We walk quietly together, the lights and warmth of the Lawn behind us, through the construction and past the deepened slopes of Mad Bowl to our homes. Pairs of drunk girls and lone boys in fanny packs walk up and down Rugby. It’s 2:07 a.m. and a cry resembling a Southern general extends down the street, chorused and joined by howling packs of drunken fraternity men calling out into the gloomy Wednesday night.
On Monday morning, hushed tones and whispers started over hurried to-go boxes and between interviews:
“Did you hear?”
“Did you know her?”
“I can’t believe…”
That evening, I call my mom to say, “I love you.” She asks, “What are you doing calling me at 11:30 p.m.?”
I say, “Have you heard about that girl?”
She says, “I love you too. Stay safe.”
I check my Facebook between classes and stories are piling up. Friends are calling out for prayers and community. Bring Hannah Home is painted with love and rosy flowers on Beta Bridge. I share the story, I read up on new developments. A black mesh top. Video evidence found. Please call this number. Actually, a gold crop top. Please call.
I don’t know Hannah Graham. I don’t presume to imagine how her family, friends, classmates and fellow members of VASST are feeling. I can’t pretend to think what I feel about Hannah comes close to those who miss her presence in their everyday lives.
But I do know what it’s like to be lost in the middle of the night in a place you don’t know, to not know why your friends aren’t responding, to know you’ve had too much to drink and just want to go to bed.
I’m scared now.
When I walk the woven paths of the University, I now think of a haunted presence threatening, pushing into our knit community. There’s a nameless, faceless menace. Our Community of Trust is fractured, and I feel fear creeping into smiles and laughter.
I feel guilty that my classes and interviews and schedules and deadlines press into focus. Plans for housing and papers and puny, small worries from which I escape only in the dum, dum, dum, dum, dum of the Chapel's bells. I hear it tolling 20 minutes before my discussion. I hear it tolling for thee.
I walk with my friends into the night, back to my warm house, my cupboard of a bedroom, with clean white sheets and a roommate softly sleeping. One friends asks, is there anything that can come of this, other than knowing there is evil in the world?
I don’t know how to answer my friend in the stillness and silence of an early fall night.
No man or woman at the University is isolated. Never before have I felt so acutely aware that one person missing takes away from us all. Every girl who has walked home alone; every boy that has felt scared for a sister, a mother, a friend; every person in our community feels Hannah’s absence.
My hugs are closer, the Grounds are quieter. Tendrils of fall come in chilly mists in the morning. I feel tiny threads of prayer reaching up in strings of light and hope and I pray too. I ask for Hannah’s safe return.
If there is a way to send love and support to those hurting more than me from a scared, hopeful and praying community, I wish to send it. If I there is a way to give a close hug, an accompaniment home, a call to SafeRide for a friend, I hope I can.
Pray, hope and send tenderness. Remember that the community we have created at this University is stronger than the inexplicable evils that occur to those who least deserve it.
Grace’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at g.muth@cavalierdaily.com.
Read More
Cooking, my mother’s love language
By Emilie Kim | YesterdayDespite our different temperaments, my mother and I understand each other perfectly through the language of food.
A bite of home at Barbie’s Burrito Barn
By Sophie Guettel | 2 days agoBarbie’s Burrito Barn is more than just a restaurant — it is a testament to the dreams and hard work of its owner.
The fluffiest Swedish coffee bread
By Finn Trainer | 3 days agoWith its semi-sweet flavor and cloud-like texture, this Swedish coffee bread is a calming, delicious treat to enjoy this finals season.
