A Bit More Light

Some time ago, my friends and I bought a light-up Frisbee, which we played with in the dark at a park in Auburn. After that day, however, the Frisbee saw no activity, quietly taking up space on the floor of a friend’s room. Until one day, seeking a study break, my friend and I decided that we should enjoy the sunshine, and with sweatpants and jackets—for though it was sunny, it was cold—we exited Trimble Hall and sought a large, vacant place to waste time with a Frisbee.

We ended up in the Field House parking lot, which was relatively empty. I ran down the gravel, at first, outrunning, but then, running after, the saucer that arced above my head.

It fell about twenty-feet in front of me.

No worries, my friend said, as I picked up the glowing disc.

I flicked it back to him.

As we tossed the Frisbee back and forth, a little Chihuahua came into view and began to walk down the length of the parking lot. We watched it reach the side of the street, then turn and continue down the sidewalk. I thought it might have been lost.

I’m just glad it didn’t walk into traffic, my friend said.

We continued tossing the Frisbee, every so often, trying a more difficult maneuver, such as curving the flight of the disc or, unsuccessfully, throwing it with a forward-flick. Each time we did so, the Frisbee slipped through our hands or flopped onto the ground. Disheartened, however, we would not be deterred. Each failure became a lesson, until finally:

I reared my hand and flicked forward with my wrist, launching the Frisbee from my hand,

It flew low with a slight arc and halfway to my friend began to wobble,

My friend ran forward and with arms outstretched and hands open,

His fingers closed around the spinning Frisbee.

It was a bigger deal than it seems. We celebrated, affirmed that our efforts had paid off. Though it was only a minor victory, we knew it reflected a lesson true of college and of life. Tired, we started to walk back. Before we crossed the street, in the hush of a passing car, I heard a faint barking. I like to think that that dog made it home.