The Chronicle

Issue date: 4/23/08 Section: Columns
Last update: 4/23/08 at 7:26 AM EST

Rachel Mclaughlin

My closest childhood friend-since the second grade to be exact-finally came to Duke for a visit. It only took four years of incessant bothering. I called her at least once a semester solely reminding her of the plane ticket she needed to purchase; I also emphasized during our every shopping trip that a plane ticket to Durham is certainly superior to a new handbag or a fresh pair of jeans. I quickly pointed out that the purse she wanted to buy was ugly, and, conversely, visiting me would be a once-in-a-lifetime, beautiful, memory-making experience.

So I guess you get that I had to grovel and threaten our friendship in order for her to leave her life in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, for a one-weekend visit to the Gothic Wonderland. But I know the reason for this necessary effort (besides her predilection for accessories): Duke just didn't sound that great.

Being my best friend from home, she has had to deal with my once-a-semester sleep-deprived breakdown, where I call her at 5 a.m., delirious from camping out in a commons room writing a 30-page paper, rambling about how there is no way I can write all these papers all the time anymore and that "I hate this school." These dreaded early-morning accounts of the Duke intensity, girls on treadmills, sorority drama, the social hierarchy and dammit-people who just don't share our wholesome, solid, down-to-earth Midwestern values. From these accounts she probably thought the average Duke student needed to be forcibly removed from the Perkins stacks and committed to a rehab center, celebrity-style.

Now, I definitely told her stories about how much I loved Duke, recounting tailgates, adventures abroad, Myrtle and my wonderful friends, but the frantic wake-up calls are the stories that stuck.

Consequently, this weekend she was pleasantly surprised.

As we lounged in the gardens-picturesque with couples cuddling on blankets, a family tossing a Frisbee, a group of friends engaged in a lovely game of Red Rover, and flower petals dusting the grass-she said matter-of-factly: "Rachel, you are a lucky b-."

Not only did she "ooh" and "ahh" at the campus' resemblance to Hogwarts and the beauty of the gardens in 80-degree weather, she was impressed with the people. She left our last Baldwin Scholars meeting of the year raving about how she loved the witty sense of humor in the room and how everyone there was, frankly, exciting. In all, she expected to encounter snotty rich kids and instead found that Duke students were quirky, grounded and up for anything. Of course, I attributed this to my natural knack for picking extraordinary friends. But I knew the truth: I am most definitely lucky.

Continued...

Page 1 of 2 next >

Article Tools