Word steadily spreads throughout the campus; we lost an Aggie, a student, a brother.  Flags hung at half-mast, a card with his name placed at the flagpole, solemn whispers that notify the Aggie family: tonight, there will be a gathering.

 

For most of us, it is but another day with classes, tests, and greasy meals at Sbisa. Fun and frustration accelerate the day without anyone really noticing.  But then, at a quarter past 10, after the sun has given way to the night, atmosphere’s tenor makes an unmistakable change. The soft lights illuminating campus, those glowing fish bowls mounted on giant steel toothpicks, all go dark.  Albritton’s bells begin to ring out, “How Great Thou Art.”

 

It is time to walk to Sully.

 

The difference in the day is not yet fully felt, but the time is drawing close.  Aggies come from every dorm, in every direction.  We walk in muddled reverence.  The weight of the evening snuffs out the joking, the small banter, yet a few whispers linger from the uninitiated.  The walk is not far, but it is slow and dark.  It is impossible to estimate the size of the gathering crowd for darkness consumes everyone and everything beyond an arm’s reach.  And darkness comes not alone for silence stalks in his shadow. With our every stride and step, silence’s presence grows, slowly becoming so over powering even the whispers begin to succumb to her.

 

Then for a moment, silence yields to the unmistakable tap of the Ross Volunteers’ cadence.  Their march to Sully, slow, steady, inevitable, provides the count to silence’s painful dirge. Upon its end, tenor changes yet again.  For what once was background noise and never gained a moment’s notice, now rings loud and clear.  The random cough in the crowd, the cooing of a dove as it breaks flight, delicate sounds that demonstrate the awesome power of the darkness and silence now sieging us.  And for a moment in the cool, still evening, it feels as though eternity is upon us.  Then, the guttural sound of orders roll through the air, none clear, but the last understood.

 

“-ire”

 

With a loud “crack!” a jolt is felt, like an unexpected pin prick whose sting races though every nerve ending in your body, yet an impact so powerful it strikes the very depths of your soul.  In a flash a thousand birds take flight, carrying with them pain, longing, memories of the deceased or maybe nothing at all but the death of apathy. Two more volley’s follow, but not a bird is left in the trees.

 

Eternity comes yet again as darkness and silence savage the heart and soul with no discernible end.  Then softly trumpets begin their slow painful moan, our Silver Taps.  Three notes and a pause, eternity.  Then three more notes and a pause, eternity.  Again and again, three notes and a pause, until the pain of the young man’s parents is felt by all.  Trumpets sing once to the north, once to the south, and once to the west.  But east is left unsung, for the sun will never rise again on our dearly departed brother.

 

Without signal, the gathering knows our remembrance is over.

 

The walk back to the dorm is not the same as the walk from it.  You are not the same.  Reverence is now pure without blemish. No whispering, just reverence.  And the thought of someone’s life lost long before it should have been.  On the walk back, you can’t help but offer a quick prayer for the family bearing through such unspeakable pain.  A young man’s dreams will never be realized.  Darkness and silence will reign forever over his earthly future, but we remain.

 

Bennett, M.J.

 

 

 

Bennett, J.E.