My Old Friends

I picked up a book again. I started the heavy novel last year. I have only read half of it. I am so ashamed. Books used to be my home. Books used to put me to sleep every night and even wake me up in the morning. I used to want to write books myself. I hardly write these days. I miss my old friends, words. 

As I read “I Am Charlotte Simmons” by Tom Wolfe, I’m taken back to my college years as a bouncing, bold, and totally blind teenager. Life was pretty messy then, behind all my “A”s and packed social, extracurricular, and academic schedules. An 18-credit semester will help you plow over any personal problems you might have. The times I spent disappearing in books or typing long-form essays carried me through college. They were assignments, but they were saviors. I willingly read everything and wrote every amount of a word-count requirement. 

Wolfe chronicles the entry of a small town girl into the jaws of a college that is a very close reproduction of Duke University. She is both mesmerized by the boys and parties while obsessed with being the perfect pupil. I didn’t step into collegiate life quite as green as miss Charlotte, but I understand this girl, even 10 years after I moved into my freshman dorm room. 

I haven’t finished the book. I don’t know how she gets out to the other side. When she does, will she still pick up her books?


Richmond, Va

Megan Wilson does too many things, including working on her fluffly fashion and travel blog,