y ann arbor affairs: falling in friend-love with you by sundai johnson

I moved through those soft,
moist bodies with friendly, inebri-
ated smiles that tend to occupy
those kinds of spaces, and on the
other side, I found him. His eyes
were bright when he saw me, and he
wrapped me in his arms and I melted
there. He began to talk rapidly as he
always did and I smiled and nodded
and responded as I always did. He
led me outside to a group of people
who I knew but would never actu-
ally know. There was a beer waiting
for me in his hand. I took it, sat by
the fire and nursed my beer while I
watched him and remembered the
way we knew each other.
It was the night of my first college
party the summer before freshman
year. We were walking without a
destination as the cool summernight
airbrushed our hot, sticky skin that
made our hands stick together like
Velcro. Finally we came upon a hill
in the middle of a neighborhood, and

when he wanted
to be with other
girls instead of
me. Because
he'd held my
hand and kissed
me on a hilltop
and told me he
liked me. He had
this soul that
was powerful
and captivat-
ing and as much
as I wanted
to walk away
and remember
him only as a
moment in time,
I could not. So
I set aside all
animosity I ILLUSi
had against our
shattered romance and sacrificed
the bitterness I wanted to feel, to
have him as a constant in my life.
We were more beautiful this way
than I'd ever imagined we could be.
The deeper our friendship grew the
more I realized that this was how
things were meant to be. There
was a loyalty that existed between
us that could not have existed had
it been any other way. Not to say
that we weren't reckless with our
friendship at first. We jeopardized
it often with slurred words and sto-
len kisses at late-night after-parties
before I insisted that I make my way
home. We never talked about these
moments - either because they felt
normal or because it was easier to
believe they were imagined. These
moments occurred less frequently
until eventually, they ended all
together. For a time, the memory of
that moment on that hill when time
stood still misguided me and led me
to believe that we were meant to be.
But our world wasn't fit to hold that
kind of love, only the love we had
created that was and would always
solely be ours.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014// The Statement7B
Personal Statement: Party's over, now what?
by Katie Steen
Pitj un >ItE
-, , , I

My beer was still cold in my hand
as we went inside and danced to
music that made us nostalgic. And as
we sat on the couch later that night,
in that house, my head buzzed from
half of a bad beer and happiness and
he was dreamy from slight sobriety,
interrupted by a few puffs of Mary.
For the last time, he leaned over and
kissed me, more softly and sweetly
than he ever had before. It was just
once, slowly on the lips, and as he
pulled away, just for a flicker of a
moment, before he became aware of
what he had unknowingly revealed
to me.
I looked into his eyes and I knew
then thathe loved me and would love
me as long as forever might possibly
be. It was a love that was baffled and
heavy. Full of heard words and apol-
ogies that never had to be spoken.
Our friendship, and this love we'd
cultivated, was whole and intention-
al and deeply anchored in an almost-
romance that had blossomed out of
that summer we'd spent covered in
sundust with hills of grass molding
to the dips in our backs.
SundaiJohnson is an LSAjunior.

lay on our backs, claiming our stake.
After long moments of quiet, I like
you Sundai rolled over his lips like a
melody. I turned toward him - not
smiling because he wasn't - and
told him I liked him too. And then
he turned toward me, and finally
he was smiling, and finally he was
kissing me. We were lying under
the trees, under the stars, and it was
impossible and magical all the same.
What I expected to materialize
after thatnight did not happen. Iwas
angryandsadand hurt andconfused

I remember the day I first moved to Ann
Arbor. It was a very typical, almost arche-
typal University of Michigan "freshman"
experience.
I remember moving into South Quad as a
timid (but eager to "break out of my shell!")
Honors freshman and being bombarded by
a neat arrangement of new friends, thanks
to my Move-In Maker roommate. Before
I had time to unpack my posters of indie
bands and boxes of string lights (because
that's how people decorate their dorms,
right?), I was whisked off to the cafete-
ria - that social jungle of sterile surfaces
and outdated wall decorations - where I
engorged myself on a tray of tofu and chick-
peas. I was going to "try out" vegetarianism
in college.
The conversation at the table was fast-
paced and brutal, but I managed to stay
afloat. Soon after, we ran off to play a game
of pick-up soccer at Elbel Field like the
energetic, fun-loving freshmen Wolverines
we were learning to be. During the game,
I got stomach cramps from all the chick-
peas and thought about the boyfriend I had
just broken up with (because that's just the
inevitable course of events when a couple
goes to different colleges, right?). Later that
night I called him, saying I missed him, of
course.
After getting bubble tea and devouring
free samples from Jimmy John's minions
scattered around campus - all the while
proclaiming numerously how we couldn't
"wait to explore Ann Arbor!" - the focus
of the conversation quickly shifted to par-
ties. We shared with one another the cata-
logue of parties we had been invited to on
Facebook at the various frats we had min-
imal-to-no connection to "G.I. Joes and

party! Oh, but you need a wristband to get
in ...""What's a foam party?" We eventually
settled on a "Blackout Party," and scrolled
through the Facebook event.
"Wear white," the event page read.
Thinking nothing of this incongruous
instruction, we obliged, and headed out
the doors of South Quad in the shape of
a 20-deep crew of freshmen all wearing
white t-shirts. We looked ridiculous, but at
least we had a "good ratio."
We wandered through a block party on
the way over, and realized almost imme-
diately the grave mistake we had made. Of
course the party was a cruel joke. Of course
we were instantly recognized in the crowd.
Of course we endured endless jeers of
"Freeeeeeeshmaaaaaaan" from congested
porches. Of course we attempted to laugh
it off and party on like normal. But after
several unsuccessful and uncomfortable
attempts to get to the keg, we resolved to
give up - at least for that night.
We began our trek back to South Quad
- carrying our white shirts like truce flags
and our solo cups as red as blood spilled on
a battle field. (On our way down Hill Street,
a benevolent upperclassman advised us to
throw out our empty solo cups in order to
avoid the "Minor in Possession" experi-
ence. Thank you, whoever you were).
We were clueless, and while I can't say
that night was fun, I look fondly upon my
failed attempt at partying my first night of
college. And while I can't say that I'm still
friends with all 20 of those people or even
that I would even recognize some of them
should I pass them on State Street, I did
make a few friends - best friends, actu-
ally - several of whom now share the same
co-op with me.

ILLUSTRATION BY MEGAN MULHOLLAND
three-and-a-half years at Michigan so far, get the hell out of Ann Arbor. I had had it
but I can feel things beginning to change. with the Saturday football crowds, the
Now, instead of staying up for 6 a.m. same, incestuous groups of people at every
sunrises and Hippie Hash with friends, party, the rotating choice between studying
I wake up at 6 a.m. - to go student teach at "Ambrosia or Espresso?" (NEITHER!),
at a high school. instead of gorging myself the unquestionable praise of Zingerman's
during "lazy breakfasts" of never-ending and TEDx and the Farmers Market, the
dorm pancakes with chocolate milk on the Timberland boots of South Campus and the
side, I inhale five-minute breakfasts of off- leather backpacks of Kerrytown, the Arbor
brand cereal and rush out the door toting a Vitae shows I don't really care about, the
half-full coffee thermos with an "American overzealous rush to reserve seats for Res-
Express Brokerage" ad on the side. Instead taurant Week and the impending culinary
of wearing overpriced jeans from Delia's takeover of the whole goddamn city by
with names like "Jayden" and "Olivia," I Sava herself. Needless to say, A-squared felt
slip into overpriced "professional" pants exponentially smaller every time I walked
from Express with names like "Editor" and to and from the Diag.
"Columnist." Now, I have button-downs, But now this claustrophobia has turned
cardigans and a semi-complete LinkedIn into coziness, and I'm going to have to
profile. Now, as I make sure I can graduate fly the coop (er, co-op) soon. Waking up
in May, I hear echoes of"Just take whatever before sunrise every day and not seeing my
interests you!" from Honors peer advisors, friends until I'm back home from teaching
and think, "Fuck you." is a gradual dip into the reality of a work-
Over this past Winter Break, I visited ing post-grad life, and I can't help but feel
a newly-graduated friend's apartment a peculiar sense of loneliness around alarm
in Hamtramck, Mich. I sat in a sparsely number four that goes off in the morning,
decorated living room as the conversa- when I finally force myself out of bed and
tion somehow morphed into a bleak syn- shiver over to the shower. I know I still
opsis of what life is like after college. In a have friends and parties and bullshit for
span of 20 minutes, we discussed the pull now, but I understand that soon these will
of graduate school, a "not bad" day job at be replaced by acquaintances from work,
Qdoba, announcements of wedding engage- with whom I will "get drinks" with at bars
ments on Facebook, tweets from some guy on the weekend.
at that one party, how unwalkable Detroit I know I should be worrying about get-
is, the evolution and inevitable falling-out ting a job and making money while also a
of certain friendships and the night we first contributing to the world in a positive and
became friends after an excess of pepper- influential manner. I know I've changed
mint schnapps. and matured in many ways, and have a
Toward the end of our talk, my friend stronger grasp on who I am and what I want
had said something like, "I don't know any- to do with my life (ish). But part of me feels
one who is enjoying their first year of life like I'm still the clueless freshman who just
after college right now." wants to have friends and a sense of belong- w
I. ; yea- I- ;Me. TItoo, ig -and maybe '.n nave a party to gto.

COVER BY RUBY WALLAU & AMY MACKENS