The Cavalier Daily
Serving the University Community Since 1890

Going back home

On life after Charlottesville

Charlottesville is fun. The restaurants are amazing, the people all seem to click and, most importantly, the entire town doesn’t lock up and go to sleep at 8 p.m. The same can’t be said for the suburban town I have been exiled to. As soon as it gets dark, it becomes a ghost town — cue tumbleweed.

Despite its lethargic atmosphere, my hometown itself was not the reason I dreaded going home after my first year at the University. I feared something else, something that would be unbearable, yet seemed inevitable. I feared no longer being able to connect with my high school friends. The girls I had shared four years of my life with would be strangers — or even worse — boring after the experience of living in Charlottesville.

My fears were not unfounded. Choosing a different path from mine, many of my friends decided to save money and attend the local community college for their first two years of college. They lived at home while I went away for the year. This in itself could only add to the gap time between us.

I felt I had changed in some profound way while they hadn’t. In the beginning, this is exactly what happened.

I had so many new stories. These stories amused some of my friends, but largely shocked them. I would try to explain to them that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded — streaking the lawn is a thing. No, I didn’t get arrested. Several people were doing it. And no, I wouldn’t jump off a bridge if they did. It’s a thing! I swear!

Eventually, I couldn’t feign interest in conversations that I could no longer relate to. Frankly, high school Abby was really dull, and because I couldn’t relate to my old friends, I was about to give up and resign myself to a lonely summer spent between Netflix and work.

Fortunately, one of my friends proposed a white water tubing trip. Although the rapids were small, the weather was great and we consistently made fun of the friend that seemed to defy nature by not moving in her tube at all. Not matter how hard she paddled she was always almost a mile behind us, and we found it hilarious.

It was on the ride home when I realized I wasn’t bored at all. I could also contribute to conversations, which weren’t all about a school I didn’t attend. We had created our own stories and didn’t need to rely on the past year apart to fuel the banter.

In retrospect, while some of my stories about my time at the University were entertaining, my friends were probably as bored with them as I was with their stories.

Something brought us together in high school, and rekindling our friendship was just a matter of finding that something again. People do grow apart, but often that is a result of not trying to maintain relationships. I wasn’t ready to give up on my friends and I’m glad I didn’t. I’m especially glad they didn’t give up on me.

Abigail’s column runs biweekly. She can be reached at a.lague@cavalierdaily.com.

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