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At 22 years old, I suddenly felt ancient and sad and completely pissed at myself for letting my college years pass so quickly. My sadness immediately transformed into panic. I had to find a job in the middle of our country’s horrible economic crisis. I’m going to have to figure out how to pay bills. No more sorority housekeepers cleaning up after me or sorority chefs making my egg white omelets to order in the morning. Summer, fall, winter, and spring breaks? Gone.
An imaginary scene suddenly conjures in my head. It’s fall 2009 and my friends and me are at the crowded tailgating fields. We’re alumni. Outsiders looking in, “old people.” College grads visiting our younger sorority sisters and friends. I observe the scene unfolding around me. There is a crowd of Junior frat boys standing on the back of a pick up truck loudly slurring the words to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in the distance. Next to me two girls with messy side ponytails are having a beer-bonging race while their friends screech their encouragements. A couple of freshmen boys sweat bullets behind me as a cop suspiciously looks at their fake IDs. A girl with bloodshot eyes takes a shot of Kamchatka, grimaces, then spits it out in a nearby bush before checking to make sure no one saw her. There are more empty cans of Keystone Light littering the field than tacky schoolteachers at a Chico’s clearance sale.
I look down at the imaginary bottle of micro brewed beer in my gloved hand – the beer that I didn’t have to use mom and dad’s credit card to buy, the beer that I didn’t steal from a fraternity tailgate, the beer that I bought with my own future paycheck and smile. I might be okay with moving on from sloppy IU shenanigans. But I’ll always miss those gorgeous autumn walks in Bloomington.
All Images: Maggie Conner
