Campus Notes

A communist cause I'm left-handed
That's the hand they use
Well, never mind


A silently complex sound-filled murmur falls over this campus, my world, every time I take the time to really listen. I hear sniffling captured in the crisp golden fall air. Zippers. One o’clock bells. My hair matches the leaves on the ground and a chilled breeze reaches down my dress and up my legs. Fall wants some. High heels on bricks. Lazy sliding feet slouched against the dusted floor. I could hear that skateboard from a mile away. Cell phones. Face to face chat. “Like an authentic Chinese restaurant or like a white Chinese restaurant?” This stone is a cool pulse on my legs.

The plane is louder in the sky than the clicking gears of the bicycle before me. Walking alone with a smile. A crow, a squirrel, a hornet. They all peruse the leaves but on different levels and for different reasons. The wind tickles my hair across my brow. I send a pollenless thought to the yellow and black flies inspecting all things brown. Wasted time. Keys. Red pants, yellow tights. A loving hug between two people who don’t look suited for each other but then again I am left handed and love my country for the most part. “Do you have a cigarette?” Eyecontact: red eyes through small dark slits. Hardly English.

Bouncing injured walk. Silent walk only discovered on the crunchy brown fallen leaves. Julie. Mitch. Number 69 on the football team. My heart jumps for fear of a different number. And I owe you one. Free samples and hands dig into the tray hanging from his minimum wage neck, if that. We all attend the University of Freebies.

That guy. Where do I know him from? Psychology 200—answer dude with his hair falling upon his shoulder holding his arm in the air. Her dress is awfully short. Three skateboards, no helmets. Nicole Wilberding and her iPod; semi-skinny jeans. Red tights with black pointy, upturned clogs—she is a witch: wicked or good, West or East I cannot tell but in my lack of cynicism, East it is.

The leaves begin to dance as the low murmur rises to a vibrating hum and I know what time it is just by the number of feet that fall upon the ground. The atmosphere changes and a seagull calls, a leaf falls beside me, and the sun comes out. Just in time to go back inside.