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Orientation games began the day I arrived at Yale from Baltimore. In my group we played heady, frustrating games for smart people. One game appeared to be charades reinterpreted by existentialists; another involved listening to rocks. Then a freshman counsellor made everyone play Trust.
The idea was that if you had the faith to fall backward and wait for four scrawny former high-school geniuses to catch you, just before your head cracked on the slate sidewalk, then you might learn to trust your fellow-students. Russian roulette sounded like a better game. The white boys were waiting for me to fall, holding their arms out for me, sincerely, gallantly.
Her hair was a shade of blond I'd seen only on Playboy covers, and she raised her hands as though backing away from a growling dog. As a person of color, you shouldn't have to fit into any white, patriarchal system. In the next game, all I had to do was wait in a circle until it was my turn to say what inanimate object I wanted to be. One guy said he'd like to be a gadfly, like Socrates. The girl next to him was eating a rice cake.
She wanted to be the Earth, she said. Earth with a capital "E. There was one other black person in the circle. He wore an Exeter T-shirt and his overly elastic expressions resembled a series of facial exercises. At the end of each person's turn, he smiled and bobbed his head with unfettered enthusiasm. Clouds passed rapidly overhead, presaging rain.
