It was around 4:30 pm on the first Thursday of my college classes that I realized that I had an unknown companion. While sitting through the second full-on lecture of my collegiate experience, I noticed a lone piece of toilet paper dangling off of my shoe. My first instinct was to pluck it off and stuff it in my pocket before anyone else had noticed, the next step obviously dumping the unwanted tag-a-long in a trash can once class was dismissed. As I crumpled the unassuming sheet of one-ply, however, my heart twisted. I smoothed out the piece of toilet paper and examined it. This piece of tissue was not so different than me, I thought, noting the accidental tears on its edges and a large stain in its bottom left corner. This little piece of toilet paper had no idea what it was getting into when it had eagerly attached itself to my shoe, ready for a great adventure. Neither had I when I was dropped off at Wesleyan, ready for an epic adventure of my own.

The toilet paper and I had come from essentially the same place. Now, I am not suggesting that my stained companion had graduated high school, nor am I implying that I emerged from a roll in a restroom. No, I am simply acknowledging the similarities between a restroom and high school. If we were to examine a restroom, the connection to high school is only logical. For example, no one wants to spend their time in a restroom. Sure, the restroom may be comfortable, but we are there because of obligation, not because of choice. Much like how the government forces us to attend high school, our bodies force us to find respite in a restroom. Imagine the piece of toilet paper, waiting desperately for its way out, its escape from obligation. Once it had latched onto my shoe, it was like high school graduate being whisked off by time and travel to college where it expected to find freedom, happiness, and enlightenment.

Alas, the poor shred of toilet paper knew not what to expect once it had left the restroom and entered the world of a college student. Expecting to see great sights and meet new pieces of toilet paper, hopefully with the same interests as it, the toilet paper was forced repeatedly into the ground, only allowed to come up for a moment, gasping for a breath of air. Perhaps this was the toilet paper’s orientation to Wesleyan University. It was being swept along by a schedule that was foreign and unexpected. The toilet paper tagging along to Red & Black Cafe may have been the equivalent of me going to my first faculty advisor meeting. The toilet paper didn’t know what was in store for it and waited for it to be dragged from place to place, much like I waited until I was swept along to places by the mandatory orientation schedule, unaware what I was up against as well.

I can only imagine the stress and exhaustion the piece of toilet paper felt the first time I sat down and put my feet up. By this point, the toilet paper was already transformed. No longer was it a whole sheet of tissue; no, the toilet paper must have sustained tears and rips in its form, essentially appearing to be a completely different individual than before. The toilet paper must have felt temporary relief, similar to the relief I felt when I laid down in my bed after each day. The rest and reflection the toilet paper experienced during this short respite was like my reflection as I watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm before going to sleep. However rewarding the respite must have felt for the piece of tissue, it was short lived. As I had to wake up and continue on in my college experience each morning, the toilet paper was borne off once again my the cruel fate that was the movement of my shoe.

Looking down at the piece of toilet paper in my hands, I realized that I must detach myself from it, freeing the innocent tissue from the harsh reality of a college life. Surely, I, an eighteen year old with the reality of college looming before me for all of my life, could handle the realities and hardships of college. I could not wish the same experience on an innocent, unassuming piece of tissue that was already soiled by three hours of college life. On my way out of my class, I folded the piece of tissue and placed it ceremoniously in the trash can. Thus, an end comes for the unassuming piece of paper at only the beginning of my journey. Perhaps next the fraying lace on my left sneaker can provide insight on the social scene here at Wes.

The final resting place of a piece of toilet paper too pure for Wes