Alexis Rivera_Memoir_Draft Three

There’s much that can be said about Lewis and Clark College: its beautiful campus, its laidback atmosphere, its impressive study abroad programs, and its liberal student body…but these snippets of a description do little to capture its appeal. Stepping onto the campus felt like I was embraced in a warm hug, or breathing a sigh of relief after a long day – in other words, Lewis and Clark College felt like home.

I walked through Copeland Hall a few days into my first year, traversing the plain dorm hallway with stark white paint and a dirtied gray carpet, exposed pipes along the ceiling and thin walls. It was a walk I was accustomed to. I fiddled with my headphones, attempting to untangle their mess while I hurried to class across campus. As I reached to open the door, someone twisted the handle from the other side. I lifted my head and met the gaze of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed peer holding a guitar and smiling goofily at me. I blushed immediately, attempting to smile at him casually while simultaneously maintaining some semblance of composure.

Things continued much in the same way for weeks. Agonizingly long weeks. Simple hellos, passing each other in the hallways, discovering (through careful inspection) that we were floor mates, and attempting to spend most of my time studying in the common area nearest his room.

About a month into the semester, I had established myself at Lewis Clark. I had joined a club dedicated to raising money to build homes in third-world countries, a club that challenged its members to workout everyday, and regularly attended sporting events and theater performances. I spent most time with Journey and Elvi, two women that opened up a world unlike any I had experienced before.

Journey had somehow gotten us a bottle of Fireball, a strong and sweet whiskey that is probably the favorite of no one who isn’t in college. We sat on the floor of the dorm room, in between Elvi’s and my bed, the three of us in a circle around the bottle. Although we could easily just drink, I suggested we play a game instead. My memory is fuzzy and I don’t remember the game, but it doesn’t matter, because I remember the fun that came afterwards. Journey and I choreographed a dance together that I still have the video of. It was a dance to Fergie’s “Fergalicious”: inherently ridiculous but altogether fun. At the countdown of “Four trés two uno” we started to dance, shaking our heads wildly from side to side and pumping our fists into the air.

Needing to take a break and hoping to cool down with something cold, I grabbed ice cream from our mini-fridge in the corner of the room underneath the desk that had been built into the wall. It was Honey Lavender flavor from Salt and Straw, an ice cream shop that originated in Portland and has the most interesting flavors that I had ever seen. The olive oil flavor is a personal favorite of mine, and is only available in Oregon.

As I took a spoon straight into the pint of ice cream, I remembered I had a load of laundry waiting for me in the basement. Luckily, at Lewis and Clark, there was an unwritten rule that stealing other people’s clothes is unnecessary, immature, and rude, so I could spend time in my room without having to sit near the machines while the clothes were washed and dried. Stepping out of the room and still eating ice cream, I spotted someone in the study area common for each floor. He was difficult to miss. Feely confident and fuzzy from the alcohol, I approached him coolly. He had an easy smile, the kind that lights up an entire room, and I was pleased to see him grinning at me. His eyes sparked and he raised a hand up to wave. It wasn’t until later in the semester that we held hands in public, or even at all, and once had a homeless person tell us we were a cute couple as we walked around downtown Portland together.

But for now, I simply smiled back. We chatted, and I was confident enough to tap his nose with my finger at one point during the conversation, when he was being especially cute. I dismissed myself to take care of the laundry, but I’m almost positive it was this interaction that caused him to eventually ask me out. I think I used to be more spontaneous, a little more carefree.

I finally grabbed my laundry, made it back up the stairs, and to my room. Journey and Elvi were still there, laughing and chatting like I had never left. They had both gotten snacks of their own at this point, a frozen pizza that they microwaved and chips.

This is how I choose to remember my time spent in Portland. This is how I choose to remember that semester. That semester I found out I was going to leave my new life there, and say goodbye to the happiest I had ever been. That semester I cried and laughed, and hated having to pack up to leave. I will never be the same for so many reasons, but I choose to remember this season fondly.