August 26th, 1980

Still nestled snuggly under the covers, I opened one eye enough to form a narrow slit through which to determine if it was morning. The light in the dormitory room assured me that morning had arrived. My head turned to the left, as it had each morning for a month, to see if my roommate was still asleep in her bed and she was. An American foreign exchange student, like me, she'd been a terrific roommate. We hadn't known each other prior to the trip as she was a year ahead of me in high school, and we wouldn't stay in touch after our return to America. But she was kind, funny with classic good looks that reminded me of the movie stars from 1940s films. When I'd run out of duetsche marks, German money, she happily bought some of my belongings I had decided to sell in an effort to have spending money for the rest of my stay. She was a good listener and a good friend...calm, happy, cared about others, not much of a party animal. She'd have made a good sister.

Not yet ready to climb out of bed and fully acknowledge the day, I rolled over on my right side only to be greeted by the sight of my suitcases, packed and neatly piled up along the wall. The old, worn bags, borrowed from my father, served as a glaring reminder of what day it was: it was Tuesday, August 26th, 1980. Today was the day we were to leave Germany for the long trip back to America.

An hour later, showered and hungry, a group of American and German students gathered in the dormitory hallway to walk to breakfast together. As was to be expected, the mood was somber and quiet. The girls said little and the boys, uncomfortable with the silence, cracked jokes on occasion which were met by polite laughter and quickly followed by deeper silence.

Mario and I sat next to each other at the breakfast table with our knees touching. It was just another normal Tuesday for those who had not developed a friendship with any of the American foreign exchange students. These groups of students talked, laughed and clamored on in an attempt to prolong breakfast and put off the start of the school day. For those of us who were departing that day and the German friends with whom we'd formed a close bond, there would be no school day. Only carrying our suitcases back to the rickety old bus that had brought us to the school campus a few short weeks earlier and saying our goodbyes.

As we all walked back toward the dormitory after the usual breakfast of coffee and toast smeared with Nutella, I looked around at the school campus I had grown to love and a feel as much a part of as anyone who had been there for years. I smiled and glanced at Mario as we walked past "Goose Poop Hill" off to our right. In the distance sat The Cantina, where we'd gone for cokes and snacks. At this early hour it sat empty, but in my mind I could hear the sounds of laughter as I remembered all the hours spent sitting there afterschool with American and German friends, alike.

The old castle that now formed the administrative building at Eringerfeld sat at the forefront of the campus as if to beckon those who passed by. Though the students didn't spend a lot of time inside the castle, its presence was warm and welcoming, as if it had extended an open invitation to become a part of its history, while quietly and subtley becoming a part of yours.

Concrete sidewalk paved the way towards the cobblestone courtyard where we'd first made our entrance as the new American foreign exchange students, arriving for our stay at the Internat Schloss Eringerfeld. Though the courtyard sat empty, I remembered how full and lively it had been the evening we arrived and the cheers that greeted us as we were introduced, one by one. To this day, I can feel the electricity in the air as I stood at the top of the stairs, in front of the castle, along with all the other American students, looking out over the crowd. As each of our names were called, we waved to the German students and walked down the stairway leading into the courtyard, amidst welcoming cheers.

Before heading back to the dorm, I looked toward the pub where Mario, myself and our friends had spent many hours together. The pub was a special place to me. We had our regular seating area, ordered the same things each time we went...french fries and beer...and the one and only picture of Mario and I was taken in that pub by my roommate. Prior to leaving, she'd had her film developed and had given one copy of the picture to Mario and one copy to me.

It was at the pub, one night early in our stay, that we'd been introduced to the Stiefel. Stiefel is the German word for "boot" and the Stiefel was a large, glass boot, filled with beer. When anyone ordered a Stiefel, it meant party time and an evening of cheers, accompanied by the amusing dance of being egged on by peers, followed by scootching back in your chair and shying away from the tall, amber liquid-filled boot. The Stiefel was for the serious or formidable beer drinker and while we Americans had taken to the opportunity to drink legally, and on the school campus no less, I can't think of one of us who would have qualified for the task of tackling a Stiefel. At least not without paying the price.

Our time of departure from Eringerfeld was 10am that warm Tuesday morning. One hour was left to gather our suitcases, meet back at the courtyard and say our goodbyes. Despite our collective efforts to make time stand still, the final hour of our last day in Germany had arrived. With a heavy heart and what felt like brick shoes on my feet, I ascended the staircase toward my dormitory room to collect my things, take one last look around and say goodbye to the small, simply-furnished room that had become my home.