After the retreat, there’s nothing left in the semester but final exams and bonfires. Unlike the first semester, the end of this term feels different. Seniors will be graduating, moving on to lives in the real world. Some staff and professors will not be returning. The temporary bubble of safety we all created together bursts before our eyes. Just when we thought it could go on like this forever, we are all tasked with letting go whether we’re ready or not.

I attend three bonfires by the river with various groups of friends. It’s tradition to end the year getting drunk and singing by the river. The last one happens on the eve before my final performance. Keli, Gabby, Earnell, Alex, Manda Panda, a few of her friends, and I stare into the flames like psychics into a crystal ball, waiting for our fortune to be revealed. What does the lady of fate have in store for us next?

There are no streetlights. It’s pitch black except for the fire and the moon, which sits in the middle of the sky like a luminescent orb. The light dances across the gentle waves of the water. The evening has been filled with reflection, memories, and laughter. Earnell laughs the loudest, of course.

We sit in a circle contemplating the time behind us and the journey ahead. Whatever comes, we know it can be survived now. That every reckoning is an invitation for renewal. Every fall an opportunity to rise. Thankfully the Joker’s reign doesn’t last forever.

Someone poses a question: What would you say to your first-week-of-Dartmouth self? Wisdom drizzles down into the fire:

Trust your instincts.

Ask for help.

Relax.

This journey will change you.

When it happens, it won’t be your fault.

Self-love is your only salvation.

Let go.

We marinate in silence on the lessons learned and the obstacles defeated. Jimmy, one of Manda Panda’s friends, picks up his guitar and starts playing “What a Wonderful World,” by Louis Armstrong. We hum along gently at first, still reflecting. Eventually, we all sing loudly to each other. “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world!” we shout into the jet-black sky. Manda Panda and her friends begin dancing wildly and singing while me and the rest of the negroes hold waists and sway. This is not a dancing song.

“Fuck yea!” someone shouts. “We did it!”

“Be careful,” Earnell whispers in my ear. “When drunk white people start cursing and dancing, mayhem may follow. Don’t worry, Freddy is near.”

When the song reaches the final crescendo, we all chant, “WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD!”

A volcanic eruption of applause and cheers. Excitement that ripples out in all directions. A surge of adrenaline and then the white people get naked, jumping into the river. Earnell, Keli, Gabby, and I watch in shock and disdain from a safe distance.

“I told you mayhem would follow,” Earnell says, shaking his head.