“By the Shiva’s good graces, in the name of every woodland creatures, turn Nirvana off…I feel Kurt Cobain’s ghost poking me with his dirty-needles.”
The thought of needles always produced the fear in me. I crouched down to steady myself – gravity wasn’t working right and even the floor seemed an angry drunk in my state.
“Focus, man!” I yelled, both to myself and to my companion, I’ll call Smiles. “How am I supposed to contemplate the frosh, while you experiment on my mind like a Nazi zealot?
He did as I bid and switched to mind-soothing music. Classical.
Lacking faith, I could only see the exploitation of business large and small towards our disposable income: our student loans. Deaf to the atmosphere all over the city, I only saw overlapping patterns of movement, but no meaning. A great play was in action and I was without script. Was I paranoid?
Smiles watched me as he lit incense. He was entertained by my hysteria, and so was Olli when he finally arrived.
I stuck my head out the window. I could hear it, a wild migration in motion.
By then the frame skipping had begun. I was at the mercy of my companions.
•••
To Charlotte Street, where we enter our first scene: Smiles sits chatting with a squinty-eyed fellow.
I’d long since given up on controlling the chain of cigs left in my wake. I watch in perpetual shock as I’m led from house to house.
We cross a gravel driveway, through a game of deck badminton between neighbors and into a gaming circle, hidden within the adjacent house. The suite is elaborate: three rooms leading into each other, housing a king-sized bed and hot tub. Four guys sit on two smaller beds at the back of the room all competing for the attention of the only lady.
Hosting our fair assembly, James is clean cut, clear eyed and smashed. Young and secure in a high-paying job, it’s easy for him to do things that would forever be beyond my future wage. He is strange and foreign to me: Am I really that prejudice against expendable income? Smiles explains how since they all met, it’s been their custom to reunite whenever possible and relive their frosh.
This time, James has driven and paid the way for a small gang of five to join him. But he’s here for something more, a trip down memory lane. With his mission in mind, he herds us all into a cab.
…skip…out into the tannery, we join the fun-hunting packs knit together into a manic mob that fill the parking lot each night, surrounded on three sides by bars.
…skip… Blurred faces lit by flashing lights: A big afro above tanned face, a built man with blond cropped hair, a sweet young lady wearing a pink top and Smiles chuckling to himself behind his Cheshire-cat grin.
…skip…Early to Fusion, what used to be F-studio, our pack mingles and everyone pairs off into dissecting conversations. A pair of metal-heads play the slowest wailing guitar I’ve ever heard.
James, without a word, buys us all a beer, surveying the lightly packed bar. He downs half his beer and before I take my second swig, he yells, “We’re grabbing another cab. I want to see the campus again and if the crowd’s not here, it’s up there.”
James confounds me. I can’t help but wonder what has possessed this man to give so much and ask nothing in return? I know he’s thrill seeking, but I’m an unnecessary accessory; he gains nothing from my presence, yet still he treats me as a brother.
…Skip…We’re in JDH, and I’ve gone limp, letting myself be swept into the mosh pit. For a single song I frenzy, thrash, giving into the chaos around me. But that’s enough for the pack and again, we leave, following the spreading crowd of students back into the wilderness.
With predatory efficiency we split into two groups. We cover more ground that way. See more angles. We are men on a mission. Olli and James sweep down the campus as Smiles and I flank from the west, covering Windsor and Graeme Street.
Smiles, my drill sergeant, motivates me faithfully, pushing me to my physical limit. He has caught the scent and follows the hint of a fellow pack of wanderers.
We turned uphill.
When will it end? By God, Smiles isn’t even drunk! Where is he getting this energy?
Waves of people and into a party on Windsor, exploring the new scene. All that’s left inside are couples entwined, feeding off each other.
We only stay long enough to breathe in the energy, leaving early enough to avoid the approaching sirens.
…skip… Back down the hill, a quick stop at the Cellar, past six racing cop cars.
…Skip…I’m back at the Fusion…skip…another vortex of houses…skip… another spin-cycle of bars…skip…then it ends as suddenly as it began.
Only the memories remained.
•••
Underneath the bridge-to-nowhere: Every brick and beam is caked with graffiti. The cement ledge near the river’s southern shore will sit 20. The shadowed bit of shore hides behind a small land bridge that curves over a two-lane moat of constant traffic.
“Don’t take this the wrong way. This is something I offer everyone I have a memorable conversation with.” Fumbling first with his words then with the ring, Eric – a man I had only just met – explained, “I constantly buy them from the local flea market, cheap things, and wear them until I find someone I have a meaningful conversation with.”
I have to admire his humble self-assurance, content take things as they come. He says he’s lived under a bridge, been shot times five times, made money ranging from six to three figures. Now in his 40s, he’s still living his life and helping others through volunteer work or just listening.
I take the offered metal loop. He’ll buy another and offer it again, but I will remember. His words echo in my head as he disappears:
“It just represents the conversation, the memory or lessons, you know all the things we were talking about.”
I’m still flabbergasted, but all the twisted threads, crossed wires and horrors from frosh week have finally found context. It finally makes sense: James’ generosity, Smiles’ energy, the cause of my fear, what Eric was attempting to wake in me. I hadn’t seen the underlying pattern until now.
And suddenly I am possessed by the Spirit of Frosh, a spirit stronger than Captain Morgan and the Green Fairy combined. The father of fun fills me with cold fire, pulls at my nerve-web and forces my fingers to type:
The frosh spirit: often forgotten, is a reckless optimism. It’s a compulsive need to appreciate everyone around you: be it a conversation with a stranger, a mad week for all to remember, or even a cheap ring.
Once it possesses you, you possess it.
