It is 5:58 in the morning, and I woke with a start. Only one more morning in
this town before I leave for Boston. But, I will be back.
The boxes piled in my closet and under my desk threaten to topple at any moment.
My bookshelves are empty. My pale blue walls have no postcards hung with
scotch tape. Leaving is hard. Make no mistake: I am certainly looking forward
to studying on dark wood floors with crossed legs and a cup of tea, more than
you might know.
But, here it is. My summer here in Ann Arbor, and especially at 826, was
unreal. Unreal in the way that a maple-syrup ocean would be — and, in fact,
actually is — unreal. I sometimes think that summer was a figment of my
imagination. But no; this neon palace, these people, those giraffecats, were
my daily existence. My heart would race all morning, (and this, I am not
making up) with ideas and short-term memories which I just could not believe
were mine.
This place does something to people. It grasped my narrow wrist in early sunny
June and dragged me stumbling, racing, laughing all the way into the last of my
days here. I have never loved an institution or a collection of beaming faces so
fiercely, so fully — Erik, Andrew, John, Papa Steve, and Amy…and Amy. (You
know you mean so much to me it hurts.) If you are wondering whether you might
want to spend your time here, you can stop wondering. You do, and all of it.
It becomes impossible to stay away. And so, yes. I will be back.
love, always, Diana.