finals@dartmouth

I had spent all day in Sanborn. I woke up, ate breakfast, and staked a claim in one of the gorgeous study nooks -- my base camp til I couldn't take it any longer. In the arms of my high-backed chair I wrote countless essays on the meaning of theatre, on plays I'd read, performances I'd attended; I poured over articles and rehearsal logs, scenes and scripts, amassing the absurd conglomeration of work that was my Acting I final. A few hours in to this impossible endeavor, I looked up to see one of my friends standing in the doorway, grinning his goofy grin, his hat wet with the falling snow. He took the chair beside mine, and immediately set about sending me blitzes: a walking study-break, brought right to my side. We laughed silently; I glared at him for distracting me; finally, there was nothing to be done other than to go for a walk in the snow.

We traipsed across the Green, underdressed for the weather, sliding in our smooth-soled shoes across the slick, white-covered grass. The sun had nearly set and the light from the Hop shone from beyond the Christmas tree. We slid, too, across the tile floors of the Hop, and sat a small table exchanging old jokes, me with my favorite snack (Chai tea and PB&J), and him with his (two containers of Cocoa Krispies and a slice of Oreo pie). Walking to the library, the sun was entirely gone, and we could feel the snow thicker around our feet. We had almost made it to the big wooden doors when he took off his backpack and told me to hold it. "Why?" I asked as we stood facing each other at the edge of the Green. He paused, and smiled at me as though he had a secret. He looked around and yelled "SNOW ANGEL!", falling to the ground and sweeping his arms and legs in big arcs through the snow. He sat in the library, wet, snowy, and utterly satisfied with his decision.

Two days later we walked to our Linguistics final together, me carrying my cup of coffee and pausing every few steps to take a sip ("You can't drink and walk but you got into Dartmouth?" he'd tease me), him singing Barenaked Ladies songs and going over last-minute definitions. As we sat in the lecture hall, waiting for our tests, I confessed my nervousness for my first written final of college. He responded by singing an entire song from Mulan. We both passed.

After my final I went back to Sanborn to write my last essay for Acting -- the last one to add to the unfathomable number that had already been written. I was almost delirious with exhaustion; my power-sessions of studying coupled with lack of sleep had finally caught up to me, and it was all I could do to disguise my incoherence in clever prose. I finished, and walked half-awake to the Hop to drop off my creation. I bound up all my papers on my Acting prof's desk, took one final look at them, and walked out, the weight of finals lifted from my shoulders. I was done. I was done! I retrieved my bike from its temporary residence in front of Collis, and biked as fast as I could to my best friend's dorm. We were both done. Done! It was around 3:30 in the afternoon when I opened his door; we hugged, happy and relieved. And we promptly lay down on the floor and fell asleep.