I want to draw you a portrait of this semester.

It’s a Monday in early September. It’s still hot enough to wear a t-shirt and to sit outside on the quad to enjoy the sun’s emanating warmth and flocks of students do just that, not knowing when the day will come when they’ll be able to enjoy a moment like this again after the weather begins to turn. Entering Boylan hall no longer feels like entering a maze of shifting corridors for me at this point. I’ve become familiar with its schema and traversing through the halls has become second nature, each floor offers old memories to be dredged from the depths of my mind.

It’s getting close to four in the afternoon and I’m on my way towards professor Natov’s office where I’ve spent a considerable amount of time in the past. I’ve met some great people and on the recommendation of one of those great people professor Natov asked me to be an intern there. I’m on my way to the first intern meeting of the semester. I’m the first to arrive. Part of an old anxiety driven habit to show up on time which consistently drives me to show up too early. The room looks the same as it always has, warm, inviting, the evidence of past interns and life scattered throughout the chipped yellow painted walls. There are pictures of interns past and the professor, standing together and smiling, and a single piece of paper among the stacks of paper on the front desk which gives all the reasons why the English major is the best major. I take a seat to the left of the desk, close to the door that opens into the professor’s inner office, where I myself have sat in semesters past, trying to learn the intricacies of CUNYfirst and to plan out my time at this school. I spend my time waiting there, looking at the book in my lap but not reading, my mind is too busy wondering who else might be walking through those doors. Then the room fills up, and we’re all sat around each other for the first time. Faces of people who I’ve taken classes with, or passed quickly in the hall on a consistent basis. People whose faces look familiar yet anonymous. And the first meeting begins.

A couple months pass. I’ve gotten used to the extra key on my key ring and to having an office where I can come at any time and see people I know. I’ve spent hour after hour a week, being in the office, showing up on days that I don’t have class just to be in there. To nap on the couch, to read in its surprisingly comfy chairs, to sit under the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling while the florescents are off. But mostly I’ve come to the office to hang out with my fellow interns, the chosen number who make me laugh, offer me new perspectives, or are just lovely enough to be able to sit in silence while we get work done. Thank you all for the gift of the semester you all have me and each other.

To the interns who will be moving on with me into the next semester, I’ll see you next term. To the interns who will be on to bigger and better things, graduating or taking new and exciting classes, I wish you the best of luck. I’ll miss you all, and I hope you come to visit.

-Tim Caston