattered against the wall very close to my head. Anyone who says women aren't violent hasn't met my old roommates (or watched American Gladiators).
I thought I would finally be free when my last class ended this summer. Nope, I'm supposed to get this thing called a job. You know how everyone says we members of Generation X are slackers, lazy and just want to sit around, drink beer?
It's true. I don't want a business suit. I look really dumb in them, like I'm playing dress-up with my mom's clothes or something. I figure when people stop carding me for beer, calling me "little girl" or telling me I look about 16 on a good day, I'll get a job. Then I'll be ready.
So today I drive. On the road I can't receive phone calls from my mother asking what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. Today I drive and feel good. Cut off jeans, fake Birkenstock sandals, loud music. At the stoplight a woman in a mini van has her hair in curlers and lots of kids bouncing up and down in the back seat. The light turns green. I go and leave the minivan in my wake. I think to myself: "Let it always be this way."
by CNB