Chapter 10: December 31st Campus

The days after I let go of the bag blur together in a haze of grey light and cold air and the feeling of skin against the world. I wake up every morning, and I don’t put on any clothes. I walk to the kitchen. I drink my coffee. I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.

And I don’t wear anything.

But something has changed. Something has shifted. I let go of the bag, even for a moment, and something inside me loosened. Something inside me cracked open, the way the ice is cracking on the river. The way the ice is breaking up. The way the water is starting to flow.

I think about the bag. The bag over my shoulder. The one thing I haven’t fully shed. I picked it back up after I let it go. I wasn’t ready to let it go for good. But I let it go, even for a moment, and that moment changed something.

I think about what it would be like to let it go for good.

I think about what it would be like to walk through the world with nothing at all.

I think about what it would be like to be completely free.

I walk to campus every morning. I walk across the Washington Avenue Bridge. I stop in the middle to look at the river. The river is still frozen. But the cracks are getting wider. The ice is breaking up. The water is starting to flow.

I stand there, naked, looking at the river. I think about the ice cracking. I think about the water starting to flow again.

I think about what that means for me.

I think about the rules. The six rules. The six things I need to remember.

One. No clothes.

Two. No explanations.

Three. Stay in the district.

Four. Let them touch you.

Five. No one takes your bag.

Six. Don’t stop.

I think about the bag. The bag over my shoulder. The last thing I’m holding onto.

I think about what it would be like to let it go.

I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.

And I don’t wear anything.

On Monday morning, something different happens. I’m walking across campus. The sun is rising. The light is thin and grey. The snow is falling.

And a group of students stops to watch me. They’re standing on the sidewalk, looking at me. They’re not whispering. They’re not laughing. They’re just watching.

I keep walking. I don’t slow down. I don’t speed up. I just keep walking.

One of them steps forward. She’s a young woman, maybe a sophomore, with a kind face and curious eyes.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Can I ask you something?”

I think about the rules. No explanations. But she’s not asking me to explain myself. She’s asking me a question.

“Okay,” I say.

“Aren’t you cold?”

I think about the question. I think about the answer. Am I cold? Yes. I’m cold. I’ve been cold for weeks now. I shiver. I feel the cold on my skin. I feel the cold in my bones.

But I don’t remember what that means.

“I don’t remember what that means,” I say.

She looks at me. She doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t push.

“What do you mean?” she asks. “You don’t remember what cold means?”

I think about the question. I think about the answer. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know how to describe it.

“I used to not feel the cold,” I say. “I used to be numb. I used to be a ghost. But now I feel it. Now I feel everything.”

She looks at me. She doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t push.

“Okay,” she says. “I just wanted to know.”

I keep walking.

I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.

And I don’t wear anything.

On Tuesday morning, something else happens. I’m walking across campus. The sun is rising. The light is thin and grey. The snow is falling.

And I see a man standing on the sidewalk. He’s older, maybe in his sixties, with grey hair and a kind face. He’s holding a cup of coffee.

He steps forward as I approach.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I don’t want to bother you. But I have this coffee. I thought you might want it.”

I look at the coffee. It’s steaming in the cold air. It’s the kind of coffee you’d use to warm yourself up in the winter.

I look at him. I look at his kind face. I look at his concerned eyes.

“Thank you,” I say. “But I don’t need it.”

“You don’t need it? But it’s freezing out here. You must be cold.”

I think about the question. I think about the answer. I am cold. I’m shivering. I feel the cold on my skin.

But I don’t want the coffee.

“I don’t want it,” I say. “Thank you.”

He looks at me. He doesn’t understand. But he doesn’t push.

“Okay,” he says. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” I say. “Thank you.”

He steps back. He holds the coffee against his chest. He watches me walk away.

I keep walking.

I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.

And I don’t wear anything.

On Wednesday morning, something different happens. I’m walking across campus. The sun is rising. The light is thin and grey. The snow is falling.