Ether and Nether at Penn

Years ago, E, C, and I stood here, at this stone banister, looking down on the University of Pennsylvania's quad. We wore straw hats and alma mater colors. We had become what we had set out to be—degreed and ready for the world.

My freshman-year dorm room was in the far corner, on the fourth floor. My memories were of Spring Fling, Arlen Specter's son, the roommates whom I could not rescue and the ones who rescued me. E and C had been there throughout the best and worst of it—allowing the artist in me to talk to the scientists in them, enduring my endless hunt for emptiness in a decidedly urban place, staying near while I danced without regard in the quieting rooms of dying parties—and they are still in my life today. Yesterday, I sent E this photo. She replied, It really is beautiful, and so green.

That's how it struck me, too, yesterday, as I walked the campus with my camera. That's how it strikes me today, as I sit here at this desk, the day closing in around me. My mind is loose and wild and indeterminate with time. I am back then. I am right now. I'm ether and nether.