Goin’ to the Chapel

Roadtripsters.

Roadtripsters.

Two of my dear, biology major friends married one another this past weekend. That meant that two of my other sciencey major friends and I skipped south some seven hours, across a time zone, and into Nashville. Our plan? Switch n’ study. To alternate quizzing and driving only seemed logical for one dental and two medical students. But three quarters of the way there, I felt as fresh as when I’d begun my shift at 5:40 AM. Catching up with old lab buddies kept me brighter eyed than any dose of espresso.
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If Cupcakes Could Talk

They’d be a half dozen. One dark chocolate, another peanut butter, a third red velvet, the rest lemon-blueberry–all snapped in plastic, cradled atop both of my arms. I would grip a rainbow of balloons in my right hand, squeezing in my left a raffle prize. Top and center would sit a green T-shirt (a free one at that!) right beside a blue dish of M&Ms, another gift from that evening.

And those cupcakes would have once lined the counters of the attic of the student union on main campus. Like ducks in a row. The smiling kind.¬†They’d witness all sorts of people meeting all different sorts of people. I would make a friend from Nigeria and another from Mexico and another, well, she would be an MPH student. Everyone glancing, contemplating–which flavor would need sampled… again? They’d whisk the cupcakes off to the corner where bowls of M&Ms lined the tables. Across those would sail red crepe streamers under red paper hearts dangling on red strings from the rafters.
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I Want to Be a Part of It

“New York, New York!” smacks my ears as I enter the condo. A chorus of Frank Sinatra wanna-be’s sit at the kitchen table: Grandma, Grandpa, Dad. Shaking my head, I nibble on my pre-run snack before sprinting out just as my grandmother dances toward and serenades my grandfather whose sun-burn is the only thing redder then his blushing face.
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