Students rustle, as once did leaves, all around campus during the week. But in this season? By Friday at five everything is hushed and it’s almost like a ghost town here. It leaves me time to wander in the cold blue and dreary of night around the space that I call home.
I see the old freshman dorm where I used to live in 354. I remember the sleepless nights and the late night doughnut trips and the laughs and the carpooling. I remember the vulnerability and all the unknowns. I remember walking up that hill again and again hoping it was burning off the caf cake.
I see the hill that has an old house at the end of it where I used to go when all the laundry machines were full- my daddy’s old house. I would go there at least twice a week to feel like I was getting away and to be around the only family I had close.
I see the stairs of the University Center and recognize it once more as the place we used to meet up before recruitment parties. I would show up excited and nervous all at once, not sure where I was supposed to go.
I look over and see the dorm right across from my former one and I remember bible study. I flash back to being challenged and being vulnerable and feeling accepted in a tiny room on the second floor.
I see the bench on the quad where I sat and cried one night because I felt so alone and wanted to go home and be with the people who knew me best.
It’s funny how things work…because now I feel different. Two years later, here I sit.
Am I technically alone? Yes.
Do I distinctly feel at home in Room 103 at the moment? Not really.
But Samford is home to me.
And these people? They’re my family, too.
It’s where I’m growing up, ya know?