Mis-Identifying Wildflowers

Memory.

Whenever I come to The Daily Grind downtown, all of my thoughts jumble together as I remember “the good old days” of Thursday nights my sophmore year.

Thursdays were the days that everyone looked forward to. It was the day you picked your best outfit at the beginning of the week, Wednesday became like Friday, and Friday you were still buzzing and talking about everything that happened the night before. Karaoke at Fletchers, where the owner would “close shop” at nine, let us all stay and make pizza for us until three in the morning. Where we would scale massive ladders to get to the rooftops of the Elco and the jewelery store, watch the sun go down, then get down as quickly as possible, because the cops had come and we had to run away. Sitting at the Grind, the police would come by and ask us if we knew anything about kids trespassing on the roof. We would calmly shake our heads and say “The only time we left was to go on a walk along the Riverwalk.” They would leave, we would decide a walk along the Riverwalk sounded good, and take off in groups.

We would either cross the bridge, or go off tumbling down the hills towards the river, bracing whatever we could find so we wouldn’t end up in the filth that is the Elkhart river. Sometimes I would sit on a park bench with Stefan, next to the bridge, talking for hours about being a chemistry teacher, or my aspirations at the time of being a band director.

It’s very odd, coming back and being bombarded with so many memories. Sitting outside the Grind and smoking, I see all of us sitting on the pavement as Stefan and Corey, or the Joshes, or the really awesome lesbian chicks that I don’t remember the names of, would play guitar and we would all sing along.

I feel like Gatsby, in the way that I idolize those times and forever yearn for those memories to repeat themselves. However, sitting outside the Grind today, I realize that Thursday nights were a mindset—we had a good time because that’ what we were expecting. I always say “I was so nice, sophomore year” and in truth, I am the same person, have been the same person. Back then, I didn’t have to find myself, because I was myself. It’s easy to be who you are when you are surrounded by wonderful people.

When the seniors graduated, I lost myself. I am still recovering from losing them, but I feel for the first time, perfectly fine on my own.

I don’t really look forward to days of the week anymore. I used to look forward to Wednesdays. Now, I look forward to whatever trips I will be making (this weekend is Cinci) and whenever I have a day off work.

I am a sophomore in college now. It’s so strange to think it’s been FOUR years since Thursdays, YAC, the seniors…

And now, I’m shipping off to Merrimack, New Hampshire. Louisville after that.

But when I come here, it’s like coming home. It’s like seeing a green light across the river. I am sure it is nostalgia that makes that year so vivid in my mind, but I really don’t care. I will forever hold to the statement that it was my most pivotal year.

And now, it’s time to relive the term “wise fool”