The Breaking of the Fellowship

Will, my last memory of you was eating McDonald's at 3:30 am, five and a half hours before I left for the airport. Mac had ridden his bike down to the fast food joint and picked up too much bad food, and we enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Not to say he didn't as well. You tried to do something to Sebastian while he was asleep on the couch, but I stopped you, and refocused you on the Chicken McNuggets.

Anthony, my last memory of you was at the Mods. You, me, Kevin, Chuck, and Seb were in a circle, screaming the words to "Mr. Tambourine Man". That in itself is nothing new or different, but for the fact that it was our last night attending the same school.

Jack, my last memory of you was the smugness of your victory. We were sitting in the southwesternmost table of Proctor, at lunch, and they were serving lobster. When you weren't fuming about the fact that Taco's dinner at Black Sheep was funded by money from the student activities fee, you were looking at me, silently communicating, transmitting a message that needed no words to get through: Go Red Wings. Like I had said two weeks previously, the winner of Game Three loses the series. To my unending sorrow, I was right. Our last fight may have been our best. I will miss you.

Pete, my last memory of you, the night before I left, was you beating me in Risk. I had played the way I always play, very conservative, never taking over a territory that I didn't need. When the night grew old, I launched my war against the free peoples of Middle-earth and defeated Ken's army in North Africa. That victory opened the door to my conquest of Ken's entire empire, which fell in one turn. Pete, being the Pete that he is, seized the opportunity to crush me. I will miss you.

Martin, my last memory of you was a series of hugs. We stepped out of the Mods for a minute, and it became ten minutes, maybe more. Really, we didn't say anything except goodbye. Not an easy thing to do. I reminded you how proud I was that, after an entire year, you had finally managed to capitalize on your ultimate goal of kicking Taco's ass. The day before our goodbye, we were playing soccer on Battell Beach. You, me, Mac, ALee, Jake, and others. You and Taco were running for the ball, and you absolutely destroyed him. You broke his body and his soul. Before anyone knew what was happening, he was on the ground, and the Taco Smile was gone — for a minute, at least. You almost cost us a very good runner for next year. But finally, finally, your tooth — that's a story in its own right — your chipped tooth was avenged. I will miss you.

Mac and Pat, I have the same last memory for the two of you. Sebastian and I had to catch a shuttle to the airport at 9:00 am on Saturday morning. I had slept for two hours, from four to six, the night before, and Seb hadn't slept much longer. Three to six, maybe. Neither of us in our own beds, but rather both in BCK, Mac's suite. Seb on the aforementioned couch, and myself on two chairs pushed together. We ate breakfast, and the goodbye-sayers filtered in. The two of you joined Chuck, Kevin, and Mark. Ethan was there too, saying

goodbye to me. After collecting my striped sweater from Kevin (I wouldn't have to collect my sweatshirt from Sebastian for another hour because he was on my shuttle) and making the hug rounds, I followed Seb into the shuttle and took my seat. And all of you sang "Mr. Tambourine Man", one last time. I'd like to think that I'm the type of person who will remember a lot of things until the day I die, but all that is really just hope. But I know — not hope, know — that I will remember that particular rendition for as long as I remember my own name.

I will miss you.