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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required University midterm periods bring early mornings charged with energy drinks and espresso shots. Evenings are spent trading quizlets in Bass Library or in late night cram sessions in the common room. After several days of stressful testing, midterms suddenly end. But we’re like those Indianapolis race cars that’ve just run 500 laps, we come off our midterm tracks with our proverbial metal popping and creaking from intense heat and stress. For the first day or so after midterms I can’t sit still. I pace around like I’ve forgotten something—then it sinks in—I can have fun, in fact, it may be mandatory. My bf Peter is spending spring break with me—for the most part in my dorm room. It’s night two of our 18 romantic days and nights. We spent our first day wending around campus. Peter went here for years—earning his master’s and PhD here. He knows Yale even better than I do—it’s a nostalgia tour for him—he works for CERN in Geneva now (Europe’s most boring city—I think that’s their tourism tagline). As we lay snuggled in my twin-sized dorm room bed, beneath one of my very freshly laundered sheets, it’s about 41°F and windy. I keep my lattice windows wide open, because I like to sleep cold, with just a sheet. Peter complained once, when he’d first earned sleepover privileges—until I explained the alternatives. We’ve been dating for over two years now, and I think he’s learned to enjoy it. An arm or a leg left outside the sheet will start to tingle after a minute but the touch of a human hand is like a soothing flame. Snuggles are welcomed and spoonings are almost required for survival. Looking up and out, we can see the cloudless and deeply azure, New Haven sky. My mind is drifting and lazily unfocused when I realize Peter’s been talking about something.. the search for extraterrestrial life? I begin to focus on his words, mid sentence. His voice is a low, rumbly, western drawl - think Henry Fonda in some old black & white western. “.. when SETI’s searching the heavens (for electronic signals), they listen across a sliver of two microwave regions that are unpolluted by radio waves from natural sources.” My head’s on his chest and I’m listening more to his warm tones than the words. I say, “Mmm-hmm” and snuggle more deeply into his warmth. “They call these frequencies the ‘water hole,’ because they correspond to hydrogen and hydroxyl wave lengths (key components of water), in hopes that intelligent life will pick these quiet zones for communication.” I yawn, drawing in air like a gasp and sink deliciously into his slow breathing rhythms. Peter’s a physicist (that’s spelled ‘nerd’) and I can’t say I understand more than a third of his ellipticals, but the next thing I know it’s morning. His astronomy lesson was a lullaby. . . The Flower Called Nowhere by Stereolab Stick Figures In Love by Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks Moby Octopad by Yo La Tengo
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