"You know, I recall that only three photos escaped from our freshman year," confesses J. "And I still have them. Each one is of a different roommate in North chugging from a handle of Jim Beam. Me, in a swaying motion, a precursor of things to come. You fully equipped with hemp beads and a Phish poster in the background. And O. decked out in a mullet under a baseball cap, with some girl at his side, he holds a flower in one hand, the bottle of whiskey in the other, and a big shit-eating grin on his face."
J.'s almost drunk. I can tell because all his stories are sentimental but keep referring to booze. O. gives us a look as if to say, I know you love me you fuckin' jokers, but it's time to go. Once he says that I turn quickly toward the Chapel and see a crowd congregating in front. We fix our ties and start walking. The wind begins to pick up.
We follow the sound of hugging. As we near the chapel, the faces I imagined in the car begin to take shape. J. and I are quickly immersed in their warmth. With every turn, there is another smile and another pair of arms to embrace. O.'s parents watch this scene proudly from the fringe of the throng. His fiancée stands next to them — fidgeting and shuffling her feet — with tears in her eyes. A bell chimes and the crowd begins the procession up the steps and inside. J. and I purposely lag behind. Once everyone is inside, we glance at each other and then back toward the porch. The campus is barren and the sun has retreated behind the clouds. He pats me on the back and we walk inside. There are programs on the table. The cover reads:
Memorial Service
In Celebration of the Life of
1st Lt. Michael J. Cleary '03
April 4, 1981 — December 19, 2005
Hamilton College
Clinton, New York
Saturday, April 8, 2006
