The van quickly splits into non-Harvard versus Harvard. The non-Harvardians are smart, charming, their wits more than lightly lubricated—and they know an easy target when they see one. They guffaw gently at what we’re studying (“Medieval history? English?”) and volunteer their own talents (“I can talk about Tim Salmon’s mama in Japanese. Wanna hear?”).
A final moment, in which I realize I am watching even myself:
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“Hey, y'all,” a guy in the back row belts out. “Hey, Harvard. On the count of three, yell, ‘F*** Yale!’ One, two—THREE!”
None of us say a word.
• • •
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Watching and Waiting
