May 23, 1998.  The events of this day made the approaching end of my studies feel more real. (#175)

I did not expect many people to be out and about at 8:44 on a Saturday morning.  Jeromeville was a university town, and many students would probably be sleeping off hangovers from the night before, or just generally sleeping in.  As I turned east on Coventry Boulevard, into the morning sun, I reached up and flipped the car visor down.  The sun rose early this time of year, so it was high enough now that the visor actually blocked it.

A ways down the road, I stopped at a red light at the intersection with G Street.  The Art Center, where I saw the now-defunct band Lawsuit play the summer after sophomore year, was to my right, with a large city park next to it.  I noticed a lot of cars parked along G Street, probably for youth baseball games at the park.  Maybe soccer too; soccer was huge in Jeromeville, but I did not follow soccer enough to know if this was youth soccer season.  I remembered those days back in Plumdale of watching my younger brother Mark play baseball, and working the scoreboard and snack bar with my mother.  I enjoyed watching Mark’s games, but some days the rest of the family would insist on staying at the park all day to watch every other game. I did not particularly want to watch kids I did not know play baseball, so I would go home after Mark’s game and play Nintendo by myself.

At the eastern edge of Jeromeville, about four miles from my house, Coventry Boulevard turned to the south and became Bruce Boulevard.  I drove across the railroad tracks and the adjacent Highway 100 on an overpass, heading south.  The road descended into a neighborhood of highway commercial services, the kind of symbol of corporate America that the Jeromeville City Council and their ilk would probably consider a stain on their precious little city.  Too bad for them.  I turned right past fast food restaurants and gas stations and pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s adjacent to a Howard Johnson express motel.

I expected Denny’s to be mostly empty, but I was wrong.  The restaurant was about three-quarters full, with a number of older customers drinking their morning coffee at the bar and waiters bringing plates of greasy breakfast food to a group of students who looked to have been awake all night partying.  I inhaled the scent of bacon and pancake syrup and smiled.  I had not had a real breakfast like this in months.  That frat boy in my writing class may have a low opinion of Denny’s, but I enjoy a nice big greasy breakfast every once in a while.

“Table for just one, sir?” a middle-aged waitress asked over the din of speaking customers.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I replied.  “Do you mind if I look around to see if she’s here yet?”

“Go ahead,” the waitress said.  It did not take me long to walk around the restaurant and conclude that I had arrived first.  I asked for a table for two, and the waitress led me to a table and placed two menus on it.

I had gotten an email from Danielle Coronado about a week ago, the first I had heard from her in months.  Danielle was one of my closest friends freshman year; she lived right down the hall from me in Building C.  She was the one who first suggested that I sing in the choir at Mass at the Newman Center sophomore year, and in University Chorus junior year.  But I had not seen much of her this year.  I stopped going to Newman in October of junior year, instead going to the Evangelical Covenant church where many of my friends from Jeromeville Christian Fellowship went.  The last time I was in chorus was fall quarter of this school year, and Danielle could not fit chorus into her schedule that time.  Now we were both about to graduate, and Danielle sent me an email saying that she was trying to catch up with as many friends in Jeromeville as she could during her last month here.  I thought that was a great idea.  She had scheduled so many of these meetings that the best time that worked for both of us was now, breakfast on a Saturday morning.

As I waited alone at the table, my mind began running through all of the usual scenarios.  Maybe Danielle was still asleep.  Maybe Danielle had to cancel on me at the last minute, and I did not get the message because I had left the house already.  Maybe I went to the wrong Denny’s, even though I was positive that this was the only Denny’s in Jeromeville. Maybe sometime within the last week, Danielle got a boyfriend and decided never to speak to any of her old guy friends again.  None of these were true, though; Danielle walked in about ten minutes after I got there.  She still looked the same as I remembered her from the first day we met freshman year: a bit shorter than me, with shoulder-length curly brown hair and thick glasses.

“Greg!” Danielle exclaimed, putting her arms out to hug me.

“It’s good to see you,” I replied, returning the hug.  She sat at the table across from me.

“How are you?  I feel like we haven’t talked in forever!”

“Probably because we haven’t,” I said.  “But I’m doing okay.  Just busy with all the usual stuff.  What about you?”

“Same.  It feels weird that we’re about to graduate!”

“I know.”

“You’re finishing this quarter?”

“Yes.  Then staying in Jeromeville for the teacher certification program.  I told you I was doing that next year, right?”

“I think last I heard you were going to do a teaching program, but you didn’t know for sure where.  That’s exciting!  How does that work?  Will you be in a classroom?”

“We had a meeting earlier this week to learn more about the program and get our assignments,” I explained.  “I’ll be at Nueces High School in the mornings, helping out in two classrooms at first, then gradually taking over the classes as the year goes on.  And in the afternoons, I’ll have classes here at UJ.”

The waitress interrupted to take our food orders.  Danielle ordered scrambled eggs with fruit on the side; I ordered the big breakfast meal with pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns.

“Nueces High,” Danielle repeated.  “How far is Nueces from Jeromeville?”

“About a twenty minute drive.  Not too bad.”

“What classes will you be teaching?”

“Geometry and Basic Math B.”

“What’s Basic Math B?”

“Basically, that’s the class for students who need another math class to graduate, but won’t ever be taking another math class.  I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy working with those students as much as the geometry students.”

“Still, it’s exciting, though!  You’re one step closer to being a teacher!”

“I know!  What are you doing next year?  You’re going for a master’s in psych, right?”

“Yeah.  At South Valley State. Closer to home.”

“That sounds good,” I said.  “Good luck!  What else have you been up to this year?”

Danielle told me about her classes this quarter keeping her busy, so busy that she had not been able to do chorus at all this year.  I told her about the strange piece we had to sing for the ceremony when the drama building was renamed Waite Hall.  I also told her about working with the youth group kids at church and going with them to Winter Camp in February.  Our food arrived while I was talking about Winter Camp.

“I’m glad you like your new church,” she said.

“How are things at the Newman Center?  Are you still there?”

“Yeah.  It’s the same as it always is.  That’s one thing about Catholicism; you always pretty much know what to expect.”

“That’s true.  Keeping to traditions is good,” I said. 

“Are you still going to JCF?” Danielle asked.

“Yes.  They had a spring retreat this year, a few weeks ago.  It was good.”

“That’s good!  Where’d you go?”

“Muddy Springs, outside of Bidwell.  I’d been to retreats there before.”

“Is that the place with the old hotel?”

“Yeah,” I said.  I wondered how Danielle had heard of that, being from the other end of the state.  But I knew that she had other friends in JCF besides me; the people who got me involved with JCF in the first place all lived in Building C with me and Danielle freshman year.  She may have heard about a past JCF retreat from one of them.  Or maybe even from me.  “Taylor, Liz and Ramon, Pete and Caroline, and Sarah were all on that retreat too.  The seven of us took a group picture.  Friends since Building C freshman year.”  I suddenly realized that maybe I should not have said that.  Danielle and Pete dated for about a year, and Danielle and Caroline were roommates freshman year, so she might not exactly want to be reminded that Pete and Caroline were dating now.

“Aww, how sweet,” Danielle replied, smiling genuinely.  If she was bothered by my mention of Pete and Caroline, she did not show it.  “Speaking of JCF people, I heard that Tabitha Sasaki and Eddie Baker are dating?”

“Yes,” I said.  Danielle did not run around in the same circles as Tabitha and Eddie, but I assumed that she probably heard this, and knew them in the first place, because she and Eddie and Tabitha had many mutual friends.  After all, I also had met Tabitha through mutual friends before I got involved with JCF.

“Good for them!” Danielle said.  “Are they graduating this year?”

“Yeah.  They’re both staying in Jeromeville.  Eddie is going on staff with JCF part time, and Tabitha is going to do the teacher training program at Capital State, to be an elementary school teacher.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s Carly?” I asked.  “I never see her anymore either.”

“She’s good.  She spends all her time with her boyfriend these days.  I feel like I hardly ever see her anymore.  But they’re really happy together.”  I felt that familiar pang of disappointment when I heard the word boyfriend; Carly was now just one more cute girl I would not end up with.  I never considered her an option, though; I was close enough friends with Danielle that it would have just seemed wrong to try to get romantically involved with her better-looking younger sister.  I also remembered something Danielle said when Carly started at Jeromeville that suggested a history of sibling rivalry between them, especially being so close in age, barely a year apart.

“Tell her I said hi next time you talk to her.”  

“I will,” Danielle replied.  After a pause, she continued, “What do you have going on the rest of the weekend?  Any big plans?”

“Tonight I have an initiation ceremony for Phi Beta Kappa,” I said.

“Phi Beta Kappa?  That’s the organization for really smart people, right?  Not like a fraternity?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling.

“Congratulations!  My grades have always been decent, but not good enough to get into Phi Beta Kappa.”

“I wasn’t expecting it.  I got a letter from them a couple months ago saying I had been chosen as a member.  I pay a fairly small membership fee, and I can put it on my résumé in the future.”

“How cool!  Good for you!”

“Thank you.”

Danielle and I continued making small talk as we finished eating.  Around quarter to eleven, she said, “I should probably get going.  I have some studying to do, then I’m having dinner with Theresa Arnold.  Do you ever talk to her anymore?”

“I haven’t seen Theresa in so long,” I said.  “Tell her I said hi.”

“I will!”

After we paid and left the restaurant, Danielle and I walked to the parking lot.  I said, “This was such a great idea on your part, to reconnect with all your old friends before you graduate.  Thanks so much for including me.”

“You’re welcome!  It was so good to see you!”

“You too!”  I gave Danielle a hug, then got into the car and drove home.

The Phi Beta Kappa Society was not the first honor society to invite me.  Last year, I had paid the fees to become a member of Golden Key National Honor Society, as well as Pi Mu Epsilon, an honor society specifically for mathematics majors.  I also was invited to join another one called Phi Kappa Phi, but I turned them down.  Their initiation ceremony featured a keynote speech about the promise of human cloning.  As a Christian, I believed that life began at conception and every soul had life breathed into it by God, and that cloning humans was immoral and unethical, so I wanted no part of that organization.  In hindsight, that may have been an impulsive decision, especially since I never told anyone in the organization why I turned them down.

Phi Beta Kappa was the oldest academic honor society in the United States, having been founded in Virginia in 1776.  I did not grow up among academics, and Phi Beta Kappa was the only honor society I had ever heard of before beginning university studies, so it must be prestigious.  The invitation said that the dress code was “not formal,” requiring only shirts, ties, and jackets for men.  Any group that considered wearing a tie and jacket “not formal” was far more upscale than anything I had ever experienced.  I did not own a dressy jacket, but it seemed too hot for a jacket this time of year anyway.  I hoped I would not feel underdressed in my shirt and tie.

The event was in a conference center on campus that I had only seen from the outside.  It was on the south end of campus on Old Jeromeville Road, on the other side of the Arboretum from Waite Hall and the music building.  I turned off of OJ Road into a parking lot and walked inside the building, looking a little overwhelmed.  I was not late, but apparently others more familiar with the world of higher academics knew to arrive early, because the room already seemed full.  Students mingled with adults and with each other; some of the other men wore full suits, and some were dressed like me.  “Welcome,” a middle-aged woman in a dress told me as I was looking around.  She handed me a program.

“Hi,” I replied.

“What’s your name?” she said.

“Greg,” I replied.  I noticed then that she had a box of large envelopes labeled with names, and that there would probably be one in there for me, but she would need my full name in order to find it.  “Gregory J. Dennison,” I said.

She flipped through the box of envelopes and handed me one.  It had my name on it, printed on a label.  “Here you go, Greg.  Inside you’ll find your certificate, and all the information you need about the Society.”

“Thank you,” I said.  The room was kind of loud with this many people in it.  There were well over a hundred people in the room, but this was still a small percentage of the population of this large university.  No one I knew well was here, although I recognized a couple of faces of people I had had classes with at some point.

A few minutes later, a gray-haired man standing in the front of the room spoke into a microphone and told us to sit.  The speaker proceeded to tell us about the history of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, from its founding as a philosophical society and its evolution into a selective honor society.  The society had chapters only at academically selective universities, and only the best students at these universities were invited to join.  Another speaker, the same woman who handed me the envelope when I entered, spoke next, explaining that Phi Beta Kappa was so much more than something to put on a résumé.  She encouraged us to get involved with local chapters, which hosted networking events and academic functions to promote lifelong learning.  A third speaker added that the Society sent a free publication a couple times each year, with another subscription-only magazine available as well.  Both included scholarly articles, reviews of academic publications, and information about the Society’s efforts advocating for liberal arts education.

At the end of the speech, we were all invited to stay for refreshments.  I looked through the envelope.  Inside was an order form for official Phi Beta Kappa insignia and merchandise, including the key that was the widely recognized symbol of the Society.  It was nice to be a member of this prestigious and selective society, but all of these extras cost money, and I questioned their value in my life.  I wandered over to the refreshment table and spent the next half hour people-watching, while consuming fruit punch and little cubes of various kinds of cheese, and also the occasional baby carrot to make myself feel healthy.  Some of the adults who were involved in the local chapter, including those who spoke, introduced themselves to me and encouraged me to get involved.  “I’ll look into it,” I said.

Although I felt out of place in an academic honor society, I felt proud of my accomplishments.  Not everyone could say that they were a member of a prestigious organization like Phi Beta Kappa.  Although I never got involved in the local chapter or any academic events, I did always skim through the free publications that showed up in my mailbox over the years, and about a decade later, I splurged and bought the cheapest possible Phi Beta Kappa key, engraved with my name, school, and graduation year on the back.

As I drove home that night, I realized how the events of this day made the approaching end of my undergraduate studies feel more real.  I was now a member of a group only open to high-achieving students from  select universities, and a month from now, I would be graduating, with honors, from the University of Jeromeville.  This was a big deal.  Life was changing, and while I would still be in school next year, it would be a completely different feeling, because next year would prepare me for a specific career.

Also, Danielle, one of the first friends I made in Jeromeville, had specifically sought out her old friends, because she knew that she would leave Jeromeville soon.  She wanted to see her old friends for what may be the last time in a while.  That day was in fact the last time I saw Danielle in person.  She got busy with graduate school the following year, and we lost touch.  She found me on Facebook when we were in our early thirties, but she stopped using Facebook soon after that, and we lost touch again.  I do not know where she is or what she is doing today.

I did not have many friends as a child, and I felt closer to the friends I had in Jeromeville than any other group of friends in my life so far.  But I knew that those friendships would be changing.  I had already grown apart from some of the people I knew as a freshman.  Many of my friends would be graduating this year, and I expected to lose touch with some of them, but I would do everything I could to try my best to stay in touch.  Fortunately, this transition would be gradual.  I was still going to be in Jeromeville next year, and I had friends who were not graduating on time who would still be here.  I also had younger friends who were still in school, and I had connections at church whose lives were not tied to school years.  Growing up was a part of life, and while it always hurt to grow apart from people, I knew that this was also necessary to make room for new, exciting things in life.

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