Word: eliot
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...doesn’t fit in the yearbook photo that now gathers dust with my baby teeth and first grade poetry. Seen dimly through the warm light of memory, this campus was a crazy, permissive, nearly magical place where a mouse could survive the drop from a fourth-floor Eliot House window and where, if you only squeezed enough honey packets, you could make mead...
This is my parents’ college history, but it is my history, too, because I spent my senior year in the Eliot House suite where my mother, father, guinea pigs, iguanas and mice once lived. My roommates picked the room randomly and when they told me I called my mother...
Well, no, I didn’t—I felt a sense of narrative significance in the quirks of fate that directed me back to Eliot H-44, but struggled to see its shape. I go to college 10 minutes from home and end up where my parents began. Does this mean I am fated to linger forever in the shadow of their memories? I had my first slice at ’Noch’s when my parents decided to take me to this pizza place they loved when they were in college. I used...
...Bride,” seen the Rocky Horror Picture show, documented the quiet closing of countless stores. I watched women get injected with Botox at a swank Newbury Street clinic for my thesis, and have seen the sun rise while walking back from 14 Plympton St. to Eliot House...
When I walked into Eliot H-44 for the first time this fall, I called my father on the phone, and argued with him about the orientation of the mouse-throwing window, the bathroom, the common room closet. My mother hardly recognized the Eliot House dining hall when she met me for lunch. There are no guinea pigs in my common room and the dining hall I know looks different from the one my mother knew. But their stories have survived in the form of memory, jostled from long hibernation by a word, an image, an unexpected association...