So that’s what college would be like if no one was around.

Every now and then, I throw a totally spontaneous event into an otherwise like-every-other day to keep myself on my toes. So it comes as no surprise to me that, after Tanya sent me a text about a little road trip down I-86 to Bonaventure, our Favorite Place on Earth, yesterday turned into such a day.

There are two things I forget about St. Bonaventure University during summertime: 1) How ridiculously gorgeous the campus is on a bright, sunny, midsummer afternoon, and 2) How empty the place is. Sure, I got to see roommates past and future, and a handful of my best friends who are interning on campus this summer, but the campus was eerie in its silence.

I walked around the townhouse building that served as my home last semester and will do the same this year, looking through the windows like a creep, seeing barren living rooms, couches on their sides and blanket-less beds. Indeed, it was nice to see the construction projects scattered across the grounds were basically wrapped up. I also laughed my ass off at/with Matt for dropping his keys down a drainage pipe (Tanya tells the story best here, and yes, he really is 23 years old as of yesterday). The smile that spread itself across my face when I drove on Exit 24 and then through Allegany and then through campus, though, faded slowly as I realized that, despite several of my very good friends’ presence, the place was empty.

I liken St. Bonaventure during the summer to a human being on life support. On the outside, everything looks basically the same, but the life is gone. Bonas was missing its beating heart and I ached a little because of it. Tanya, Matt, Jenny and I sat outside in the quad that only two months ago was filled with drunken debauchery and loud, awful music, but yesterday, we could hear the birds. I kept looking around and seeing things that weren’t really there. Ben’s giant Volvo wagon was parked in the lot next to his apartment. Bain, Rob, Bill and Kelly were playing cornhole. The radio guys were engaged in a game of Kan Jam. There was Mike, sitting in the recliner I called the Death Chair on our stoop. Our side yard was full of the d-bags next door playing wiffleball. And as reality set in, so did the despondence. Things would never be like that again.

Curt and I went to the OP, like it was a regular Saturday night, and drowned our sorrows in a couple of mixed drinks. It was good to see everybody, it really was. But to see my school as a shell of what I know it can be? Kinda disheartening. And that’s how I felt as I drove away. But then I remembered — in 41 days, I’d be back, with five new roommates and tons of memories to manufacture. The campus will be infused with life again — 400 new faces. It’s not going to be the same as last year. It may be better, it may be worse, but I’ll do the best with what I’ve got.