First Frost

I haven’t thought about it for years, decades probably. It was late fall, a perfect Indian Summer week, later than usual, the kind that I had loved as a kid. Maybe Indian Summer is not the acceptable term any longer except for old people, but you know what I mean. Warm, sunny days, bright colors on the trees, and cool crisp nights. A final glorious sliver of summer before the cold ends it with a vengeance. And once the cold arrives, it’s best to forget everything before the cold and just do what’s necessary to survive the long, dark winter.

At that time of the year, the black squirrels were everywhere on campus, madly stashing acorns or whatever they stashed for the winter. I had never seen black squirrels before coming east for college and haven’t seen them anywhere else since. They used to crack me up. They were there when I arrived for the beginning of fall semester, and then just gone until the late spring as I departed for some crappy summer job so I could afford to come back to see the squirrels.

I first noticed Doug as I hurried to the design studio in the Old Architecture Building. He was standing on the lush lawn near the main doors. He seemed to be studying the stone gargoyles perched on top of the bell tower, or maybe he was just staring at the sky. After my studio class, I saw him again as I was leaving and he was still apparently checking out the gargoyles. As I studied him more closely, I could tell he wasn’t a student. He had a lost, helpless look like an abandoned puppy who needed a bone and some affection. His worn and ill-fitting clothes were a far cry from the Lacoste shirts, short plaid skirts, freshly pressed khakis and Docksiders worn by most of the students who passed him and who made an exaggerated effort to ignore him. Something kept me from walking away. Maybe I just didn’t really like Lacoste shirts all that much since I had never owned one and didn’t think I would never feel compelled to do so.

Whatever the reason, I walked over to Doug and started a conversation by asking him if he liked architecture. He looked surprised but said he did and we talked for quite a while. Or rather, I talked. He didn’t say much, almost never made eye contact, and swayed ever so slightly back and forth but eagerly responded to my questions with at least a few words.

I realized that he could use a meal and since I had just enough cash on me for a cup of coffee and a special, I invited Doug to an early supper.

The main street of town was adjacent the campus gate and PJ’s Diner was two doors off the main street. PJ’s offered filling, if not always tasty, greasy-spoon all-day specials. I bought Doug a special and I had a black coffee. The owner was not happy when we showed up. To be fair, Doug definitely needed a shower and some fresh clothes but since I was almost a regular at the place, the owner did nothing more than give us dirty looks to hurry us along.

While Doug wolfed down his meal, I asked more questions but couldn’t quite figure out where he came from or what he did or how he ended up on campus, though he did seem to have vague plans to get to an uncle’s house in Trenton. I decided he was an okay guy, if a bit odd, and I was glad I stopped and bought him a meal. After we finished, I figured Doug would be on his way and I would go my way. I was feeling good about the afternoon and how I had helped someone out when nobody else would.

When we walked out of the diner, it was almost dark and much cooler than when we had come. I said good bye to Doug but he continued to walk along the street with me, then back to campus and eventually to the entry of my dormitory. It was clear that he had no place to go and I wondered if there would be a frost that night.

Although it wasn't what I had signed up for, I brought him up to the room. I was intimidated by my roommate and his prep school crowd, but I explained how I met Doug and insisted that Doug staying the night wouldn’t be a problem. He wasn’t convinced and made a comment about poor Catholic boys playing Mother Teresa but, he agreed that Doug could stay. I think it helped that he was mildly drunk and passed out soon after we came in. After showering, borrowing some pajamas and doing his laundry with me, Doug slept soundly in my sleeping bag on the floor.

The next morning at the campus dining hall, where I served breakfast daily, I shoved some rolls into my backpack as I left the kitchen. When I got back to the room, Doug was up and dressed in his newly clean clothes. I gave the rolls to Doug, along with enough money for a one-way bus fare to Trenton and then I walked him to the bus station in town. I wished him luck on finding his uncle and once again shook his hand good bye. I left him at the station before heading off to class, happy to have helped Doug and relieved to get on with my life.

When I got out of class, I don’t remember if I was surprised or not to see Doug sitting on the lawn. He was busily tearing off small pieces of breakfast roll to toss to the black squirrels gathered around him. He threw the last bits of the roll to the squirrels, waved, got up and accompanied me to my next class.

For the next two days as the days grew colder, I gently and persistently encouraged Doug to move on. Saturday night, my roommate, tiring of our guest, had begun to make noises about calling campus security. On Sunday morning, I explained to Doug that he had to go. That afternoon, I made sure he had his bus fare and let him walk with me to the building where we first met. As I unlocked the glass door, I said good bye and good luck and slipped inside. I quickly pulled the door closed behind me, cutting him off. I only looked back when I was at the top of the stairs where I stood for a moment and saw him staring up at me through the door.

I worked all night on the project we had been assigned to design– truth be told I didn’t want to leave the building – and after falling asleep on my drafting table, I woke to see through the large, drafty windows of the studio that a light frost covered the campus. I left the building as the students, in winter coats and scarves, began to assemble for classes.

There was no sign of Doug when I walked outside that morning. I never saw him again. The black squirrels were all gone too, though I knew they’d be back. There were still a few golden and orange leaves left on the trees, and these stood out against the white patina of frost on the branches. A cold wind picked up and I remember telling myself that things always worked out for the best and that Doug had been lucky to run into a decent guy like me. And that was that and we both needed to move on. Then I pretended to look forward to the solitary walk back to the dorm and the sight of the few remaining leaves before the wind and the cold erased the last bits of color from the world.