The night I met the dudes

It was April 20, 2006, the sort of day when I was not surprised that only five out of 10 students decided to show up to my morning precept. While many people were enjoying the spring flowers and green grass, I frantically shuttled between classes and meetings. By nightfall, I sat hunched in my desk chair like a limp asparagus — an asparagus that still had to sift through the endless emails parked in her inbox. It was a Thursday night, but I was too exhausted to go out.

While deleting emails, I signed onto AIM in hopes of feeling like less of a social invalid.

GAIMbuddy: Hey loser, why aren't you out?

"Great," I thought. "He has GAIM so he can see my away message is a lie. He's knows I'm here, I have to respond."

Me: eh. I'm mad tired. I shouldn't go out tonite. What are u up to?

GAIMbuddy: dunno, I've been drinking in my room for a while, you should come hang out.

Me: what else is goin on?

GAIMbuddy: dunno, some frat stuff, but you should really come. I'm graduating soon! c'mon!

Me: I know I know, but I'm so damn tired.

GAIMbuddy: Rule #76: no excuses, play like a champ!

Me: thanks you motorboatin' S.O.B.

GAIMbuddy: haha

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Me: well, I'll call you if I come out

GAIMbuddy: cool I'll see you soon!

GAIMbuddy has signed off.

He had a point. I decided to rise to the challenge, play like a champ and put on my Thursday best.

As I touched up my mint lipgloss, a wave of nostalgia crashed down on me and unleashed a sea of memories about my high school friends. I reminisced about our camping trips at the beach. I replayed the shenanigans and campus stunts we executed as "almighty seniors." I fondly recalled the late-night jam sessions we'd have until the "parentals" emerged from their slumber and asked us to kindly lower the volume. Glancing at the photos on my dorm walls, I remembered how it felt to be "just one of the guys." But that was then. Though I had two years' worth of great college memories displayed on Webshots, I still missed my old friends. Additionally, my search for a new set of hooligans felt as futile as a screen door on a submarine.

Though still not really in a going-out mood, I knew I had to snap out of it, move on and party like it was April 20, 2006. Finally dressed for the night, I applied a final dash of mascara and soon I was out the door.

After hanging out in GAIMbuddy's room for a while, a bunch of us, including my roommate, decided to hit some frat parties. Unfortunately, we had lingered too long in Lockhart and all the parties were as stale as the empty beer cans strewn on the hardwood floors. "Damn!" I thought. "Not even worth going out tonight!" Noticing that I was about to ditch the group, a friend asked me what I felt like doing.

"Hookah," I said unaware that the word had transformative powers.

"Sweet. I know a guy," he said slyly.

"You know a guy? Do I know him? I don't wanna just poach his hookah."

"You don't know him, and he doesn't care if you 'poach' his hookah."

With that, we left Henry Hall and soon enough, I was sitting in a plume of apple-flavored smoke. There must have been something distinctly magnetic about the flavored tobacco that night, because within the hour many people began crawling in through a particular window as the smoke wafted out. While most of these window-crawlers were regulars, there were many other "randos" like myself. Sure, it felt awkward at first, but that feeling melted away after a few cold ones and another long draw from the hookah.

As April 20 turned into April 21, the other two roommates in the suite returned, and with them they brought their music: one on the guitar and one on the keyboard. With drunken passion, everyone sang whatever lyrics he or she knew as the resident musicians coaxed notes out of their instruments. It was just the sort of scene you'd hope to find on a college campus: brews, hookah, live music and the growing suspicion that everyone knew each other in past lives. Seated on a decrepit but awesomely orange '70s loveseat, my roommate and I enjoyed our front row exposure to this amazing jam session.

"What year are these guys?" my roommate whispered to me.

"I'm pretty sure they're all seniors." I said.

"Damn! Where have they been all year?" She knew we had stumbled upon something pretty special.

Though not prone to pulling all-nighters, I found myself curled up on the loveseat and laughing at the sunrise with my roommate. In a fit of morning delirium, we decided to run outside and do some Sun Salutations. But the cold air pushed us back inside where the music was still warm. By 7 a.m., I decided that it was way past my bedtime. Seeing how I had just met these guys, I thanked them for letting me crash on their couch and hang out well beyond normal hours. They told me it was totally cool and that my roommate and I should "come back real soon." Needless to say, we followed their orders.

While packing our belongings for the year, my roommate and I discussed which graduates we would miss the most and eventually our memories centered on the night of April 20.

"I can't believe that was only a month ago," she said.

"Yeah, I know. I feel like I've known these guys for so long."

"Well, in a strange way, that makes sense," she said.

"Come again?" I replied. She looked at me like I was a space-case.

"Haven't you noticed that they are exactly like your boys from home?"

She was dead on. I couldn't believe that I hadn't put two and two together until now. I realized, with another pang of nostalgia, that this was another group of buddies lost to graduation — only college this time, not high school. But slowly I understood that the friendship formed on that night, with the chill music and the thrill of newfound company, would outlast the fleeting smell of apple smoke and endure far beyond Princeton.