From girl to woman through boys and (army) men

It has been eight years since my maternal grandmother passed away. I don't remember the exact date of her death, but I'll never forget the day she had the heart attack that caused it. It was the last Friday in March of my senior year of college; and it was, until then, the Perfect Day.

Like most seniors, I didn't have class on Friday, so my perfect day had actually started the night before. After a long cold winter the weather had finally turned, bringing forth what seemed like the entire campus out to celebrate the first warm weekend of the season. Our favorite bar was packed, most importantly with boys, and I smoothly navigated among my many interests flirting shamelessly in that innocent way only a 21 year old girl can. (God, I miss that girl!)

So when I woke up on Friday morning to an even more glorious day, my first thought was to go for a run. I've never been a morning runner - afternoons/evenings are more my speed - but that morning I had an amazing outdoor run through campus, sweating out all the toxins I had ingested the night before, reveling in the fact that I didn't need my long sleeve shirt because the 11:30 Syracuse sun was making me sweat. I saw another crush at the gym that morning, who gave me props for being up and out so early. Could life get much better?

Of course - I was in college. We had a 50's Prom Party scheduled that night with our favorite fraternity, so my plans for the day were to go costume shopping at the Salvation Army. Cara and I cruised to the thrift store with the car windows open, marveling at how even industrial Erie Blvd seemed optimistic under the sunny blue sky.

Costumes purchased, we had an entire afternoon ahead of us. I joined Kristin at boy toy KC's barbecue, where we could party until meeting up with other friends at Happy Hour. I remember Kris and I hobbling down the street to the lacrosse house - not drunk, just unused to wearing open-toed shoes after months of boots and socks weather. There were little green army men all over the porch floor, and I took some as a tangible reminder of how perfect the day was. (And because I'm a klepto. No, seriously, I was.) I wanted to remember the day forever.

Happy Hour was another entertaining boyfest, but lest you think I had a one track mind, I was just as happy to leave and hang out with my girlfriends. After all, we had a 50's Prom Party to attend that night, and (secondhand) poodle skirts to wear to it! Cara, Kris, Greaux and I all left 44's, stopping at Faegan's for takeout. On the way home, we chowed. I mean, running down the street eating our salads, because we just couldn't wait the ten minutes it took to get home.

It was six o'clock on the most fun, fabulous Friday of my college career, the start of a memorable weekend to be sure. As we're eating and laughing and gossiping about such juvenile things as only young sorority girls can do, the phone rang. For me. It was my mom, telling me that my grandmother had gone into cardiac arrest, that she was in a coma, and it didn't look good. Struck by the news, I slid down the wall to the floor; the room's gales of laughter hushed as I burst into tears. And the whole time I thought to myself about how much I had jinxed everything by saying aloud that it had been the perfect day.

I know my interests at the time, and therefore much of this story, might come off as trite and superficial; but you know what? In college, I was both those things. Yet it took so little to make me truly happy. I took those green army men so I could always remember that perfect day; I've kept them all these years as a reminder to take nothing for granted.

Boys may have at one time ruled my world, but the army men have always reminded me of my place in it.