By Nathanael Matos
It was Wednesday night. 8:37 pm. I pried my eyes away from the clock and gathered all the mental fortitude that I could, for I knew my repose would soon be disturbed. Then, like clockwork, there it was: the booming bass down the vacant Hall of Cruger. It was like this every week. The freshmen, still bright-eyed, hopeful, full of vitality, excited to be here and begin this new chapter of their lives. They had yet to experience the turmoil awaiting them in the upcoming weeks, months, years. I had seen it all in my time, and I knew that they would soon enough see it all too. That notion gratified me some, as I put my “Oldies” playlist––or, as I call it, my “Currenties”––on shuffle, and raised the volume to maximum.
I had grown conditioned to this state of affairs over the past few weeks. Wednesday through Sunday evenings were occupied by a persistent and dull tremor that shook the very foundations of the dormitory. It was not particularly bothersome; I habitually stayed up late, fueling myself on coffee, black tea, and Cup o’ Noodles in hopes of staying on top of my academic obligations. However, it was the case that night that I had found myself concluding my labors just before 11pm. Enthused by the prospect of more sleep, I laid down to rest my weary frame.
But the dull thud persisted. Like drums sounding in my ears, its cacophonous rhythm pounded my skull. Just as I reached the brink of madness, I hatched a brilliant scheme. I got up from my bed, my knees popping as if crying out for respite. I walked into the gloomy Hall of Cruger. As I made my way to the offending room, I could not help but let my thoughts drift to my days as a freshman; when we knew that, while quiet hours were at a set time, courtesy hours were ever-present.
I rapped upon the door labeled “Jack” and “George” in pastel motorcycles and waited for a response. The door opened and I was greeted by a Freshman boy accompanied by the musk of sweat, beer, and marijuana. “Do you not know what hour it is?” I scorned the boy. “And on a Wednesday night, no less! I can barely hear my own thoughts over the incessant humming and drumming coming from your Bacchic rituals. Quiet your festivities, you’re disturbing my rest!” The boy simply nodded his head and muttered, “A’ight,” before closing the door. By the time I reached my bed, the thudding had ceased and I was finally able to let the night entrap me in a deep slumber.
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