We are sitting on the back step of TH 44. It is the nicest afternoon in a year and there is shortbread in the oven. Tori catches and releases an ant crawling up her cabinet. Sarah tells me about Maine and France.
There is half an hour until the last Miscellany News potluck. The Miscellany News potlucks well. Spring rolls, bean dip, blueberry muffins, cucumber salad, deconstructed strawberry shortcake, pink lemonade. What began as a sheepish effort to connect the Editorial Board outside of our Wednesday evening meetings in Rocky has evolved into an organic staple of my semesters. It is hard to accept this end.
We cut the shortbread. We sit on blankets and play guessing games. I turn to our first-year Assistant News Editor. “What if this is the last time we ever see each other?”
“I mean, yeah, that’s possible.”
Not really the answer I was hoping for.
I have dreaded writing this piece. I have restarted three times. My words are not landing properly. I have lots of excuses, like, two in the morning and the pollen. Just before the potluck, I tried on my graduation cap and gown after letting the package marinate in the College Store storeroom for a solid couple of months. The rest of the day, I felt weird.
I have trouble picturing myself as a grown-up, probably because I own no professional attire and I sleep with a nightlight, two things that feel incohesive to “post-graduate.” Leaving The Misc feels particularly troublesome, for The Misc represents a community I have yet to find elsewhere. My fellow editors are not just my friends—they are people I admire, people I want to impress. People I learn from.
The very first piece I wrote for The Misc was about Earth Science Professor Jeff Walker’s family folk band. It is published on our website under the byline Charlotte Rober. My freshman year floormates surprised me by taping a cut-out clip on the wall of our common room. I had only been on campus for a month, so my interview with Professor Walker was my first time in Ely—I spent the remainder of my afternoon exploring the building, walking through the Warthin Museum, wondering why people choose to study rocks.
The Misc quickly became the outlet through which I experienced Vassar. Article assignments brought me to Bridge labs, Senate meetings, greenrooms; I attended fashion shows, Tiny Desk shoots, administrative workshops, waste audits, parties. I interviewed Writers-in-Residence, distinguished guest lecturers, dining service employees, student workers, politically-involved alumni. For someone who was as overwhelmed by the choices of college as me, the gentle cover of “reporter” was a useful way into the new. As a reporter, I did not have to question where I belonged, how much space I could take up. Four years later, I know to take up space, “reporter” label or not.
I am not sure what I see when I look towards the future. The uncertainty tugs at my heart; I am already full of nostalgia, scared and sad to leave what I have built here. I linger at the potluck. I want to squeeze out every drop of today. This is what I have! How special! How beautiful! Take the present, the future’s no one’s affair!