Wednesday, October 4. 10:00 p.m. I’m sitting on my friend’s bed, eating pizza on a paper towel off my lap and, along with four or five other friends, am completely engrossed in Fight Club.
Of the five of us who were there, one had seen it before, two knew a fair amount of it, whether through friends or YouTube videos, and two knew more or less nothing about it, except for the fact that Brad Pitt was in it, and Brad Pitt, despite looking like the poster boy for Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” video, with his aloha shirt and plaid shorts, is a definite attractor factor.
We eat our pizza and agree with just about every statement Edward Norton’s nameless character says: this is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time. We’ve all been there at some point in our lives, pushed to the breaking point by our own high school teenage angst. There’s something liberating about watching Fight Club, and it’s not just because it’s the kind of film my parents would disapprove of. There’s more to watching Fight Club than just watching Fight Club: it’s an experience that you could only find in a John Green YA novel (there’s the Kenyon connection!)
We cringe at the brutal fight scenes while not feeling too disturbed to stop eating. That box of Domino’s isn’t going to stay warm forever, so we’ve got to strike while the iron is hot. We make jokes about 1990s pre-Joker Jared Leto and crack jokes at having one of us dress as Tyler Durden for Halloween. We can’t stop talking about the twist, and when the Pixies’ “Where is my Mind” comes on, signifying the end of the movie, we’re all high off our own adrenaline.
There’s too much to do. It’s past midnight and I’m more energized than I’ve been in a while. Without even thinking about it, we’re running down Middle Path, down the hill near the KAC, and come to a stop in the empty field near the athletic center. The grass is wet, but that doesn’t stop us from all lying down together, the 2017 version of The Breakfast Club.
There is a ring of cloud around the full moon, something my phone tries and fails to capture. As an Intro Psych student, I realize that I’m going to have to find a way to store this in my long-term memory, which isn’t as hard as it seems. I’m not forgetting this day anytime soon.
Eventually we realize it’s pushing 2 a.m. and it’s getting a little chilly outside, so we pull ourselves off the ground and trek back up the hill to the freshmen dorms. It’s funny––I’m writing an article trying to explain the “Kenyon Experience,” but I realize I really can’t do it effectively in words. Some friends, some food, and a cult classic is really the perfect recipe to create bonds, but you’ll know they’ll last when you have that warm feeling of content settle in on you, when you’re either on the bed working your way through your third slice of Domino’s or outside, feeling the back of your T-shirt get wet with dew and not caring because the moon is so beautiful.
It’s that feeling of this is good, and I’m OK––two simple sentences that don’t come around so often––that makes me so happy to be here.
God, I wish you could’ve been there.