Thursday, April 10, 8PM
Harnwell (HRE) Upper Lobby
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Dear Pennpal: This Saturday I was walking home from Allegro’s when my eyes caught a spot of brilliant red too overwhelming for my freshman self to overcome. My vision grew as clouded as the cheese on a pizza pie, and I crashed to the ruinous, spinning pavement, purring cell phone in hand. I awoke in a state of confusion. As I reopened my eyes, I was overwhelmed by my senses a second time. Dozens of scantily-clad brunette girls surrounded me: devils and angels, high school rebels and hippies, women of the night and aspiring celebrities sporting Chanel sunglasses in the darkness. I kicked my feet for a moment, struggling to focus my eyes on someone, anyone. Clarity was not to be mine until a mighty, bicycle-wielding man wearing bright yellow and orange swooped in from riotous Qdobaland, ready to rescue me. Thank God for Specta Guards. But let me tell you the whole story. It was a cold night, and fishnet stockings were roaming the streets. A collective set of teeth was on edge, and clothes were unceremoniously ripped off as if convulsive teeth-chattering would solve the palpable tension that was dramatically pulsating from Shakira’s latest piece of Latin pop magic. We freshmen were preparing to unbuckle the shackles left over from Parents’ Weekend. Only now were we able to shed the constricting bonds of loving mothers and fathers attending our classes and soaking in the fresh, young faces on Locust Walk enough to create memories for a year’s worth of vicarious living and excited references. “Remember when your professor called on you in Math 104? You and Sebastian were so clever in doing that integration problem.” Away messages were carefully and concisely designed, It was October 2003, and for the class of 2007, it was our first Halloween in the West Philadelphian enchanted forest. Red cups in hand, we drank the local beverage of choice: jungle juice. The autumn was ripe; the packs of ten to fifteen had already whittled down to a more respectable size. The number du jour appeared to be four, and many of these groups were girls with a mission. House after house was alight, and the residences of the evening’s luckiest guys were teeming with people desperate to enter. Everything started normally; I was excited by my simultaneous mastery of campus geography and the Greek alphabet. I emerged from the Quad sporting a collar more popped than the collective bubble of pre-college expectations in the Nipple. After Greek Week, I was ready to join a fraternity. My friends agreed, but tonight we were all hoping that the girls would notice us instead of that Castle boy with the gigantic bedroom, the plush leather couches and the never-ending upgrade from jungle juice. Three crashed parties later, and we had lost our optimism. My khakis had juice stains, and my friend Sebastian and I just wanted a slice of pizza. Actually, any edible object that would absorb excess alcohol would have sufficed. We had our fill and enjoyed watching groups of girls attempt to walk inside and use the bathroom without falling over. Then we left. And that’s when it struck me. I was exiting the outer doors of Allegro’s. Sebastian was talking about the night’s unattainable 10, Becca Bickfeld. She was clearly into some senior dude, but I was not about to be the bearer of bad news when Sebastian had more alcohol in him than we could carry back from the sketchy liquor store in our North Face backpacks. You know, the one at 41st and Market. So, I clamped my mouth shut and prepared to keep it in that position at least until we walked to Zets. Then I saw her. Pale skin, flaming red hair and twinkling green eyes. She was wearing a yellow polka-dot bikini, and I was too far away to notice any telltale signs of her humanity, like the usual goose bumps and shivers. Suddenly it was too much. Though I don’t remember most of it, I’m told I danced the night all the way away and into a keg-induced coma. At some point, a Specta Guard came and biked me to the hospital, and they let me sleep off my self-inflicted stupor without contacting my parents. Hurrah, Danny Stein Days passed. Second midterms came and went, and so did Rich Girls. Sebastian had sworn to Danny that he never even saw this brilliant, mysterious redhead. Danny believed him. After all, his friend could only think of two things, and never both at once: getting an A in Management 100 and Becca Bickfeld doing a naked handstand. In a way he was grateful, for he did not have to share his memory of this red-haired chick with any other male mind. As far as he knew, he alone possessed all fantasies of her. ---------------------------- Twenty years earlier Chris Jones was running around the campus like an intoxicated bat out of alcoholic hell. Girls cut off their spandex leggings, spliced their oversized shirts open for more accessible viewing and were generally enthused. Chris was in the throes of his junior year. His three best friends were studying abroad, and he alone had to face the Halloween hookup challenges. He was deeply frustrated, though he was uncertain why. His old girlfriend Janie told him chicks feel this way all the time, but what the hell. He isn’t some PMSing maniac. Janie found some older grad student MBA guy who was more “serious,” or who was going to make more money sooner. Whichever he chose to believe. Euphemism or Madonna-sung reality. Damn, that feeling of frustration returned more powerfully than ever. He tried to lose himself dancing in the artificial disco light. The dead deer on the wall kept staring at him, its gaze familiar and unmoving. The stupid freshmen girls around him were all clones of the same annoying, insecure whiny girl from He walked out of the place. Some wannabe guy with Euro-hair dropped a cheap beer on his foot, but Chris just shrugged it off. He walked up Walnut and waited at the light on Soon he passed the CVS. Some commotion was happening. He lived at 40th and Sansom, so he was about to turn right. Right turns always made him nervous. Once in third grade a wannabe Goth girl told him if you stumble over your feet while making a right turn, you’d never find true love. The McDonald’s odor pervaded his nose. Some fries right might hit the spot right now. Or a cheeseburger. He walked into the McDonald’s, meticulously avoiding the soda residue and broken glass on the ground. As he looked up and ordered meal #5, his eyes met a clear, smiling green pair of eyes surrounded by a mane of radiant red. Wow, that alliteration is sales-worthy, he mused. Radiant red. Brilliant brunette. Yeah right, New The next thing Chris knew, he was lying on his right side in his bedroom, and his empty stomach told him he never ate that cheeseburger. His housemate Alex, whom he stopped hanging out with much after they both went after some girl, who in retrospect was totally useless, stood over him. “Are you alright? Johnny found you underneath the house, lying flat on your stomach with a sun-shaped corona of french-fries surrounding your head.” Chris had no idea. How did he get from McDonald’s to his house? Did he eat the cheeseburger? Where was the red-haired cashier? By the time he got up, he was just as angry as he was that night, three days ago. He had no idea why he slept for three days, but now he was hopelessly behind in the week’s 1000 pages of pointless reading. And when he turned the pages of Chaucer, the only image his eyes could see was the red hair. Charles in Charge blared in the background. He switched to the music on MTV. Why couldn’t he graduate already, dammit. Or his friends could at least come back, so they could search for the elusive redhead, or whoever the current target was, together. --------------------------------- Present Day This letter was found on the kitchen table in a house in suburban Dear Michelle, This year I couldn’t sit in our den and watch Scream with you for the twentieth time so that we could relive our famous first date at the movies. Johnny told a bunch of the guys that this year they were going to have a real Homecoming at Penn, since half of us couldn’t make it the year after we graduated. I didn’t tell you about the trip because you were ice-cold to me for the past four days, and I couldn’t break the silence by telling you that I had to leave on the weekend of your birthday and of your favorite holiday, Halloween. I will be back on Sunday night. I hope you enjoy Halloween with the kids. Best, Chris. Chris walked out of ------------------------- In the unchanging cycle of the Penniverse, Danny was a senior, and a lot had changed since that Halloween his freshman year. Sebastian died in a breathmint combustion accident while Danny himself had joined a frat, got an investment banking job offer and had learned how to ballroom dance and create artful resume bullet points.. It was his last Halloween in Pennland. Next year he’d be in a cubicle staring at a spreadsheet, or at some bar way out of Smokes’ league. He still remembered that redhead, and now Sebastian wasn’t even around to mock him for it. Becca Bickfeld came back from ------------------------------ The night passed lazily. Chris realized he never told Johnny or any of the other guys even after they returned from abroad about the McDonald’s cashier. He told them the story while they were watching some insipid --------------- The next day, alumni and students alike threw toast on the field in a burst of Saturday morning tailgating gusto. The day melted away. Mad4 was packed. Little children romped around Izzy and Zoe’s. Dusk covered the campus. The alumni decided to conquer Smoke’s. Underage girls started to dance on the tables. Danny’s head ached as their feet tapped on the tables. Those leggings were hot. -------------------- Chris was spinning in circles. The girls seemed so young. Everybody else was wearing the same modified Halloween leggings and billowing shirts as two decades ago; the only person in the room who had changed was him. And his buddies. Their gray hairs flickered in the cheap lighting. The music played and the girls bootie-popped. Louder and louder. The bartender rolled her eyess and blinked a few times. The 38 year olds just couldn’t keep up. Out of nowhere emerged a redhead wearing yellow leggings and a weird uniform top with a nametag. Chris straightened his posture. Johnny smiled and put his arm on Alex’s shoulder, pushing him forward. Chris wouldn’t stand for it. Not again. After twenty years, he was tougher, smarter and more charming. And he knew he flew all the way to ----------------- Danny was startled. Two completely older guys were surrounding his redhead, when she solely existed in his memory! One of his feet was already out of Penn’s doors, and now these guys who looked like they were fifty years out were trying to woo her. He ran forward. Some teen-angst-filled song played in the background. “And I, will love you, bayba-ay, alwaaaays! I’ll be there…” The floor started shaking. The girls around this red-haired goddess were getting jealous. Danny’s eyes started to hurt. Chris’ eyes burned. Everything turned white; arms started flailing. Legs started twitching. The paramedics came. Chris’s and Danny’s hearts stopped. Three days later they awoke in a HUP room. They stared at each other for a moment, and then they arose in their hospital gowns and embraced. A single glance revealed an understanding that none of their buddies, girlfriends or wives could ever have for them. They both stayed silent. No words could do justice for that moment of mutual understanding. Each prayed never to see the redhead again. Another look at the unattainable flaming hair, yellow bikini or not, would probably be too much for either of them to withstand. And, ultimately, survival bests winning a glimpse at the dream. Lauren Saul is a senior dualing in the Whollege. You can write to her at lcsaul@wharton. Comments Post a Comment |
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and the world was newly aware that we were “Outtttttttt…” for, like, the whole night. Indeed, a diligently effortless statement such as “I am away from my computer right now” would not suffice. In the days before Facebook’s news feed told much, the primitive AIM buddy list was the primary social garbage collector. Back in the real world, Pictures were ritualistically snapped for future giggling purposes. The pre-game was assiduously played.