from such great heights

red bricks and white walls

Posted in life by chapwoman on June 13, 2008

It was the weirdest feeling, closing the door to room 106 for the last time, with no key to get back in. Brick walls which were once cluttered, full of color and life, were completely stripped bare when I left at 7:22 this morning. The white paint evoked a haunting eeriness, the sense that at one time, room 106 was “home” for two 19-year-old girls trying to make it just that. Home. I could no longer smell the sweetness of Coconut Lime Verbena air fresheners, only the stench of damp carpet where our mini-fridge defrosted a little too much frost. The carpet was actually clean, vacuumed even, where piles of clothes and shoes and X-Acto blades once lived.

And the closets, which seem so small when they’re empty, used to hold hangers and hangers of clothes and racks of shoes, the first place Katie and I would rush to in the mornings when we woke up half-an-hour late for architecture. My box of kitchen supplies that I picked through when Jon Scheoneck needed a brownie pan no longer rested on the floor inside, and the hamper I used to drag down the hallway filled with three weeks worth of dirty laundry wasn’t there.

What really got me though, were the bare mattresses. So many memories on those uncomfortable, twin extra-long mattresses: spooning parties with over five people cramped on/in my sheets, late-night talks with dear friends like Fossi, Jon, Rickie, and Maleesa, surfing the internet with utter delight when I found out that my bed actually received a wireless connection.

It’ll be so different next year, not living in such a tight-knit community like Sequoia. It’s the littlest things that make the awkward dorm thing work and worth appreciating. Like walking into the study lounge in sweats, looking like complete hell, but not even caring because all your guy friends have no pants on. Like chit-chatting every morning in the bathroom with first-floor girls that you somehow never see during the day. Like wandering into the TV lounge at 3 am and wondering why Tim is still playing that fricken soundtrack from Requiem for a Dream. For the THOUSANDTH time. Like staying up all night working on your final project, with massive headaches and sore fingers, but persevering because 40 of your friends are right there with you. They were right there with me, and that is worth appreciating.

I can’t even come close to telling all the great stories and inside jokes that went on in Sequoia this year, which is why closing the door to my room for the last time killed me. I could see all the memories right there in front of me from guitar hero sessions to straightening Scott’s hair in the middle of the night. The imaginary line separating the tornado on Katie’s side of the room from the cleanliness of mine.

Hopefully next fall when I’m walking to class and see Chelsea and see Lance and see Arthur, we’ll be able to exchange little stories like those and chat about how much we miss Sequoia. Because we will.

C’est la vie,


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