I spent two hours yesterday packing my worldly possessions into the van. I lived a relatively ascetic existence this semester, so there wasn’t much to lug out the door. Just some clothes, a computer, and a stack of books. Also half a case of Dr. Pepper.

After Mom, Dad, and Grandpa said their goodbyes, I sojourned to Anne’s house to sit on a blanket in her front yard and grill burgers with friends. Everyone was binging on laughter and sentiment, a great way to go out together. I found myself checking the time constantly, not wanting the night to come to an end but always knowing that it would.

Ryan and Victoria let me spend the night at their house. But we couldn’t very well go to bed before we set off one of Ryan’s fireworks – a small yellow rocket that he bought over a year ago, waiting for a worthwhile occasion to use it. This seemed as good a time as any, so he grabbed the last three matches in the house and we followed him out to the parking lot.

The wind blew the first two matches out, but in a total movie moment the last match ignited the fuse. We ran a safe distance away, giggling like mischievous middle schoolers, turning around just in time to see the rocket take off. It shot over the apartment building leaving a wicked trail of sparks in its wake. It kept moving until it was well out of sight, and I’d like to think that it’s still going at this very moment.

I was up and out the door at 8:30 AM this morning, headed for a familiar neighborhood called Broad Run Farms. Soon enough it was just me in a bright gold van barreling down Route 81. At seventy miles per hour, I rolled down the windows and unleashed a guttural caterwaul that would make Walt Whitman’s “barbaric yawp” sound like a disappointing mousefart.

Now I am home. Today this Bachelor of Science with a degree in Media Arts and Design mowed the lawn. Thus begins the next adventure, whatever it is.