I will remember you
will you remember me?
don't let your life pass you by
weep not for the memories

Remember the good times that we had?
I let them slip away from us when things got bad
how clearly I first saw you smilin' in the sun
wanna feel your warmth upon me, I wanna be the one

I will remember you
will you remember me?
don't let your life pass you by
weep not for the memories

I'm so tired but I can't sleep
standin' on the edge of something much too deep
it's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word
we are screaming inside, but we can't be heard

but I will remember you
will you remember me?
don't let your life pass you by
weep not for the memories

I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to lose
clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose
once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
you gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light

And I will remember you
will you remember me?
don't let your life pass you by
weep not for the memories

And I will remember you...
will you remember me?
don't let your life pass you by
weep not for the memories

I Will Remember You, Sarah McLachlin

Last night was the going-away banquet. Around the dorm, there was a general buzz of excitement in the air. The banquet did not officially start until 7:30, but people (especially the girls, but some guys) were getting ready at 5:00. The fact that our wing was down a shower didn't help, as forty men and women attempted to wash off the sweat of the afternoon for the cologne of the evening.

I was pretty unfazed by all this. After all, it was my second going-away dinner at the restaurant we were going to, and my second dinner there this past month, so I knew what to expect. I spent the afternoon writing my paper on the prosecution of rape in Italy, and finally floated upstairs around 6 or so. The showers were full, so I wandered the floor, engaging different people in conversation. Motivated by people in the lounge ironing clothes, I decided that I, too, would iron the shirt of choice for the evening (no, I did not burn the shirt or otherwise destroy it - I can iron, you know).

Lisa stopped by my room as I was shaving to tell me that she and Laura and a few others were heading to the restaurant early so that they could get a table and would I care to join them? I said sure, why not. At around 7:20, Scott, Pat and I floated down to the restaurant with a majority of our classmates, who had properly prepared for the evening with a few 'warmup' bottles of vino.

We invaded the restaurant at 7:40. Chaos soon ensued. The restaurant sits on a hill in Monte Mario, overlooking most of the highlights of Rome (only the Vatican and St. Peters - San Pietro to the Italians - is not visible). People greeted each other enthusiastically, took dozens of pictures, drank copious amounts of wine (our table of nine had seven bottles alone), and, at one point, a large group of people joined voices with Freddie Mercury and sang Bohemian Rhapsody. Loudly. We were not the only people in the restaurant, and I can't imagine with the Italians seated near us thought of all these young, boisterous, loud Americans, some extremely drunk, who continuously shouted vongole! (the Italian word for clam - use your imagination as to what they really were referring to). The batteries on my camera crapped out, of course, so I only got about four or five pictures. I'll have to scam some from those with digital cameras. Speaking of which, I now want one. Badly.

At around 11:30, Dean Jean herded us out the door. About half of us went home, the rest went to Elliott's, the local "English Pub in Italy". Theo, my roommate, had to be cajoled out of his seat in the restaurant, and I thought for sure he'd head home and pass out. Instead, he beat me to Elliott's. He wasn't alone. There's one other Greg on this excursion, and he was so intoxicated he could barely walk. Somehow, with help, he managed to make it back. At one point, I looked at Jen (the one who went with to Sorrento) and asked her how she was doing. "Greg," she answered, "I can't see straight." Chip was babbling on incoherently, and Brad was chasing after any girl who'd listen. At 1:30, we got the closing time boot, and a nice, thirty minute walk back to the Rome Center.

Near the end of the evening, my classmate Erin came up to me.

"You ok?"
"Stone cold sober. Why?"
"Someone said Greg had gotten really wasted, and I couldn't believe that you would do that."
"It was the other Greg, the one down the hall," Brad interjected.
"Oh, good, I didn't think it was you, but you never know."

No, you don't. But everyone had fun. And most of them even made it to class this morning.

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Bookends Theme, Simon & Garfunkel