Cheech, My Goodies, Through the Roof
I’ve hesitated to write about any get well gifts I’ve received, not out of any lack of gratitude, but because I don’t want to insinuate that I’m fishing for anything from anyone. Honestly, I’m satisfied with well wishes and kind words, especially in this economy. Also, I’m a bit of a dick, so I’m not expecting a floodgate of emotion coming my way.
But, once again, my friends Malaka and Andrew have rendered it absolutely impossible to maintain this code of silence. Which is almost surprising, as I was expecting a gift more in line with what I received for my 20th birthday, which was a bag of gumballs and an actual douche.
The cliche, conventional wisdom is that you make your friends for life in college. I don’t put much stock in greeting card wisdom, but in this case, it rings absolutely true.
I spent my first semester in college miserable, unable to drink and thus left out from participating in the mindless fucking mess that is a rite of passage for nearly every freshman. Combined with my cynical outlook and breakup bitterness, I was in a bad, bad place.
I was also troubled by a group of kids from my dorm that were hounding me to hang out with them. Based on my high school experience, I was certain they were mocking me, especially when one of the girls asked me to watch porn with them. They paid a visit to my room one night, and while I was almost impressed with their effort, I still refused their invitation.
Second semester arrived, and I was still relatively friendless and bitter, even considering transferring (though my grades would have probably prevented that). One Saturday night, I found myself on their floor, asking a girl for a copy of our writing assignment. I ran into Andrew, who invited me to hang out with them in his room. I looked down at the essay I had intended spending my Saturday night writing, and realized that absolutely nothing could be worse than what I had planned. I had no where to go but up.
Six years later, it was the best snap decision I ever made. To my disbelief, they actually wanted to be friends with me.
They had sized me up well — it was instant friendship with Andrew, Malaka, Katie and Steve (and soon enough Ryan, once he stopped hating me for my dead baby jokes). There are endless memories from our four years together, from sitting on the couch watching TV (my favorite moments) to disastrous parties at our senior year house to our bizarre spring break experiences senior year in Miami.
And this morning, I opened up a photo album filled with hilarious pictures and even funnier captions, chronicling our time at Syracuse. I can remember the situation behind every single photo, no matter how seemingly mundane. And each one makes me regret so much that Andrew and Malaka live in DC, Steve is in Boston and Katie is soon for Syracuse. I miss them more than anything.
Then again, Malaka and Andrew left a lot of pages open, for future memories. Again, it’s greeting card wisdom and cliche, but I don’t really care. It’s the best reason I’ve got to keep on recovering.
Especially because it’s obvious the Mets will never, ever sniff the World Series again.
