Wednesday - My final final, Botany. Again, I believe that Dr. Grey screwed us. I studied the list of topics, made note cards, poured over maps and formulas and all that other nonsense. I packed my brain full of stuff, and when the test came, I almost threw something. He included information from throughout the semester, not since the midterm. Gah! The test was short - the only saving grace. As I exited Bush, pushing my way through frustration and those big doors, I saw my fellow students outside. I wasn’t the only one who felt fucked by the test. So, what do you do after your last final? One that frustrated the piss out of you? You go to Fiddler’s and drink yourself silly.

I should stop here and state that I’ve only been to Fiddler’s a handful of times. I can’t smoke, and as such, I get frustrated. The bar (restaurant) is made for smoking. Dark, shiny wood and brass bits, deep green rugs (although they could be another soiled color — you can only see so much in that light). You can feel the old cigarettes, see the burns in the laquered booths. But there is no smoking now, and I understand why, but if there was ever a place made for smoking, it would be Fiddler’s. Oh, and they have wonderful fries, but their potato pancakes leave much to be desired…. yea. Not healthy food, but there aren’t many veggie choices in a place that serves bird in a pot and steak.

Back to the drinking. We sat down with many (new) friends from class. My drink of choice, Strongbow, seemed to ellict laughs and ribbing from a few. I think Strongbow is acceptable, and Smith-icks is nasty. But that’s just my opinion. Kat and I bonded over Jager shots (yes, I did jager two days in a row) and conversations about the future. I felt so close to all of those people — the cute girl, Raul, Kat… As the night wore on, my face and belly hurt from the laughter. Then, one by one, everyone began to depart. It was the first of the goodbyes, and it felt sad to me. But I will see some in Portland and some at the graduation party, and the rest — I think I will make them characters in a short story or two. D met me up there, escorted me home (I drove after the drink — baaad Erica) and put me to bed, sorta. I ended up manic as all hell and walked the halls of my memory, as the alchohol worked through my body, it seemed to stir up more and more of my Rollins memory. I slept briefly, and fitfully, but thankful for the shots and the laughter.

Thursday — the madness continued. After hurrying through work, I raced to ABC to pick up tasty beverages and a little snack. 2 bottles of Malbec and a champagne-thingish (I’m very ignorant when it comes to bubbly stuff). The courtyard was nearly empty when I got there, just a few people milling about. But Woolson House was open, and I walked inside. On the tables - Cheesecake Factory cheesecakes, luscious breads with sumptuous spreads, fruit, veggies and meat-stuff. I sat my beverages down next to another bottle of champagne and tried to keep my mind positive and out of the muck of my sadness. We sat around and talked about the final. I think everyone got an A, and if they didn’t they at least got a reasonably good grade. I had a slice of chocolate cheesecake which gave me a happy belly and a few cavities. I cracked open the wine. It was a hit, and we ran out of the wine before the good bubbly. Before I could pour myself some, both bottles were empty. For the read-around, several students brought passages from books, others brought short stories they’d written for class. Kyle, an amazing writer, read two poems he wrote. They were about his relationship with his wife and they brought tears to my eyes. That kid has an amazing gift, and he puts my wordsmithing to shame. Then I read two blog posts. I didn’t have time to write any original content, and I didn’t want to use my short stories from Deaver’s fiction workshop — they were just too long. One of the posts was about my birthdaughter. I was okay until the very last line and then I lost it. All of the emotion from the last weeks overwhelmed me. I pulled it together for the rest of the class, and listened to my classmates read their works. Then, without a whisper or exhale, it was over. 6:40 rolled through, and her next class waited to finish their last class (she teaches the Sr. English Capstone). My heart shuddered and I felt it start to whither just a little. My knees wanted to collapse. When you were a child, do you remember when you hurt yourself? When you fell off a swing, or tripped on your shoelace? The shock of the wound hits you — and then the pain. That was what that last moment felt like. I looked at Dr. Dunn and fell into her hug. I am a little embarrassed that I cried in her arms. Not exactly a strong-woman kind of thing, but it happened and she kept saying “I will see you on Saturday…” and that was enough for me.

The class ended and we, those of us that lingered in that moment of finality, sat in the courtyard at Orlando Hall and… well I said goodbye, but most of them just reminisced about the beginning and the middle and the end. I said goodbye to Sanjeev, who really made my classes fun. He was the easiest person to talk to, and we had a lot of common ground. Gene sat with us in the courtyard. We talked about relationships, about Kim’s troubles and the future. Sanjeev told me that I had to actually answer my phone because he wanted to keep in touch (my message says something like “I can’t answer my phone because it is buried in my bag….” which is usually true). After talking to friends for an hour or so, I headed home.

I had a hard moment by the water behind the library, where I usually park. The sun set over the lake. Dark blues and reds shimmered on the water and the oaks were nothing but shadows. I sat in the grass, just meters away from the water and forced my mind to take it all in. The end… it was at that moment that it really hit me. I remembered my first day of school and how scared I was. And at the end, I was scared as well. It’s all shifting to a new place, my life, but I’ve taken comfort in the routine of Rollins — even the chaos of finals and projects and such. I said goodbye, with tears and my eyes and drove home.

We ended up at Fiddler’s again….with many more people. I felt ill at ease initially, like something had to start or the sadness would overwhelm me. The cure? Blackthorn, and lots of it. I don’t know what we said, but I watched Kim dance, and heard Amanda laugh and when D and I were throwing potato pancake bits at each other, we got sour cream on Ginny’s purse. Kyle pulled me aside again and we talked about our writing and how we thought the other was wonderful. Kaleen (I butchered the spelling) joined us, as well as Kim, Amanda, Gene, and others. I got home too late and too drunk. And I don’t remember the latter half of the evening. I don’t normally get that drunk, but it was the Jager. I blame it all on the Jager.

Friday — I stayed in bed. My mind healed from the drinking and the damage of the sadness. D pampered me when he got home. I relaxed and slept…and it was good.

The weekend — I made salsa and enchilada sauce. It took hours and hours. D and I ran errands. It was nice and mellow and relaxing.

And that is it kiddies. It’s all I can remember and all I feel like talking about. There are bits and pieces that are mine, that I won’t share because they feel too small and intimate. It’s a rare thing for me not to blurt out everything, but I think I am learning a little restraint. I am going to miss Rollins. I am going to miss the people and the atmosphere, but life changes everything, and I can’t miss it for long otherwise I will miss what is going on in my present and the possibilities in my future. The time to mourn has passed. I’ve got goodbyes a’plenty. It’s time to enjoy myself.