Last night the English faculty and students met for the end-of-the-year dinner. I loved hanging out with all of them one more time. The department gave each of the graduating seniors a choice of gifts. I received a new t-shirt with the words, "Careful, or you'll end up in my novel" on the front. The food was delicious and I was able to get a few photos of professors.
I think I'm having separation anxiety issues. At the end of the evening, when we said goodbye, I didn't go so far as to hang on to their clothes with my teeth, the way Clayton used to mine in kindergarten, but I felt sad. I dont know how many of them I'll actually get to see and talk to on Saturday, so I was glad for the opportunity to thank them in person.
I had parked around the oval--a humongous piece of lawn in front of Mills Hall and in the center of campus. But instead of getting in my car to go home, I walked past it and onto the lawn. I had this idea to find the very center of the oval. I didn't go as far as to walk it off, but I eye-balled the distances, found the spot and lay down on the grass on my back. The oval is so expansive, that I could see the tops of the surrounding trees on campus only by tipping my head one way or another. Blue sky above. The sun was going down and I noticed the darkest blue was straight up, in the center; the sky was lighter toward the ground. I thought about all the women who had crossed that piece of ground since 1871 when Mills moved from Benicia to Oakland. I thought about my place at Mills. My place within my family. My place in the world. Beneath my body, my legs, my outstretched arms and hands, the lawn felt cool and thick. Better than lying on a carpet. While I lay there, the bell tower rang three different times. Finally the nostalgia left, replaced by gratitude. I hugged the earth goodbye. It hugged me back.
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