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Shooting Star
There are plenty of dark places to gaze at the star-filled sky during the evening here at New Paltz. There’s the overlook up the mountain, the river-to-ridge trail and … the turf soccer field behind Lenape Hall at SUNY New Paltz.
The lush, vast expanse of wannabe grass beckons us to lay down and ditch our thoughts and responsibilities, with nothing to look at but endless space and its twinkling celestial bodies.
One winter night, I found myself on that field with two of my best friends here. We were having the usual late-night discussion: rehashing old drama for the thousandth time, questioning the inner workings of the universe and debating whether we should venture into the cold for a sweet treat.
We were laughing at some silly joke one of us cracked when all of the sudden, something in the night sky caught my eye. A shooting star blazed above us, leaving a fiery yellow and orange trail in its wake.
My friend caught it at the same time I did. We gasped in amazement, our eyes glued to the star.
“What?! WHAT?!” my other friend screamed at us.
“KELLY!” I screamed her name, shooting off the ground and pointing.
We all gawked as the star continued its journey. Those few seconds felt like years as the star finally faded, and the last of its streak disappeared.
To think that I’d see my first shooting star on a frigid night at my university’s turf field: that truly is the uniquely fascinating SUNY New Paltz experience.
— Dylan Murphy
Aurora Borealis
A few weeks ago, on the Monday before fall break, my roommate and I were in our dorm having our shared “phone time.” All the homework for the night was done, we had both showered and had dinner and we were planning to scroll through TikTok until we fell asleep.
I was rotting my brain with one of those split-screen videos of slime next to a “Young Sheldon” episode when she suddenly shot up in her bed and looked over to me with the most frantic eyes I’d ever seen. I was mentally preparing for a million different scenarios that could have written such a look across her face, when the very last thing I could have ever considered came out of her mouth.
“Leslie,” she said, her voice close to shrieking, “the aurora borealis is out tonight!”
By the time we had slipped on shoes and ran down to the soccer field to see the lights, we already called eight different people between the two of us. Our parents, our friends, everyone we know heard about the lights that night because of us. We shared the field with a crowd of people who had also come down to watch the red-green lights faintly gleam, and as we held our cameras up to the sky and let the cold air turn our fingers numb, we did it all with the reminder that there is a little bit more to this world than we thought there was.
— Leslie Urena
Halloween Party
On Oct. 25, my friends and I all put our best costumes on and went to a house party. I had two friends visiting for the weekend for my birthday, and it was their first college function.
All of my friends gathered in my suite, putting last-minute touches on our costumes. Mine involved being covered in blood, so a concoction of water and blood from Spirit Halloween was created and promptly splattered on our bathroom walls, sink and the ceiling. Oh well. Time to walk.
We arrived at the party, and were greeted by an armpit of a basement.
It was crowded, smelly and loud. There were flashing lights, smoke in the air and alcohol on everybody’s breath. So, we threw ourselves into the music blasting from the speakers set up around the room.
One of my friends was drinking straight from the bottle, while others were clutching their cheap-liquor mixtures in Power-Ade. “FE!N” by Travis Scott played at least three times and at one point somebody hit their joint directly into my face.
We all joined hands and jumped in a circle, screamed when we saw a Megamind, and filmed when a Walter White started doing the worm on the horrifyingly dirty floor.
My two friends and I stuck by each other the entire night, checking in on each other. So when somebody fell and splashed an entire White Claw on my hair, face, clothes and bag, we left.
The walk back wasn’t brutal. The shower where I dyed my washcloth red was though.
— Sophie Moos
Skaters
The spookiest thing that happened to me this Halloweekend did not involve ghosts or vampires or anyone wearing a corset and fairy wings. It involved skateboarders.
As I made the trek from my dorm building to my car one evening, I stepped into the darkest part of the parking lot where the trees block the moon, I heard a whizz behind me.
Without turning around, I knew I would soon see someone pass me on a skateboard. The sound of the wheels grew louder, and before I knew it, I was being encircled.
Three skaters — all in trench coats — weaved around me, zigzagged in front of me and made circles around me as I stood frozen. I endured 15 seconds of trying to find an exit path before they all zoomed away, without saying a word, their trench coats flying in the wind behind them.
I couldn’t even be mad because it honestly looked really cool.
— Ava Simone
Rainbow
It was a rainy September evening, and autumn was rapidly approaching in New Paltz. I sat up in my dorm room with my roommate Mackenzie as we binged season one of “Sex and the City.” From out of the corner of my eye, the raindrops on my window began to subside as some dew droplets still managed to escape the clouds.
The sun’s rays slowly seeped out from behind the darkness as summer bid its goodbye. I jumped up from my desk chair.
“Mackie, look! There’s a rainbow!” I shouted out like a child as I lept toward the windowsill.
As Mackenzie slid the window open, I ran to my closet to grab my Nikon. With my camera strung around my neck, I scrambled to slip on my pink Crocs and a sweatshirt as I scurried down the stairs. All I could think of was how bummed I’d be if I missed this magical moment. As my shoes squealed on the lobby floors, I threw myself through the back door.
I froze and stood on the pavement in awe of mother nature. Half of the sky upheld cotton candy clouds while the other was decorated with a double rainbow. It all seemed to melt together like watercolors.
It’s times like these that mold the genuine New Paltz experience. Despite my age, at that particular moment I was five again, waiting in my backyard after a rainstorm, begging for colors to paint the sky. Rainbows had always dared to convince me everything was going to be okay. I’ve let it, and I think I always will. — Cassidy Brock
