But that's not to say I didn't enjoy the class.
This is Ray.
I met Ray when we were in kindergarten. I don't remember a time when we weren't both friends and fierce competitors, both academically and athletically. We were so close that he was the only boy I'd invited to my tenth (or twelfth or something) birthday party.
He came over, played the piano at fortississississimo (I thought it would snap in two), and grandly presented me with MCR's The Black Parade, which had me thinking on my feet so I could pass it off to my parents as an album of love ballads. He was Romeo and I was Prince Escalus, and that's the way our relationship went until he moved away after elementary school.
Over the years, I'd seen him at the odd MUN conference, blasting people away with his booming voice and motorboat laughter, but we really fell out of contact once we hit college.
And then I came to Cambridge and there he was.
And we had a class together.
And we had seminar for that class together.
It was just like old times, honestly, even if, for the first few seminars, I couldn't look at him straight without laughing at how ridiculous this was.
Plus you have a weird face, Ray.
Anyhow, I was unsurprised to see that he'd brought his longboard over with him (His longboard. In Cambridge.) but was rather surprised at how easily we fell back into making faces at each other behind the professor's back. Granted, we thankfully have matured beyond the point of casting spitballs from the back row (I think), but being around him just reminded me of how crazy we were as kids.
And so, on the last day of class when our typically impeccably-dressed philosophy professor showed up looking like he'd wandered in from the beach, we seized the opportunity.
So here's to you, Freddie. You've made me seem conventional.
Let's not have it be another ten years or whatever before we talk again.
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