August 22, 2005

That summer when we just met, we drove for almost an entire day to reach Virginia Tech’s campus, a strange place tucked away in the middle of the Appalachian forests, surrounded only by mountains, bars, and tattoo parlours. Aside from its isolation, Virginia Tech is also notorious for its architecture. Compared to other Virginian universities that suffer from an excess of marble and good taste, Virginia Tech feels like a medieval dungeon even on a sunny afternoon. The buildings are chiselled out of dark, stolid stones, the windows are narrow, the elevators are as red as torture chambers, and the cold rooms are uninviting.

Even the lampposts scattered around campus have something forbidding about them, some kind of vicious aura. It’s the kind of place that makes you cry while going for a stroll. And we strolled a lot that summer when we stayed there because we were too young to get booze or tattoos.

All that summer we walked together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes sharing fears. We walked all day and night in our bare feet, our hair long and full of dreams. We walked until our feet were as calloused and hard as the earth. The buildings demoralized all of us, causing us huddle closer together. Their solidity and harshness constantly reminded us of how human and vulnerable we were, and we let their monstrous facades frighten our imagination.

But by night everything changed. As soon as the sun set, the whole campus became dream-like and unreal: darkness flowed over the medieval buildings, fog descended softly from the mountains, and the lampposts in the field radiated beauty. I swear we could hear horses neigh in that darkness. On those nights we rushed out with wonder in our eyes. Magic was alive.

And when we met in the field in the middle of the campus, our hearts trembled. We were young, stupid, and full of hormones. This was the first time we were away from home in a strange land, and the fog made the ground beneath us disappear. All we could see was the light from the lampposts floating around us. We couldn’t see the buildings anymore, but we knew they were there, and because of this, when someone said “Let’s play a game of wink,” we all agreed.

Instantly, 20 boys and girls were spread out in twos in the dark field forming a giant circle, the grass wet beneath our hands and knees. During a game of wink you’re never allowed to stand up, and you must do all you can to stop your partner from crawling to the middle of the circle. It is a game of violence and struggle, a game you can only play on a foggy night in a place that reminds you of all the cruelty and misery of human existence.

And there, in the field in the middle of the campus, boys struggle with boys in the darkness, angelic bodies wrapped in violent embraces on the wet, cutting grass. The night was alive with panting. Everywhere bodies collided and groped, muscles tensed, and teeth flashed. We couldn’t even see each other, but we could hear the sounds of shoving and we could taste the fog in our mouths and each other’s lips.

On our hands and knees we howled like animals, and our voices echoed around the campus. Hours later, once our bodies were dripping with exhaustion, lust, and sweat, we ran back to our narrow rooms in Virginia Teck’s dark buildings, where we were shaken to sleep by terrible, beautiful dreams.