When, oh when was the last time I traversed down Middle Path, excited at the prospect of standing in the humid basement of Old K? At night when I close my eyes, it’s black X’s on the backs of my hands that I fantasize about. Even now, many miles away from campus, I yearn for the familiarity of an all campus.
Why must I be tormented by faint memories of first years huddling in the corners, uncertain of what they’d walked in to? The slightest whiff of beer sends me back to a time when the very elixir itself was spilled upon my unsuspecting person. The girl back then didn’t appreciate what she had. Now, I can only wish to be bathed in Keystone Light once again.
Whenever my shoes stick to the ground, I’m painfully reminded of the floor in Colburn, sticky with beer and sweat and God knows what else landed on the floor. Sometimes, when I get really desperate, I’ll wrap a weighted blanket around myself and walk around in a weak attempt to recreate the feeling of walking through masses of sweaty students. The thrill of finding an opening in which to exhibit my moves has been lost to me for so long. Who will bear witness to my half-hearted bouncing? My attempts to sing along to songs I’ve never heard before?
Alas and alack! Many moons shall pass before I once again experience the emotions only Keystone Light can raise in one’s soul. Until then, I must satisfy my own yearning by imagining the screams that are sure to erupt when “WAP” finally plays to a crowd of Kenyon students under the black-lights of Old K.
