Thursday, March 03, 2005

Chemical Smells

waking up every morning your freshman year at college in a new environment, surrounded by strange people,
waking up every morning, and trudging your way to franklin science center has an affect on a person.

you get to missing the chemical smells, the dilapidated yellow cabinets, the wood panelling. expensive texts and lab coats, goggles and ti-83+'s.
you move away, recenter your universe. no more copernicus, heliocentrism was so last millenium.
no more colorful, laminated periodic table. no more three ring binder or composition book to keep lab notes in.
you miss it.

i miss it.

it's like a collegiate security blanket. whenever i find myself dwelling too much on the less than three semesters i have left here, i come up to the third floor of franklin. and i walk around.

the gentle hum of the exhaust fans has been replaced with a roar. but that's probably because i don't spend every morning here anymore.
maybe it was just how i would always wake up here that ties me to it so much.

i had lab from 8 a.m. to 11:30 a.m., so i would get out of bed, put PJ's on, and stumble to the third floor. i would wake up here.

it's like when you're travelling and you wake up in a strange hotel room and you momentarily forget where you are or how you got there. but then you wake up, and once you sleep there again, it's almost comforting. familiarity in the face of so much difference.

it smells like green grass, sandals, oakleys, and i can hear cake playing in the background. that's what i remember from freshman year, that's what stands out so much. spring. a puma jacket.

waking up and being greeted by the treeline on the far corner of the fifth floor of the south wing of mclean hall. and franklin is irrevocably tied to those memories, like splicing a rope.

now, all i visit is dauphin. i have one class in heiges, but other than that it's dauphin.
such is life.

it'll always be my security blanket, though. franklin. those pale cream walls, pockmarked at intervals with heavy wooen doors, black number plates bisecting them, adorned with fading white numerals, sinking back into their black backgrounds. and twin never-ending stripes of glistening black rubber floor runner, chasing doggedly the continuous contours of the square crisp corridors.

the wax on the floor, faintly reflecting fluorescent overhead lighting, catches the shadowy ghost of a trespasser, in my private little world i have. he lankily saunters across the tiling, towards a bright red EXIT sign at the apogee of my mind's eye.

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