Henri Magdalen
Aug 27, 2017 · 5 min read

last night in the chapel

The night began when we got kicked out of the library. Nicely, of course, but apparently the lights flickering had meant that the establishment was closing in the next five minutes. We got up, Michael and I — because Sean had left a few minutes before and Avery before him — juggling textbooks and nearly-gone mugs of lukewarm chai, talking about trees and maple syrup on the way to the Great Hall.

We sat with some other friends, but once Hallie had left the table and Michael had retired to Catacombs for the night (or so he thought), I scooted to the round table with some of the others. I’d seen most of them just this morning, and some in the library this afternoon. It felt comfortable, despite the conflicted half-introvert mentality.

Ryan’s eating cereal and peanut butter and pasta. Not all together, but still I’m perturbed. He says that they’ve closed the hot food, the pasta was the only thing left. I still feel like I should call Maria and make her aware that her boyfriend’s eating fruit loops for dinner. She wouldn’t be surprised; she’d laugh.

Sean’s bitterly recounting the sad tale of his sister’s promising to take him to Clumpies’s ice cream — multiple times, no less — but never following through. It’s obvious he’s scarred. He’s wheedling, now, playing on Anne’s pity, because she has a car. Anne announces she wants ice cream twice tonight, and as she makes her way to the machine Sean seems impressed with himself. That means we’re definitely going to Clumpies, he says. We explain it to Cammie and Gabby, over conversations about Grove City and dinner parties and then Anne walks back and I begin to laugh because she’s only holding a cone. She looks distressed, her face scrunched dramatically. She’s wailing that they closed the ice cream machine.

None of us are very sympathetic, because we have other ice cream on our minds, and the chance to get off of the mountain: Independence (though depending on others’ cars). Somehow we end up in Sean’s room, the boys yelling as we enter 2nd South and 2nd Central and whatnot that there are girls on the hall. Cammie and Anne and Gabby and I feel out-of-place, because it really does look a little like a horror movie set, like they’ve said. The walls are grey, as if it’s a remnant of some old, underground bunker. We lose Ryan to Aaron and Nick’s video game, and the rest tell me to text Michael to tell him we’re going for ice cream. When Michael says he probably won’t go tonight, Sean insists that Michael will and that — since Sean’s only just been paid — he can buy Michael’s ice cream as an incentive. We cross campus, the girls heading to Cammie and Gabby’s to grab the purple tie that Cammie borrowed the other night as part of a costume, to return to Michael, and Sean heading down into Catacombs to get Michael. The girls decided to skip that particular bit, considering that the hall isn’t even decorated yet. Anne insists that she has to go into Catacombs at least once, though.

We pick up a few more people on the way and I drop off my backpack up in Mac and Sean plays some slightly explicit jamming sort of music on the way down the mountain. We have to stop in the Clumpies parking lot so that Sean can take a few pictures for Instagram of what he deems an absurdly expensive car.

It’s odd to be down in Chattanooga again. It feels very normal, and very odd.

I recommend the espresso chocolate chunk. We sit outside, around a square picnic table. It’s nice out, now, nice enough that my sweater doesn’t seem too warm, but my shorts are perfectly appropriate. Cammie sits next to me, Gabby and Avery to our left, TJ and Michael in front of us, Sean and Anne to our right. Cammie’s ice cream drops on the table, and Michael laughs and laughs as he helps her scoop it up; Sean shows us pictures of his model-status dog; Anne takes a call from her brother; Gabby tells us about her boyfriend; and we compare stories of our worst car wrecks, complete with pictures of totaled cars. Sean steals Michael’s flip phone and turns the volume all the way up, because, he complains, Michael never answers his calls; Michael turns the volume back down, but turns it to vibrate to humor Sean. Cammie shows me pictures of her exquisitely plump cats.

When we finally stand, we determine that yes, we ought to visit Henri’s house with the puppy. Anne terrifies me and Michael just a little bit with the 50 mph around 40 mph curves, but slows it down the rest of the way to prove that she’s an immensely responsible driver.

We drink tea at my house, and talk to my family, and play with the dog. Anne and Cammie cuddle on the red chair, Michael takes the tour of art and bookshelves and is converted to earl grey tea, Sean explains that dogs have an uncanny fondess for him, Gabby cradles the puppy, and TJ and Avery do the puzzle in the corner. I pack snacks, and gush over the organic apples in the fridge. My room is clean, the floor visible for once, which is disconcerting. It’s warm, and comfortable, and we read books and sit and talk. More people arrive, and they sit and talk too, and we listen to a record before we leave.

Sean says he wants music. Anne asks if he wants to play or to hear. Play, he says, he needs to play his saxophone. Alright, we say, and Anne and Cammie and Sean and I inform Michael that we’re going to the chapel once we’re back on campus. It’s open, and the acoustics are remarkable.

It’s dark on campus, but the sprinklers are still on and nearly get us wet as Sean goes to get his saxophone and Michael and Anne and I head to the chapel. We swipe our cards and enter. Everything is quiet until everything echoes. We sit on the stage as Sean returns. Someone gets the door for Cammie and Gabby.

Sean begins to play. Sometimes he stops, to rearrange, to recompose himself, once to choose a key. I hadn’t noticed he didn’t already have one. Someone more versed in music than I asks about what he’s playing, and then we realize he’s improvising.

We sit there on the chapel stage, sometimes lying down, thinking. I watch the clock with surprise: The moments and minutes pass quickly. Saxophone, jazz, it always evokes some melancholy city atmosphere for me, some street at night among bright lights. I like the feeling, but at the same time, I’m glad he doesn’t play the sad song that someone requested. It’s already reflective enough.

We admit that we ought to go to bed. Sean replaces the saxophone in the case, and we all stand and leave the chapel quietly. Once more, everything is quiet until everything echoes.

By that time, it’s nearly the morning.

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