I injured my Achilles tendon when I was eighteen. This is relevant because the injury still flares up sometimes with changes in footwear, too much strain, changes weather, cycles of the moon, whatever. Today was one of those days I woke up optimistic but by 7:30 a.m., accepted that the day’s pace would literally be… limping. Problem: by then, I was on campus exploring Vanderbilt University.
Sometimes it takes me a while to accept the inevitable. It’s the hazards of traveling on my own without a mom.
Vanderbilt is a well-laid maze of ivy halls nestled in downtown Nashville. One of the most interesting halls I found was called Furman Hall, housing languages, philosophy, and other things.
Interesting fact about me: stairways are a recurring theme in my dreams. I’ll be in a building I know well when suddenly, the building’s floor plan will change and there will be a staircase leading who-knows-where. Buildings like Furman Hall are a dream come true. The hall doesn’t look large from the outside but that staircase goes up, and up, and up…
And finally I reached the very top floor. There were no more stairs and stained glass obscured the view. I was ready to go back down, but through a five-inch crack in a doorway I thought I saw more stairs. Not exactly eager to interrupt someone’s lecture or meeting, I tiptoed up to the door and peeked through. Not a sound could be heard… and yes, those were more stairs leading up. As I pushed the door open silently (checking the hallway behind me) my eyes followed the stairs up to a door.
An old wooden door. Locked.
But one of the door’s panels was broken, and it was easy to reach through and unlock it. I saw only pitch black through the door’s broken panel. Every time I touched the door handle the echoes boomed against… what? I could not tell, but the sound made me cringe as I imagined students all over the building hearing the noise and campus police and what if… But the curiosity was too much. I turned on my phone’s flashlight (trusty iPhone to the rescue), turned the handle, and opened the mysterious Door at the Top of the Stairs.
What I found there, I’ll keep a secret.
Exiting the building, I really started feeling my leg ache. Classes had let out and cheerful students were everywhere. I did not fit in: dressed all in black, with a long black coat, limping like a peg-leg sailor. I considered going home, but there were more ivy… er, magnolia… covered halls.
The clock tower at Vanderbilt is attached to Kirkland Hall, an edifice that secretes power and dignity.
I saw this official-looking boardroom and took a sassy selfie in the huge gold mirror.
The view from Kirkland Hall’s front steps is beautiful, isn’t it?
It was a wonderful visit to Vanderbilt University! All of the free events happening on campus, I really should make a trip back to the school soon.
I gave the parking meter a $20 bill, and it returned 18 gold Sacajawea dollars. Holding a pile of gold coins makes me feel suddenly wealthy, pirate-like. Hey, I have gold like a pirate, I limp like a pirate… I decided to consider it my latest greatest career plan, and wave a merry farewell to Vanderbilt Graduate Admissions as I hopped back on Interstate 65 to Brentwood.
~ The Dauntless Princess ~
