Finding love at Dartmouth, a wise man once said, is like finding a diamond in a cow patty. The question is not whether it exists, but if it's worth searching through all the crap to get to it. After all, if we were lucky enough to find it here in Hanover, we would still have to scrub off the layers of mung from the basement we found it in.
Now, most terms we Dartmouth students find excuses not to bother looking. Fall term is too soon for love -- we're busy reacquainting ourselves with our old friends and the latest 'shmenu. Winter term, on the other hand, is too cold to mingle -- we need to keep our mouths shut in an effort to retain valuable body heat. Finally, spring term is too late -- we're all going our separate ways so why waste the effort?
But sophomore summer is different. I'm not exactly sure why, but it just is. Maybe it's the easier course load, the gorgeous weather or even the faint hint of perfume in the air. Maybe it's because the campus is suddenly smaller and we all feel a bit like the lost passengers of some great shipwreck, stranded together on some pastoral paradise. Or maybe it's just because we're desperate.
In any case, love usually arrives in the summer. There's a twinkle in the eye of some girl on the Green, a shy glance caught in the middle of a lecture, a mutual lingering in the hallways. It really can be quite an exciting time.
I know it was for me. After receiving the restraining order prohibiting any further stalking of the local Ben & Jerry's girl, I turned my attention to this goddess who was in my music class. She was simply the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her smooth, tan skin perfectly complemented her ocean-blue eyes, and when she turned her head, her fair auburn locks, oh-so-lightened by the sun, would tumble playfully onto her delicate shoulders. Hallelujah, it was sophomore summer and I knew I was in love.
This girl -- let's call her Lisa of the Windswept Hair -- was a keeper so I knew I had to take it slow. First I started sitting next to her in class. She didn't move away -- a good sign. Then, to impress her, I started asking her incredibly insightful questions in class, like "Do you think music could exist without sound?" and "Do you honestly believe Beethoven was deaf? I mean, come on ..." She didn't turn around and slap me -- another good sign. Pretty soon I was so confident that I asked her out to a movie in person -- over BlitzMail. Strangely enough, she accepted.
When we met at the theater, she realized she had mistaken me for the other John in class (some six-foot tall football player known for his desire to be the first two-hundred pound ballet dancer). My heart fell.
Luckily, being the the gracious person that she was, she decided to continue on the date anyway. And you know what? It all worked out wonderfully that night. In fact, it worked out so well we spent the rest of the summer together -- holding hands on the Bema, jumping off the rope swing with our arms wrapped around each other, even stealing mints for each other from the Hanover Inn. We were so, so incredibly cheesy. But what did it matter? We were inseparably in love.
That is, until my girlfriend -- let's call her The Shrew Untamed -- found out. It was all downhill from there for Lisa of The Windswept Hair and me. Unfortunately, not many romantic relationships can weather the torrents of a jealous girlfriend. And so it was that I had to release Lisa of the Windswept Hair, release her to the violin-laced reveries of yester-year.
It's too bad. I really liked her, which makes it all the more tragic. Occasionally I still hear her melodic voice, although now it has been reduced to the shrill screaming of death threats left on my answering machine and psychotic messages on my BlitzMail. Even so, I know that, in her heart of hearts, she still loves me (or she wouldn't go to all the trouble). Ah, sweet, sweet love.
Here's wishing you all the summer lovin' you can handle.
