My name is Fayston R. A. Townsend. I went to Beerfield Academy, a boarding school in western Massachusetts. Maybe you've heard of it. I'm a fourth-generation Dartmouth man. My father, Class of '76, is the reason Phi Tau is no longer an all-male fraternity. As for me, I'm a brother at Alpha Delta Chi, the sickest frat on campus.
I laxed pretty hard back in the day and walked on my freshman Fall, but I had a philosophical disagreement with the coach about the role of the midfielder in the modern game. I'm more of a two-way throwback, do-it-all kind of middie, and he wanted guys who had specialized skills like catching, throwing and shooting. So I peaced.
I played rugby for a few terms, which was chill, but stopped after pledge term. It was too much of a commitment.
Now I kill it pretty much 100 percent of the time. I'm a history major, which is chill. I'm not a big quant I'm more of a locker room kind of guy so I like to blitz out to the house to see what layup classes are being offered next term. I'm still looking for that perfect lab credit keeping my fingers crossed for a hydroponics class, which would be dope.
I also spend a lot of time in the basement. Speaking of which, I was killing it down there the other night. I'm playing pong with this hot girl, right, when my bro starts pissing on the wall. I go over to him and ask, loud enough for my wife for the night to hear, "You call that a dick?" while I whip out my impressive salami. Needless to say, homeboy gets rattled by my massive man meat and quickly backs down. I turn back to the game and chug another Keystone.
"Wanna shotgun?" I ask her.
Last night, I was chilling in my room playing FIFA when my friend walks in wearing khakis, penny loafers, a cashmere sweater and a pressed oxford.
"Where are you going dressed like that, you big pussy?" I query.
"I'm taking that cute girl from my gov class out to dinner," he says, smiling. "I'm really excited about "
I cut him off.
"Are you kidding me, bro? That has to be the gayest thing I've ever heard."
He turns to me, confused.
"What do you mean? How is taking a girl out to dinner gay?"
I shake my head. He just doesn't get it.
"For sure, dude. Have fun at the Orient."
Now that we're on probation, I spend most nights in my room alone, drinking Rebel Yell, neat, on the rocks. I snort substances off surfaces, surrounded by old composites. It's been a tough week. I've earned it.
So I frat on, fighting against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past, the last of the Brohicans.
