What We Take Away

Epilogue

August 24th, 2018

Her laughter is homespun, blue cotton candy and childhood magic in the hot summer air.

She dashes up ahead, peering behind every tree and chasing anything that moves. Four years young with wild, wispy waves, she explores the world with outstretched arms, always ready for a new adventure.

"Linney, slow down!"

He runs after her and scoops her up into his arms. Tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, he dwarfs her in size. But her features are his, from the fine brown hair down to the matching eyes that shimmer green when she's mischievous and brown when she's happy.

Linney shrieks with laughter as he peppers her with kisses.

"Daddy!" she giggles, clutching his stubble-ridden face.

I finally catch up to them, my palms sweaty from pushing the stroller in this oppressive heat.

"It hasn't changed," I remark, observing the grand trees and old buildings along the manicured Lawn.

He places her down, and she proceeds to tickle Theo, her one-year old brother in the stroller. While Linney resembles her father, Theo is all me -- dark black waves and chocolate brown eyes.

"This part of campus looks the same, but the rest of it is totally different. Look what they did to the old freshman dorms," he replies.

I nod wistfully.

I was sad when I learned the CHU administration had decided to tear down the old Swan Hall complex. But since the cost of renovation exceeded the cost of demolition, the university went ahead with a bold plan to build a new freshman residence in its place. We had returned to see the building one more time, but the entire area including the Swan Hall parking lot had been fenced off for construction.

"I guess they finally decided it was inhumane to house freshmen in buildings without AC units," I joke, remembering the blistering nights being cooped up in my room.

My husband laughs and shakes his head.

"See," he says pointedly. "This is why off-campus living was so much better."

Linney whines and pulls my hand.

"Mommy, I'm hungry!"

I bend down and reach inside the diaper bag, digging around for a snack cup.

"Here," I say, handing her the cup. "Don't feed the squirrels!"

Linney bounces away happily. Theo stretches his arms out eagerly.

"Up! Up!"

My husband reaches him first, unbuckling him from the stroller and setting him gently down on his feet. Theo toddles precariously after Linney, who is now studying the empty bike racks in front of Bustard Hall.

We keep our eye on the children while leisurely pushing the stroller down the Lawn, taking our time to reminisce.

"Remember the time I got my bike stolen?" he grins roguishly. "That really nice bike my dad ordered from a JCPenneys catalog when he was young?"

"Of course," I reply. "You spent hours looking for it. And you were so upset when you realized it was a hopeless cause."

"God, I loved that bike," he sighs.

"Remember how I use to wait for you? I'd walk to the top of the Lawn after my performance class and wait until I saw you zoom by on that bike. You'd lock it near Bustard Hall before walking me to class," I say fondly. "I loved that. Those are good memories."