The Confused Feet of College Kids

Sophie Johnson
Jul 30, 2017 · 4 min read

It really did burn. The fire just ate up the wood, which stood proudly at fifty feet tall. Caution tape encased the roaring beast. Not once did the mound of wood cease to spit flames towards the sky. Hell, it spit those flames wherever it wanted. One thousand Dartmouth freshmen ran in circles around the wood panels as the fire gurgled unconsciously. A hundred-twenty year old tradition once again captivated a mass of wide eyes. As all the freshmen ran their twenty laps around the bonfire, I stood as one of the many shivering onlookers. I find it fascinating that when you watch something — and I’m talking about really watch it — you can see a whole lot more than if you had merely looked at it. My hands were shoved deep into my pockets and my hat hugged my head, but my eyes were wide that night. Wide.

“GOOSE!” a man in front of me screamed. A lanky, short haired girl ran over to him and his wife, giving each of them a peck on the cheek. Personally, I wouldn’t kiss someone that had just referred to me as an ugly bird. Nevertheless, I had a family parked in front of me that made me smile, and it was hard to quite place why. They were cute. Cute in an awkward, goosey way. “Goose” took a swig of her old man’s hot chocolate and touched base with her parents for a little, not long, before hugging them goodbye. Off into the uproar of humanity she went. Part of me wanted Goose to stay, so I could watch her feet prance around when she was talking. I liked Goose. Her parents stood still for a little, until Goose’s mom lay her head on Mr.’s arm. The mom chuckled and shook her head. “That crazy girl.” Mr. gave a little happy sigh, in an instinctive, animalistic sort of way. I knew at that moment that the sigh screamed pride, sadness, and hope for his lanky little bird.

I was pushed to the left, as the crowd around me was growing rapidly. Unfortunately, left, was where a group of drunk college guys were “hootin and hollerin” quite enthusiastically. They started to chant something that I couldn’t make out at first. But as they kept chanting this one sentence, person after person around me joined in. I soon heard “Touch the fire” as the phrase being yelled at the freshman that ran outside the caution tape. “Touch the fire.” I was naïvely confused. Little did I know I would quickly be enlightened of the meaning of this chant. Before I knew what was happening, I saw a short, brown-haired boy start to dip under the caution tape. He waited a little, presumably scanning for cops, and everyone started cheering. As a response to this challenge, he made a break towards the towering bonfire. Cops, firemen, and security guards were on his tail in no time at all. But that kid ran. I wish I could do justice of explaining the utter terror yet determination on his face as he sprinted towards the spitting flames. They really did spit. He extended his arm and swiped it through the fire. The crowd. Went. Ballistic. The idiot himself was running right towards the area my college frat boys and I owned. He flew over both the caution tape and the plastic barrier in one jump. Right where Goose had jumped. It bothered me that the college guys next to me were applauding and clapping as he ran from the police. It bothered me that the college guys didn’t know Goose had pranced around in that exact same spot. It bothered me.

Over the course of the night, six more ivy-league freshmen succumbed to the “hootin and hollerin” that took place around the bonfire. Around the plastic barriers. Around the caution tape. Every time someone would make it to the fire structure and back, the crowd would go wild. They even went wild when someone didn’t make it, but instead got tackled by security.

My hands were still shoved deep into my pockets, my hat was still pulled down tight on my head, my eyes were still wide. I found myself turning all the roaring and yelling into a white noise. A little round static-maker like those that sit outside of psychologists’ doors. I watched Goose as she bounced around, drinking her father’s hot chocolate. I watched seven freshmen run under the caution tape to touch the fire. To satisfy their need for social encouragement — social risk. On that night, a towering mass of destruction sat in the middle of the beautiful green. Their whole life, kids are told to stay away from fire, but when that towering mass had “remember me” written all over it, kids jumped. Their feet whizzed past me as they dodged cops. I simply wish there were more feet in the world that pranced, jumped, or twitched. I wish more people knew Goose.

Sophie Johnson
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