First Year Discovers The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving

As the week after break descends in full force, students all over campus can be seen hunched over books and walking at brisk paces through the windy campus. Many look, as Christine Sydelko would say, shooketh. One particular first-year caught this journalist’s eye as he stood in front of Wright Hall in despair, his shaking hands clutching the last cigarette in the pack that his twenty-one year old friend had to buy for him.

There he was, anonymous but all of us: the most relatable random first-year we had ever seen. When approached, he turned his dead eyes heavily accented by dark circles toward our reporter. The sight sent a cold wave reminiscent of ten-page, double-spaced Times New Roman size 12 font papers through our reporter’s soul. It should be noted that the kid did not even have a winter coat, and that both his smoking and his speech were consistently interrupted by wet, hacking coughs.

We tried our best to reach him for comment, but it was hard to fight the impending deadlines, strong winds, breaks for smoking, shivering, coughing, and (not to be too much of an exposé) bitter crying. The man was truly a wreck but, to be fair, his tears were sparse and very noble.

Before heading back inside to do more work, this first-year could only utter one sentence in full. His voice was just barely discernible, before he put his cigarette out on the frozen ground with old Nike flip flops and socks:

“I should’ve eaten more damn turkey.”

#Local