Reflections from Stanley

I'm sitting at the table in the kitchen. It's in the living room, too, technically. This suite has been home to the six of us for the past nine months, excepting the four weeks of Christmas break. We have the kitchen table sitting between the carpeted living room and tiled kitchen. Realistically, only the tile divider separates the two. Piles of trash connect them. My housemates are all still here, the day after campus drained its students from of its dorms, into their cars, and into summer. Four of us are graduating Saturday; the other two will graduate after a semester, or at least soon soon, God willing.

I've never lived with a group of guys like this. I've never lived with guys who work this well together. Five of us have been friends throughout college, but only two of us had lived together. The sixth, RA and roommate Greg, fit in like another spoke on a sturdy wheel. We share life, the six of us. We share faith, friends, food and, FIFA—our video game of choice. The room is dominated by the brown couch that I inherited from a friend after freshman year. The brown couch is almost dead. Josh blames Joe’s—and I quote—“fat ass.” We curse at each other. And laugh together, often in quick succession.

Our room is much cleaner--the wrappers and clothing are off the floor, or at least, they're in piles in the corners of the room. Stanley, my lamp, is watching over the room with his stately demeanor, giving off the healthy shine from his large brass circumference. His lampshade is half-gone; he's a wall-lamp, hugging the wall so tight that his wide base sometims gets in the way. I brought him home from a garage sale during the fall of my junior year. His brass finish is imprinted with a (very authentic looking) body of ornate asian artwork. Stanley's body type is responsible for his name; he was christened in honor of his striking resemblance to the hockey trophy that is coveted, hoisted, and kissed in the NHL each spring. His wide base funnels upward in increments, providing a grip at the neck that requires a hoist and a triumphant shake. His cream colored shade is a bit big for him and, depending on the angle of the sun, can look much like a barrel. People tell Stanley that he is the ugliest lamp they've ever seen. He doesn't mind, because he knows that some of the beautiful things in life must be lived with, must be dealt with, to be appreciated.