Lakes and Lilacs
Campus was a ghost town on the Thursday of finals week.1 Where was everyone!? We should have been celebrating, especially since spring had finally arrived. The air was mild and humid and the light rose well before 7:00 am. I dressed in a lilac tank top, assuming my cotton navy shirt would choke me under the warm sun. I scanned my ID into the student center where I always met Piper and Faith for runs. It was empty. I lay down on the cold tile underneath the staircase and gazed at the geometric architecture of the ceiling. I looked at my watch. 7:45. It was time.
In English class, Piper asked me if I wanted to run to Lake Michigan since it was a bucket list item before she graduated. I didn’t even have to think about it. Yes! Piper wanted Faith to join too as a last run together. According to Google Maps, the route to Holland State Park was 6.5 miles, which was manageable if we got a ride back. If not, we could run our way back, both painful and possible. But miraculously, after our last class, our friend Rachel agreed to drive us from the beach.
When Faith and Piper arrived at the student center, they matched in navy Running Club T-shirts.
“What! Both of you are wearing the shirt! I should have worn mine,” I said.
“We didn’t know we were matching until now,” Piper chuckled.
“I could go back and change right now,” I joked.
We laughed and made our way downtown, over the smelly Lake Macatawa bridge, and across the busy intersections. We turned onto a long winding road, passing boat docks and coney dog restaurants. Seeing the quaint lake-side life, reminded me of my favorite Michigan summers when we visited the Captain Sundae by the miniature golf course, picked blueberries in Wa-hu, and ate battered fish at Dog ‘n’ Suds.
The road was also lined with lake cottages with white trim and pine trees, reminiscent of the wet Maine and Washington summers where I stayed in houses overlooking the sea—places where I imagined eating lobster rolls and writing poems. I asked Piper and Faith about their futures—their internships and Catholic ministry programs—their dreams still beautiful in mystery and freedom. I told Piper to get a creative writing MFA with me in Washington in two years and Faith teased me about my love of Washington. I grinned, even though the sun burned my cheeks, the sweat pasted my bangs to my forehead, and the wind blew the smell of old socks reeking on my clothes.
At mile 3, we passed a white model plane stuck in flight. I couldn’t remember seeing it, even though I went to the beach every fall. I observed its tilted wings and red stripes, the white poles that connected it to a slab of cement, and how its nose gazed at a corner of the sky it would never reach. I rooted my eyes onto the cement path and away from the miserable model aircraft, trying to cloud my corner of the sky—the one filled with MFA programs in Washington and planes that flew friends away.
***
Spring arrived late that year in Holland. The cold weather lingered in snows and rain showers but seemed to subside as the late April sun encouraged tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths to pop out of the ground. Everyone’s mood improved as the dismal gray landscape was colored with reds, purples, and yellows. I scanned my surroundings for pink cherry trees, the petals that already drifted to the ground.
As spring became more present, I went on many afternoon walks down neighborhood streets to cope with the end-of-semester stress and sadness.
Piper told me after English class, “It feels like you should graduate with us.”
“Really!?” I laughed.
I smiled, even though I knew we would have to say goodbye.
I pulled myself from the memory, drowning my ears with melancholic music. I stared at the concrete in front of me but halted when I came across a light, sweet scent like from a dream. I followed the smell and stumbled upon a bush filled with light purple cotton candy puffs.
Lilacs. The scent you knew before you saw it. The sign you would survive.
***
I met Piper and Faith during the first week of school at Running Club. We stood in a circle in the student center basement while the past members greeted each other with “How was your summer?” I was the only new member so the other five people introduced themselves; Faith and Piper were among them. Faith had curly brown hair, and wore a free black T-shirt she had gotten from a blood drive. She ran marathons but was lithe and agile, built like a sprinter. Piper had light brown hair and glasses and often wore a Watership Downs T-shirt that I always confused with the novel about rabbits. She was about five feet tall but ran with steadiness and grace. Although I was nervous about meeting so many upperclassmen and standing in a basement where I didn’t fit, we ran around campus and I had a feeling I would grow to love them.
Two weeks later, I attended a Women’s Night Out event hosted along Lake Michigan. I found Lauren, the President of the Running Club, and stuck with her as I grabbed a plate of catered Mexican food. I ate at a picnic table on the deck with some of her friends before we relocated and formed a circle on the grass with Piper and Faith’s friend groups. We introduced ourselves, discussed classes, and answered the pre-written questions on Lauren’s white slip of paper.
As Golden Hour approached, everyone changed clothes and walked to the beach. The breeze was warm and I watched girls around me drop their bags, run to the water, and jump in. I stepped into the lake and stood there as the red light from the dying sun cast its light on my lonely face. I looked up at my corner of the sky filled with the sharp red rays and wished it would all be over.
***
The Brinner festivities were hectic, like being choked by a flood of bodies that scrambled for too-sweet donuts and dry pancakes.2 I arrived in the last thirty minutes to eat yogurt parfaits and a mediocre apple fritter before I emerged back into the fresh, chilly night. With two of my friends, we walked and reflected on that moment, how it was our final Monday on Campus before we left for the blazing summer days, and before the seniors graduated. As we strolled, I smelled something strong, light, and dreamlike. Lilacs.
I ran to the bush and exclaimed, “I didn’t know there was a lilac bush here!”
I touched the cotton candy flowers and inhaled the beautiful smell. My friend laughed and snapped a picture of me, the flash illuminating the complementary colors of yellow in my rain jacket and purple in flower blossoms. I chuckled at my eager eyes that danced with fits of hysteria after a lilac high.
***
As we neared the beach, I could smell the lake breeze and feel the temperature drop. We ran to a small town and took a side quest to an overlook. We counted the wooden steps.
1,2,3,4…70,71.
I lost track.
From the outlook, we could see the shimmering waters of Lake Michigan stretching for miles, and a vibrant red lighthouse marking the shore. I drank in its fullness.
“Sometimes I can’t believe places like this exist. It’s so beautiful, I could jump in,” I said.
“I’m coming here tonight, and I’m going to jump in for one last time,” Piper said
“Even though it’s cold?”
“Yes, I’ve done it even earlier before. In April,” she said.
“You always want to do the things you did as a freshman at the end,” Faith added.
I thought of my first week at school—eating ice cream, plunging into freezing water, and running around the beach. I gazed out at the sand and the water, wishing every beginning, every wave never had to meet the shore.
We walked down the wooden steps and continued through the small town till we reached the State Park. We looked at the ships in the canal and talked about cruises in Europe and dying at sea.
“I wonder if the lake preserves human bodies?” I said. “Once I went to Lake Sevier…wait that doesn’t sound right.”
“I think you mean Superior,” Piper laughed.
“Oh right! Superior! Well, there was a preserved shipwreck. I wonder if it does that for humans. What if they were alive… I mean preserved, too.”
We shuddered at the thought.
The beach was void of summer crowds, which was unusual for a sunny day in Michigan. We shuffled across sandy peaks toward the shore, the wind almost blowing us away. We crouched by the water, close enough for the bottoms of our shoes to get wet, and to be embraced by its chill. I splashed my face to rinse the sweat off and gazed back into the clear water. The lake of tears.
When we arrived at the parking lot, we ran till we reached 8 miles, before strolling to meet Rachel in town.
“Wow. That was your last run before you guys graduate,” I said.
“Aww… wow it is. I’m ready to graduate but I’m mostly sad to leave the underclassmen,” Faith responded.
I smiled, even though I was sad, too. “It’s okay. I’ll miss you both but I will be okay.”
The breeze was strong, drying the remaining sweat into a salty powder, and blowing away the smell of old socks on my lilac shirt. I looked back at the red lighthouse and the water beyond, wishing I had plunged in.
***
My hysteria also raged when I passed wisteria, the other purple flowers of dreams. The ones that climbed the chain link fence in our Memphis neighborhood and choked the white trellis in our first Nashville home. The ones we tried destroying with weed killer and strong clippers. Even with our effort, our spraying and hacking couldn’t shake the deep roots. They sucked the nitrogen and phosphorus till the surrounding flowers became pale, and covered up their killings with a strong, rich scent like lilacs. Yet the smell was too sweet, like being force-fed a mouthful of sugar.
***
Rachel picked us up in her red truck by the general grocery store and we talked about Michigan small towns and the upcoming graduation. Piper and Faith were in denial about leaving while I held onto their sentiments and last moments. Rachel dropped us off and Faith and I ran to our rooms to grab our cards for each other. Piper followed me to my dorm, and I told her about my love of graduations, especially seeing the professors in regalia and watching the procession to Pomp and Circumstance.
We arrived late for breakfast, the yogurt already being traded for salad bar toppings. We found a booth in a quiet corner by a window and gathered our random mix of breakfast hash, waffles, and salad. Faith was ecstatic about eating hummus bowls, and I was tearing up about this being her last time eating one.
“Oh my gosh guys, this is so sad,” I said.
Piper laughed. “I think I’m the saddest about graduating when I’m with you, Anna.”
I gave her a sad smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.”
We piled our forks and plates onto the dish return and I knew it was time to say goodbye to Faith, but I was unprepared. We exchanged hugs and words of gratitude and then rushed away before the emotion hit us. Piper and I left the dining hall, passing dying tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths that wilted under the warm and beautiful sun.
“In two years, I will text you about an MFA in Washington,” I said.
She laughed. We agreed to meet the next day to say our final goodbye. I told her I would not cry, even though we both knew I was lying.
We parted ways.
I walked to my dorm and saw more seniors taking pictures by the Hope Arch, and I half wished I was graduating like everyone assumed I was. Though, truthfully, all I wanted was to exist forever within that singular spring day of light lake breezes and lilac blooms—days when I could fly into my corner of the sky without consequence.
***
I didn’t know if lilacs choked the ground till the plants around them couldn’t breathe or if they would die. I looked up on Google, “Are lilacs fragile?”
No, the Internet said. They are hardy, bloom for a short time, and can survive cold weather.
When I ran past the purple lilacs, I stopped, on the verge of tears. I looked at their strong wooden stalks, woven into an unshakable bush—a plant rooted, but not invasive. I sniffed their cotton candy blooms, the smell of dreams, delicate like a sprinkle of sugar. A plant that survived the cold but would fade soon. I wanted to cry, not because they were fleeting, but because deep down I knew that the things that left too soon made the world better, even if I didn’t know why.
***
I sat on a bench with a friend in the shady Pine Grove, near the lilac bush, but I couldn’t smell its sweet scent. My mind was dazed, so I let the wind and the rustling leaves fill in the silence. I relived the eight miles that felt like three where I imagined writing in a lakeshore house, picking blueberries, and sailing out to see a shipwreck. I imagined all those things like a plane tilted toward the sky with nowhere to go, with nothing but to be content with far-off dreams. I wanted to run again on the winding road till I reached a shimmering lake with a red lighthouse. The place where so much began and so much ended.
***
That evening, the sky dimmed at 6:50 pm and I didn’t understand why it was so dark. It was May, and the light stayed out well past 7:45 pm.
“It’s raining,” my friend said.
I looked outside and drops of rain cascaded from the sky. I wondered if Piper would jump in the lake that night, even if the red flag was out and the lighting threatened to strike.
We stood on the steps, deciding whether to brave the weather, whether we would find ourselves close to death ourselves. I wished I had my yellow rain jacket or lilac tank top, so I could run protected or exposed, but in either way, free.
I saw the delicate purple lilacs on the corner of the Pine Grove.
“My lilac tree!”
The bush sagged under the heavy droplets and thrashed in the wind, but the cotton candy petals remained intact. I watched the rain fall and remembered a night I ran across campus through a storm, the lightning illuminating the sky. The thunder boomed, and death felt close. I screamed in the thrill of the present, of the future, of maybe not living past tomorrow.
Today, the sky was gray, not life-threatening, but the water came faster, like my tears. The ones that fell when I thought about lilac bushes, long runs, and my longing to fly away into my corner of the sky. Perhaps to Washington. I hoped to run and be free, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the sweet purple smell, that place where I was rooted. The place that would bring me friends I would meet my first week of school. Friends who would run 8 miles to a lake of beginnings and endings. Friends who would fly away but would be held close when I looked at those evanescent purple blooms.
I looked at my watch. 7:30 pm. It was time.
I stepped out into the downpour past the lilacs and broke into a brisk jog.
I would survive.
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This essay was originally written in May 2024
Brinner is a Hope College tradition that occurs on the Monday of finals week.