Home of the Wanderer

January 13, 1996

I have spent the past few years going to Buxton, a small boarding school with about eighty students and postcard quality scenery. In the past three years, I have come to love this place, these people, and this daily routine. From taking walks with a friend to taking part in the graduation ceremony, I have been taking last wistful glances at familiar paths and faces. The prospect of leaving is an ominous one, but I must move on as last year’s seniors did before me.

I first realized that last year’s seniors were leaving when I was walking with Chris Fallon. When I saw my backpack beside the path up ahead, I broke into a run and called out, “switch fields,” an old, familiar soccer play. As I said it, I realized that I would not be playing soccer with Chris the following year. The thought of playing soccer without Chris just did not seem right. I turned around, ran back to Chris with my bag, and told him what I had been thinking. We shared a good hug as we walked into the dorm. When I thought about it, I realized that this was true of all the seniors: they just would not be around a year later.

Since the seniors were on their way out, I tried to spend as much time with them as possible. By the time graduation rolled around, I thought I had dealt with having them leave. On the day of graduation, though, I found myself in tears. I was so proud of the things these friends of mine had done, and as they each made a speech, all the memories of them came back to me. Eating breakfast with Maeve, gossiping with Maya in the Lights Booth, and staying up late nights with Hawk are things to which I wish I had paid more attention. I miss the class of ‘95, and now that I am leaving I will miss everything which I am leaving behind.

Dorm life at Buxton is another one of those things. When I first came here, I aspired to live in every room at least once. I quickly realized how much more important it is with whom I live than where I live. At first, I was not the quickest person to find a roommate, but this year I have tried to do so well in advance. Nonetheless, my friend and former roommate Jamie surprised me when he asked me where I wanted to room with him for the final term. Since it is now January 13, and we switched rooms only two weeks ago, I thought it strange that he was asking me so early. Then I realized what he was asking for: he wanted me to room with him in my last term at Buxton. I remembered, suddenly, all of the people with whom I had wanted to room in the final term. I remembered thinking that it would be nice to room with Dave, staying up late and talking about life. I realized that Jamie was not thinking of where he would live next year, and with whom: his thoughts were on the coming term. I do not have the same security: I know I will not be coming back next year.

Thinking through my time here, I have realized that everyone eventually moves onward. I realized that next year my late night talks and salsa parties will be in some other dorm. I miss the students who were here last year and the year before. Just as I was unaware of the seniors leaving three years ago, today’s freshman cannot know how I feel. I was once in their position, and secure in my future at Buxton. Now I must move forward.