At 2 a.m. one night last week, I sat on a bench outside of Castle Point Hall and listened to my friends as they sang “Africa” by Toto, prancing and dancing in the small field in front of this freshman dorm. Each time a car passed by us, we giggled as we snuck sips from a drink we bought earlier, too naive to think we should have been more discreet about the whole thing.
And I was in love — not just with a boy I so desperately wished would love me back, and not just with the fact that I was a young person staring at the coveted Manhattan skyline. I was in love with Stevens, and it felt, in that moment, as though the campus belonged to me.
The moments like this one weren’t infrequent. I mean, it was rare that I was a troublemaker and wandered the streets of Hoboken. But the moments with my friends where we each knew that it was by pure luck that we were together yet we still lived to our fullest, acting like time would pause for us as we enjoyed each other’s company, were my happiest moments of this year.
One such moment was during Thanksgiving break of the fall semester. My friend Blake and I are both from Arkansas, and because we can’t afford to fly back home whenever we please, we were confined to the Stevens campus for those cold few days — and we were oddly thankful for it.
On the first day of the break, Blake and I were unsure what to do. The dining services were closed. We had very little homework to finish. And we were too broke to pay for anything beyond a movie ticket. So, we wandered around Stevens campus. Many people may not know this, but the Howe Center remains open all night and all day. I took Blake up to the third floor of Howe, plugged my computer into the TV of the Calder Room, and we watched Friends on the flat-screen TV for hours. When the sun rose, we ditched Calder, ran up the stairs to the fourth floor, and watched the sunrise over Manhattan in the Skyline room. It was silent and still and perfect.
Throughout the next day, Blake and I felt like hooligans as we snuck through the halls of Howe (and Jacobus and MPK). We were obviously respectful of these buildings, but we were in a place that both belonged to us and belonged to no one — we felt like trespassers in our own home.
The next night Blake said that he wanted a night to himself, so I slipped into Manhattan to meet up with a few gay men I met on Grindr. The other guys and I hopped around some bars and discovered a speakeasy in the depths of the Lower East Side. The speakeasy disguised itself as a pawn shop, and only if someone knew the secret code could we access the hidden bar behind the wall of the pawn shop counter. Luckily for us, one of us did. The store owner welcomed us behind the counter and ushered us through an ancient door into a large room that looked stuck in time, as if the speakeasy were still condemned by Prohibition. The dim lighting and lack of windows made it difficult to see the vintage red leather on the couches and on the bar stools, and I could only hear the voices of the young gay men struggling to get another glass in their hand.
I sat on one of the couches and talked with some guys, who studied at NYU or were visiting from far-reaching countries. Each person’s story was so unique and weird, and I thought about my own, how it was so unlikely for me to be there with those men. It was just one year ago that I struggled to leave my own Arkansas house, fearful that at any moment I might have another glass bottle thrown at me or that someone might scream “faggot” in my face. Yet there I was, in a dark room full of people just like me, thankful to be in the greatest city in the world.
As the night turned into morning and the men headed back to their homes, I stumbled back onto the Stevens campus. Blake and I shared the stories of our action-packed nights with each other as we ate pancakes from Stacks and watched the snow fall outside his window. The Stevens campus was quiet, but it didn’t matter, because we felt at home.
The rest of the break, Blake and I had similar moments of wild experiences, and it was comforting to know that even if we left the campus for a night in the city, we could always come back to the security of Stevens. It was true for that Thanksgiving break, and it was true always — this campus provides a place of safety and serenity.
As I reflect on more moments of my freshman year, I can only think about how my memories of this year are loud — filled with student government meetings and joining Kappa Sigma, alive from the stresses of schoolwork, clubs, and exposing Khoda. So as my beloved school forces me to pack up my belongings and head home for the summer, I venture back to my first few months here, when every moment felt as though I were the first to experience it. The parties, classes, friends, late-night escapades in New York City — nearly all of it feels surreal and exclusive to me, yet I know that each memory is special because of the people I shared it with. And I remember that this tiny campus, perched in this tiny town, provided me with a love that was deeper and more beautiful than anyone can ever understand.
It has been a year of indescribable wonder, and it amazes me that it has already come to an end. To the graduating seniors: good luck on your adventures. To everyone else: thank you for making this year so special. And to Stevens: let’s make another great year together, see you in a few months.
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