[Lyric] Commencement Day: Chapter Two (Ralph Surrender)

By and by Briye and I absconded, leaving Easton to soundtrack the chronic incineration of his short-term memory in smoky solitude. As we walked down our beloved D1 hall, each room that we passed was as empty as the grave, save for the one belonging to our RA, Kita. She was editing some video in Final Cut when we entered.

“Briye! I’m so glad that I get to see you before you leave!” She hurriedly closed her computer and hugged her favorite resident. “Hi, Ralph.”

“Yo.”

“When do you leave?” the two girls asked each other simultaneously.

“On Wednesday, the RAs have to stay after for a bit.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” said Briye mournfully. “Are you going back to Greece?”

The conversation continued, and as per usual, my attention wandered. Nestled in the corner of the room was a dirty wad of fabric, the threadbare bedding of a threadbare visitor. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have guests crash on their floor, especially during commencement, but there was something about the two huge crusty brown boots perched on top of the fabric wad that made me wonder.

“…Have an awesome summer!” Kita said to us.

“You too!” said Briye cheerfully, and we left the room.

“Did you notice those shoes?” I asked her as we walked.

“You mean Kita’s boyfriend? Have you met him?”
“Of course not.”

“What do you mean, of course not? Am I supposed to know the names and social security numbers of every person at this school that you’ve ever met?” Briye said, poking me in the ribs.

“I’ve got better things to do than meet all the random squatters and like degenerate people who end up here.”

I meant it as a tease, but Briye got pissed. “He’s actually a really cool guy,” she said.

“Wait, what? Come on, I was just joking.” She didn’t look at me. “Briye, what the fuck? I was just joking. What?”

“Her boyfriend is a squatter. He was a student here last year, and now he’s homeless. He’s staying just for commencement, normally he just works seasonal jobs and goes wherever he can find work.”

“So I’m supposed to be all sensitive just because he works ‘seasonal jobs?’ There’s a difference between being a camp counselor who moves around the rest of the year, and being like, homeless homeless.”

“It doesn’t sound like you think there is one.”

“I literally just said ‘there’s a difference!’ How can you go with your interpretation of some joke I made, more than you trust me saying to you blah blah blah blah AAAAAAAHHH!” I yelled. I was trying to cut down on arguing with people over stupid philosophical bullshit, so whenever I heard myself getting too into a debate, I just started saying random syllables and yelling. Usually it lightened the mood, but this time, Briye just looked kind of tired.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Ralph,” she said. “Just…”

We sort of stopped on the bottom landing of the main stairs, surrounded by outdated posters and cement walls. Briye sighed, opened her shoulders and looked at me.

“Never mind,” she said. “I’m not mad at you.”


On our way across campus, I tried my ‘damnedest’ to resolve our conflict less incomprehensibly, but nothing worked. We passed a finite number of infinitely familiar campus scenes. Everywhere I looked, I saw the tattered heirs of bohemia packing up for the diaspora, glimmering in their designer rags as they shoved bongwater-stained beanbag chairs into the backseats of their parents’ Priuses. I remembered that I was high, and turned my face like a sunflower to the blinding, uh, sun.

“What are you going to miss most?” Briye asked.

“Obviously the vomit in the showers.”

“Ugh, Ralph. Come on, be honest.”

“Why, what do you think I’d miss the most?” I said.

“I would have guessed– being able to learn whatever you want.”

“Really? I feel like I learn more whenever I’ve gone back home. Or, at least, I feel like there’s still something I don’t know. I feel like I could learn in Rochester. Here… I know the deal.”



Up ahead, a tremendous white canopy shaded the commencement-goers as they maneuvered their predominantly light-skinned bodies into hundred-dollar folding chairs. Families snapped shots and occupied space, and Briye and I took a moment to sincerely relish the spectacle of human beings below the age of seventeen. A few graduating seniors, late for the preparatory roundup, were bumbling around in their gowns, sporting laminated name-tags which stated their name and “Bachelors in Arts 2011.” Twenty minutes until the ceremony began. Every chair beneath the canopy faced a large stage at the tent’s end, where technicians moved material and mic-checked.

Briye and I took seats in the fifth row from the front, eying up the new arrivals as they gratefully swarmed into the shade.

“How about you?” I said. “What’ll you miss? The free condom dispensers in the bathrooms?”

“Obviously,” said Briye. “Cause, you know, I’m always doing sex with tons of people.”
“Doing sex? Hahahaha–“

“Shut up! Having! Having sex. I mixed it up with–“

“Yeah, with doing drugs, I remember. Like when you said to Connor, ‘are you having cocaine in the bathroom’ and he asked if you wanted some!”

“Why do we talk about bathrooms so much?” She looked around with a wrinkled brow. “Plus, it’s not like you’ve lost your virginity either, unless you and Easton have decided to–“

“No way!”

“Free love, baby! Aaaaaiiiiii!”

The nearest parents and professors shifted grumpily in their chairs. I laughed, throwing my shaggy hair back, self-satisfied again. Sometimes Briye and I could pull off this public persona of being total badasses who acted crazy and didn’t care about what anybody else thought.

“Are you still thinking about not coming back next year?” said Briye.

“Come on, Briye, like I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t going to come back or whatever.”

“I know. But you could still be just thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I guess. I guess I am. But like what’s the point? I don’t have anything specific that I’d rather do. I’m just too lazy and introverted to even enjoy being at hippie college. But I figure I’ll just get a shitty job this summer, grow up a bit, and then I’ll appreciate school more next year.”

“No! Don’t do that, Ralph!”

“What? You think I shouldn’t come back?”

“Of course I want you to come back,” said Briye. “But why do you want to grind yourself down? It sounds like you don’t really like school, but you feel like you have to get used to it for some reason.”

“Yeah, that is what I think! Come on, Briye! Hampshire? No majors, no grades, no tests, no expectations? If I can’t make it here, where the hell can I?”

Briye gave me an epic look that I never forgot. In her eyes there was frustration, sadness, weariness, but some other feeling shined through them all, like color slides filtering a beam of pure white light. I don’t want to sound corny, and I will, but in that moment, it felt like we were connected to each other by the emotion shooting out of her eyes into mine. If you believe nothing else I write, believe this. We were connected.

“Hampshire’s not for everybody, college isn’t for everybody. A lot of people drop out. It’s not just cause they’re stupid, they just need something different. And I’d rather you leave and be really happy and see the world and do what you want to do, than have you around for three more years and watch you get all jaded and sad and lonely. You have so much to give, and I know you’ll find a way to not just make it, but live a really awesome life. You already are the person you want to be, dude. You don’t have to change.”

How many times in your life has someone said something like that to you? But, because I was stoned, because I didn’t know that this moment would never happen again, I zoned out and my attention wandered. And, although I had no way of grasping the irony at the time, my eyes landed on the person who would end up changing me the most.