Just before spring break, I sat down at theUnion with Lauren and told her about one of myfirst Crimson stories. The other day an enormousAdams House party had broken up after a complaintsthat plaster was falling from the ceiling below.As was tradition, the drunken group resumed theparty in the Adams House pool, where they strippednaked to swim. It was 3 a.m. when the senior tutorturned on the lights. She was not psyched. Thenext day the pool was drained.

"Sure," Lauren said. "It was the Bungle in theJungle party. I was there." The apple woman wasfull of surprises. As I got up to leave sheintroduced me to her roommate-to-be Amy Busch.

It was hard not to see Amy after I had met her.She has long, curly, fire-red hair. Later, afterour romance soured, I was haunted by thathair--never could go anywhere without seeing her.After exchanging hellos several times, I told myroommates I had met this woman with the warmestsmile I had ever seen. They found her in our classfacebook. Rocco called me from Lamont sometimetowards the end of April "She's here" he said Tenminutes later, I was there too.

I played games with myself for a few days andfinally asked her out. We did Thai food and sawthe awful film Cry Baby. I saw her the nextday. And the next. We both felt as if we had foundsomething really special. A couple of times duringthe next couple of weeks, our closeness threatenedme, as someone unskilled in dealing with intimacy.Apparently she had the same problem. The summerdrew near; she panicked and bailed.

I was pretty rational about it at first. "It'sokay to be upset," I told myself as she and I werehaving our Talk. "But stay on your feet." Sensingthat she was determined to break it off and wastalking just to smooth over the rough edges, Ileft just in time to get a slice at Pinocchio's.Later a friend of Amy's told me that she had said:"Everything seemed to be going okay and he justgot up and left."

The next day wasn't so easy. I was a wreck,crying, sleeping, crying some more. I found JennyMayher for some comfort. She has that Maine touchof gentle spirit and always appreciated me when Imost needed it. I even cried to my dad on thephone, the last thing I ever expected to do.

Any hurt me badly, but it wasn't her fault thatshe opened up a floodgate of insecurity stored upthrough the whole year. Turns out that it hastaken three years for Amy and I to make peace asfriends. I guess she is one of those people my momwas talking about, after all.

How to reflect on my first year? It happened. Imade it. I had good moments and some miserableones. The relics surrounding me now--a black andwhite poster of Elvis Costello, a piece of artdone by me brother, a photograph of my dog--areremnants of that first year, and so are many of myfriends. I hope to get up to Maine to see Jennythis summer, and maybe down to New York where Amylives. Ash and I are both in Cambridge, as is PatHoy. I discuss my writing with Pat all the timeand he has convinced me that I could give writinga go as a career.

It's almost comical for me to think of Bush's"Harvard conspiracy." The ivy may be foreboding,but there is certainly nothing grandiose aboutdorms with cockroaches and poor plumbing. Fame andpower don't really fit into the Harvardexperience. It's more subtle than that, morepersonal. "It's just a place," my Harvardinterviewer told me, groping for the best languageto debunk the myth. "There is no way to say thatHarvard is the best, there's no reason to saythat. it's just a great place. You'll see what Imean."

He's right. it can be great here. Just have todig in the heels and survive.

Joshua W. Shenk '93 is the Executive Editorof The Crimson