Graduation day was the most lonely and depressing day of my life. The College of Arts and Sciences had its own little ceremony the Thursday before the University’s main Commencement that occurred later in the week. I decided to just go to the smaller one, because the only people I knew at the university were those in the English department. Actually, there was only one person I really knew at the university at all, and she was my friend—and fellow English major—Jessica. We both pursued a concentration in Film & Media Studies, and ended up having a number of classes together throughout our four years of college. We were in at least one class together during six of our eight semesters. I had several acquaintances at school, but no relationship was as consistent, unconditional and pleasurable to me as my friendship with Jessica.
We met during the second semester of our freshman year. We were in the same Government class (the kind of class that fulfilled two General Ed requirements at once). I was still in my new-school punk phase, and when she walked in with her short and straight, dyed-red hair and her baggy pants and black Dr. Martens, I was instantly interested in getting to know her. As she came over to sit next to me, she said hello, while trying to make eye contact. Because of my general shyness and the fact that I was stunned that she chose to sit next to me, I kept my head slightly bowed and my eyes on my desk. Luckily, she didn’t find my initial silence rude or a sign of disinterest, because she sat next to me, in the same seat, at the next class session and at each subsequent class session after that.
We didn’t learn much about each other during that initial semester, but there were a few things we picked up. She knew I was a Christian, because I would hand her one of my homemade Christian ‘zines every month in class. I knew she had a boyfriend, named Frank, which kept me from even considering pursuing any sort of romantic relationship with her. I definitely though she was beautiful and smart and would make a wonderful girlfriend, but I sensed something better would come of our friendship. I sensed a true friend in Jessica—a friendship based solely on complimenting personalities, and that was something I believed I needed at college—something I was overjoyed to find in her.
With the exception of the spring semester of our sophomore year, Jessica and I had a class together every semester for the rest of our undergraduate years. Coming to class and sitting next to Jessica in the back of the room became a delightful routine. We’d chat quietly in the back, make fun of inept teachers, and read each other’s papers during peer editing. There was one teacher—a Woody Allen wannabe—that tried very vigorously to get us to trade papers with some of the other students in the class, but we would have none of it. Most teachers either didn’t care, or instantly saw on the first day of class the rapport that Jessica and I shared and didn’t even bother.
Having class with Jessica every other day had tremendous therapeutic value for me. Being a commuter student and a general recluse, I would come to campus solely for my classes, then return home when they were done—I didn’t have an on-campus social life. The entire college experience would have been horrible and lonely for me if it weren’t for Jessica. There were countless mornings I felt like staying home and skipping class. But I would remember that I had a class with Jessica that day and would be up in an instant. There was nothing better than laughing with Jessica in the back of classrooms, while trying to remain unnoticed by the teacher. I always had the greatest feeling of satisfaction, when I would say something—a joke or a silly comment—that would make Jessica interrupt class with a clearly audible guffaw. (Because we were both very intelligent, we could get away with it. We handed tests in early and get A’s on all our papers. We discovered that teachers had a hard time scolding their best students.)
Jessica was my only source of joy at a time in my life when I was out of touch with God, completely lacked a social life, had a home life full of conflict and confrontation, didn’t feel welcomed by the overly-joyful (and sometimes shallow) Christian crowd on campus, and was rejected by every girl I made a pass at. Nothing about college life—or life in general—appealed to me. It was Jessica alone, who was consistently there to cheer me up with her presence. She seemed to be the only constant thing in my life.
Over time, we found out a little more about each other’s backgrounds and family life—but those nuggets of information were few and far between. I discovered that her parents were getting a divorce, which made me incredibly unhappy for her, but was later informed that she had been “all right” with the whole thing—that the separation had been a long time coming. I accepted her answer, but still prayed for her parents to get back together. I was also going to ask her one morning when her birthday was (because I figure friends should know these things), but I forgot to ask her when I got to class and never remembered to do so again.
Though we were great friends in class, we didn’t see much of each other on a social level. I invited her every time my brother’s band played on campus, but she never came to any of the performances. I even called her one night to see if she wanted to go out for some Cokes, but she wasn’t interested. There was just something about our relationship that confined it to the classroom.
Finally, senior year came, and Jessica and I were ready to graduate. We had one class together during the final semester, but neither one of us really wanted to be there. It was a 1-credit Arts Pass course basically designed to be a free credit for seniors needing one to graduate. The class also only lasted for three or four weeks. It was the final class Jessica and I had together, and on the last day of the class, I came simply to see Jessica and reminisce with her about our four years of friendship. She came to the class, but only to turn in a paper. She left before it actually started, saying goodbye and assuring me that we’d see each other at the College of Arts and Sciences graduation ceremony at the end of the semester. I would have left class myself, but I was too disappointed to even get out of my seat. Once the teacher began speaking, I knew it was too late to leave. I sat there the entire hour with my head in my hands. I began to wonder if Jessica really viewed us as close friends at all. We didn’t really know much about each other’s personal lives and we never saw each other outside of class, so it wasn’t hard to see why she wouldn’t consider us more than acquaintances. I just didn’t want to believe it at the time.
Graduation day finally came, and I brought my parents and my cousin with me to the ceremony. While they went inside to find their seats, I went searching for the mass of English students waiting outside in the parking lot. When I found them, I searched intently for Jessica. The only reason I had come to the graduation ceremony at all was to see her and get a picture of the two of us in our caps and gowns. I even carried a small camera underneath my uncomfortable black robe just for that event. After a second sweep of the English majors and no sign of Jessica, I sat on a shaded street curb towards the front of the line, where I would be able to see her clearly when she arrived.
The treacherous sun soaked into the black gowns of the standing graduates, but did little to effect their huge smiles and festive demeanor. They laughed and talked with one another, not caring about how the humidity was flattening their hair or how the caps would make odd tan lines on their faces. I’ll be doing that too—I thought—once Jessica arrives. And finally, she did arrive.
Walking towards the English section in her cap and gown, looking as uniform as everyone else (but certainly more pleasing to my eyes than the others) was Jessica—and her friend. I rose to greet both of them as they approached the front of the line. The young man waved and Jessica smiled and said hello. But instead of pausing to say anything more, the two kept their pace and continued walking towards the middle of the line, where they greeted some of their other friends and began an enthusiastic round of greetings and light-hearted chatting. At first, I had followed them down the line, but when I saw many unfamiliar faces within their group, I stopped and returned to my seat in the shade.
I, at once, had an inclination—then a great desire—to take off my black garb, jump into my car and return home right then and there. All of a sudden, I didn’t want to be at the graduation ceremony, and it hadn’t even started. I knew right away that the two- or three-hour graduation ceremony experience would be drastically different from the one I had envisioned. I also knew that I wasn’t going to get that picture.
I began walking towards my car, when I remembered that I had family seated inside, waiting to see me walk across the stage and receive my diploma. If I had had more time to think about it, I would have decided to go home anyway. But the ceremony was beginning, and the English majors began making their way into the building. Dragging the rubber soles of my black boots lightly across the blistering asphalt, I returned to my place in line and followed them into the dark corridor.
The ceremony began and ended. I walked across the stage and sat back down—all to the pathetic applause of three people in the audience. While in my seat, I opened up the rolled piece of paper the college Dean had given me, and it said that my real diploma would arrive in my mailbox in the next few weeks. I met my family in the parking lot when it was all over and hurried them to the car. They forced me to stand still for a few seconds to take a photograph of me—alone, in my black outfit—then asked me if I wanted to do anything special for my graduation. I told them no. I told them I just wanted to go home, and they reluctantly agreed.
* * *
I’ve seen Jessica once since last year’s graduation. I went to the restaurant where she works and ordered a Coke. Between serving food to nearby tables and refilling people’s drinks, she found time to sit down and talk with me about the past year and all of the various things happening in her life. She told me of her parents’ divorce and how they both remarried other people within two months of their separation. When I asked her how she and Frank were doing, she informed me that they had broken up shortly after graduation. Four years of my life, she had said, down the drain.
We emailed back and forth a few times after that, but she later canceled her Internet account, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’ve wanted to send her a birthday card, but I still don’t know when her birthday is. I guess I can wait until Christmas—I have her mailing address, and I’ve sent her a Christmas card the past two years. I just hope she hasn’t moved out or anything. I don’t know how I’d feel if my card was returned to me without a forwarding address. I try not to think about it, but I assume it will happen eventually.
I guess there’s still a hope somewhere in my heart that we’ll meet again in the future and continue our friendship right where we left off in college (or a little before that, rather). I don’t think I’ll ever forget Jessica or ever stop caring for her. I’ll certainly never lose interest in what she’s doing. After all, she was my best friend. I’ve accepted the fact that she probably doesn’t associate the same importance or sentiment to the memories of our relationship that I do, but she will, nevertheless, be the closest friend I’ve ever had. Friends come and go in my life, but I will never have another friend quite like Jessica.
