A New Vista

Prologue

Kenyon Campus in the daytime was pleasant in 1948. I was just a freshman, excited to get into college life. My family was on the other side of the country in New York, in the small suburban town where I'm from.

I wanted to venture out and make a life of my own elsewhere, so that's why I chose the farthest school possible. It wasn't a very large school in population, but the campus stretched out far.

Buildings where we went to class were large, stone and gothic from the 19th century. They all had rich, complex histories behind them— more than the plaque found on the facade could tell you.

At the turn of the century, large white houses were built for students who chose to live with a small group of people rather than dormitories. Four were reserved for the Greek organizations on campus, two for sororities and another two for fraternities.

The rest of the housing was open for other students, and they had a plethora of the identical 8 bedroom white houses scattered along campus.

I lived in one of these houses, and I felt immediately welcome in mine. I was one of the only negroes on campus, which made me a minority. However, in that small house, I was just apart of a family.

There was Mildred Camden, the oldest and wisest of our group. She would budget all of our money, and organize what we needed in our house. She had brown hair that she'd wear in loose curls each day, and thick eyebrows that resembled Bacall. Her lips were usually painted coral, and her eyes always sought the truth.

If anything, she was a mother figure to us. Everyone on campus knew her since she was a senior, and respected her as such. She didn't have quarrels with anyone, and if you needed help she'd gladly give you a hand.

Then there was Virginia Woods, the romantic of the house. She had red hair, long mascara covered lashes and a drawn on beauty mark on her cheek. She always styled her hair in waves like Veronica Lake, and one of her eyes were seductively covered. Almost every night a new boy seemed to be caught on a hook after she led him to our front door, but she never brought her toys in the house.

Shirley Spencer had jet black hair and a sweet personality. She was very likable on campus, always at all the functions and in many clubs. She also could be found at parties, although she might've just finished a bake sale a few hours before. She and I were probably the most alike, the only difference is that I never indulged in going to orgies.

And finally, we lived with Barbara, who we only saw walking in and out of our house but never interacted with us.

My room was at the center of the top floor of the house, so I had the past view of outside. I could see who was coming and passing on the sidewalks that surrounded the houses.

Right in front of our house, was a house identical in facade but what took place inside was a different world. It was the housing to the fraternity Kappa Phi, and the boys who lived inside were rambunctious.

In the day, they made noise, doing God-knows-what in their backyard and all we'd hear was clanking and knocking. Or they'd run out of the house shirtless with their frat letters drawn on their chest, screaming in our little nest of campus houses.

I'd see them carrying in kegs for parties, and see the silhouettes of people at their events from behind their drawn curtains. They always had their curtains drawn, because it always seemed like something suspicious was going on in there.

I didn't know those boys because I didn't associate myself with them, and after all, I was just a freshman. There was one boy that caught my eye.

He was tall, blonde and with wide shoulders. He the president of the fraternity, and probably the most responsible. I'd see him walking out to tell the boys to cut out their dogging around, or organizing fund raisers for charities.

He always had a side part in his hair, and it was perfectly combed to the side to perfection. That fall day he had on a sweater with a design that wrapped around the top of his torso, and it was rolled up midway on his forearms. His black slacks suited his tall figure, as he checked the mailbox mounted on the front of their house next to the front door.

His large hands slowly moved the mail around as he read who each letter belonged to. He smiled at one, then put it to the back of the list. I was too far to see, but I'm sure the veins in his arm were prominent, while a watch was around his wrist.

He looked up toward our house, and I immediately moved from the window nervously. Then, I took it upon myself to run downstairs to check our mail.

I hoped if I went downstairs, the boy I admired so much would see me. He was so smart, and always dressed nice. I knew the likeliness of him being into someone like me was small, but just interacting with him was enough for me.