Gird your loins — it’s about to get sentimental. I’m not going to use any Dr. Seuss quotes, but the class of 2015 is moving on, and that is a pretty big deal. I know you’re in denial, and you don’t want to talk about it, but this has to happen for our own good. We’re breaking up with UNC.
Your hands are clammy because you know it’s time to move on, but searching for the words that will make this easier is difficult. This is a huge life change. I mean, you’ve been with UNC for four years now. You even had your own song (Go to Hell, Duke!) and insane traditions, like lighting fires in the middle of Franklin Street and streaking through libraries.
Chapel Hill has been an excellent significant other, but it does this really cruel thing. Our university founders schemed with Mother Nature to make sure the weather during the last month of school is ideal.
The sun forces you to skip classes to sit on the quad while telling yourself, “I’m a second semester senior, this is what I’m supposed to be doing!” to help rationalize your decision. It’s the final passionate kiss before a drastic separation.
There’s an end date in sight, which you’re aware of, but you both tip-toe around the subject. UNC gives you subtle break-up hints in the form of job fairs and emails about buying graduation gowns, but you ignore all the signs. Finally, it hits you that this is really happening. It’s really over.
But hey, that’s all right because UNC is like the mold in Avery: It will still be here when you come back, even years later.
At least this will be an amicable breakup. You can still text each other every now and then, and UNC will occasionally call asking for money, but the best part of your separation is that you can return to UNC’s open futons and poorly decorated living rooms with tapestries and banners from Urban Outfitters.
You can still drive up and be welcomed by the stone sign on Country Club Road. You’ll make your way across campus, tracing back the memories — the good, the bad and especially the weird.
You’ll flick off your ex-boyfriend’s house, cringe while passing HoJo, gripe about how Pokey Stix are so much better than topperstix ever will be (Sorry, Toppers). You’ll wonder just how many parking tickets you actually received and how it could be that there is always someone out for a run at all hours of the day and night.
