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You can read Part 1 of 3 below (it's short). This part will make more sense if you do: Tiny Cosmic Figure, Part 1
My time at Marist developed my partnership with the tiny cosmic figure. Him and I learned when he needed to come out, and when I was fine without him (rarely, it seems). We discovered, together, what it was like to have relationships grow and friendships deepen. When it came time to let my guard down I’d look to him for guidance and he’d rub his chin, idly. I’d ask, “Should I let this person closer to me? It might fuck me over later.” He’d stare at me for a moment, pensively. Then he’d shrug his shoulders as if to say, “Why not? Can you think of a good reason not to?” It’s impossible to lie to him so I’d say, “No. I guess not.” I’d get a little closer to somebody and usually it paid off, but his track record isn’t impeccable. It never is.
The tiny cosmic figure would mess up and I’d put my arms out, beseechingly, “Why didn’t you see this coming? I got completely screwed over there.” He’d nod, nervously, knowing he had made a mistake. But he would only be apologetic for a moment. “Would you really want the alternative? Never taking that risk?” And I wouldn’t be mad at him anymore. Because even when he messed things up, he’s still kind of right.
I’m one of the few people I know that spent all four years at Marist. Most people studied abroad or transferred at one point, but I stayed put. That stability has been really helpful and I wouldn’t trade it even for an unforgettable semester in Europe or an awesome freshman year spent somewhere else. I lived in Poughkeepsie for eight semesters and it wasn’t easy, but it was just me and the tiny cosmic figure. We bonded.
Read: Tiny Cosmic Figure, Part 3 (End)
Read: Tiny Cosmic Figure, Part 3 (End)