Snowball Fight

Early February, 2021

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It’s a blistery Tuesday afternoon and I’m sitting in my freshman dorm room, curled up in a cocoon of blankets. My body feels like it’s attacking itself again; familiar constant pain that seems to never cease despite regiments of medication, sleep, and tea. The curtains are open, sunlight spilling lazily over my cluttered desk, pile of dirty laundry, overflowing trash, un-vacuumed rug. I’ve skipped my ballet class again; I’m held captive in my XL twin bed, my laptop open on my lap so that I can convince myself I at least tried to start on the essay for my anthropology class due next week. Despite this valiant effort, my eyes wander from the screen as my focus wanes, landing on the window overlooking Clinton Street. I can see the houses passed by bundled students rushing to catch buses to make it to their next class. I like to watch them walking by sometimes, imagining what their lives are like, where they’re going, who they are. Today I see two boys having a snowball fight.

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My eyes follow them down their paths as they pack the freshly fallen snow from the night before into their gloved hands and toss it at each other, laughing, running, dodging blows. Something about being here and bearing witness to this insignificant moment between two unassuming people brings a warm, involuntary smile to my face. For a second, I forget that my body aches and my mind is so so tired, and I just watch these two complete strangers go about their lives. They have no idea I could see them; they were just two companions strolling along, creating a bit of fun for themselves amidst a tough week of midterm exams, roommates bickering, endless assignments, and droning lectures. I hope those boys are doing well, and that they were able to have a few more snowball fights that winter before the sun melted the snow and the weather turned to spring.

Late September, 2022

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I’m walking home from class because I missed the bus that I usually take. I’m at the most difficult time I’ve ever had in my life, but I try not to think about that right now. My mental health is declining, my anxiety overwhelms me, and I can barely leave my bed most days. My grades are slipping, my friendships are disintegrating, and I’m slowly but surely losing hope that I will ever be in a relationship. The last guy I went on a date with sent me an iMessage 8-Ball game when I asked him to text me more than once every few days. It’s all looking pretty dismal for me at this point.

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But the weather today is my favorite, so I don’t totally mind the short stroll. It’s 65 degrees, and ever so slightly sprinkling. I’m in comfy clothes, my jeans with holes ripped in the knees and my favorite lilac sweater with the four tortoiseshell buttons. My shoes crunch over fallen leaves, the smell of rain in the air. My soundtrack of choice today is Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago, one of my favorite albums for this time of year. It reminds me of someone I knew in high school and a dusty vinyl in my bedroom in my hometown 61 miles away. I hold onto this piece of the town that raised me and my old friend; I haven’t spoken to him in months and the disc has sat unplayed for just as long. I miss my family, my dog, my record player, the life I had before I came back to college this fall, I think as I pass over the sidewalk that cuts diagonally through the park on my block. Some of the trees are still green despite the chill in the air, and I watch them sway in the breeze above my head. These are a few of the most precious things in my life: music, time spent alone reflecting, and fall weather. I just walk, one foot in front of the other, listening to familiar melodies, remembering how beautiful life can be. There is love to be found, autumns to enjoy, new music to listen to; there is always something to look forward to.

Mid-March, 2024

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“We’ve decided to go with another candidate,” again.

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I’m two months away from graduating and I’m quite honestly the most lost I’ve ever been in my life. My overworked and underpaid mind is constantly occupied by swirling worries about getting a job, paying off my loans, finishing up this semester with its ever-growing list of deadlines, making the most of my last few months in the city I’ve come to call home. I’ll miss my friends, my cozy little apartment on Dodge St, my favorite bookstore, the sight of the sun glinting off of Old Cap. I know someday it will feel bittersweet but right now its mostly sour. I feel disoriented and misplaced, like the personification of a drawer full of disorganized, unfolded laundry. Where’s my Taylor Swift t-shirt? Are these my favorite gray sweats? What am I doing with my life?

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I’m working a typical early afternoon shift as a barista, consumed again by overwhelmingly negative post-grad thoughts. I mindlessly take coffee orders, nodding, smiling, regurgitating “have a good day,” every ten seconds. The line of customers winds, getting longer and longer as I work my way through it like I’m trudging through knee-deep snow. Surrounded by yelling, coffee grinding, steamed milk whistling; I’m overwhelmed in more ways than one. I reach over the counter to retrieve a $10 bill from a woman’s hand and look down to see a baby sat in a stroller, her tiny blonde head adorned with a pink bow and her face alight with a contagious smile. I can’t help but grin, waving at her as she lifts her little hand to wave back at me. Her parents look at me and laugh and I join in, giggling while she continues her greeting. “She likes you!” her parents tell me, wide smiles of pride across their faces as they gaze down at their little girl. They finish up paying and move to the side to wait for their lattes; the baby waves

goodbye to me as her dad pushes her away. Suddenly, my day has gotten infinitely better and for just a moment I’ve forgotten all about my concerns and qualms for the future. There is kindness all around me, and that’s all that matters to me right now. It’s a gentle and much-needed reminder that everything will work out and that I will be okay.