Metaphase

A murky photograph of Geneseo's Roemer Arboretum at dusk

Everyone had their reasons for being at Geneseo. For many it reprised the lines and chords that their parents or siblings had gone through in a suburban environment: a Wegmans fifteen minutes away, mom-and pop shops nearby, a pleasurable tension of knowing your neighbors’ business.

I came for the money and the breathing space; quite literally the AQI was way better up here and I wouldn’t feel like a sardine in my classroom. I didn’t have to worry about not having a seat if I arrived late to class. The little things were forgiven: pauses were made and small talk seemed much more earnest without the competition for space, time, and attention. I didn’t have to rush in or be forced to grab a chair elsewhere for my spot.

On walks to the arboretum, I’d be met with a similar sweet opening and sour end. Initially—sweet like the taste of hot apple cider from Red Jacket—my view was more expansive the higher up the hill I went. Without metropolitan smog, my clarity and progression of thoughts modeled the twilight sky. Celestial concepts inhabited my headspace during frequent five-minute walks between commitments. I was a part of a larger, starry movement tracking the inhale and exhale of the campus day. Like lining up for metaphase, there was an ease in becoming the common Geneseo student—motivated, multifaceted, and driven. Still, I felt power in this reprieve at the arboretum; somehow I thought I’d get some sort of break from the buzz in a manmade forest, away from all of my manufactured problems. It was always humbling, though, to dance around Genesee beer cans amid thoughts of my own right to a claim a place here and the legacy I would want to leave. —Jess