2: "That Time We Randomly Went to Detroit"

No list of my college memories would be complete nor accurate if it didn't include what is probably my all-time favorite story to tell.

Number 2: That Time We Randomly Went to Detroit on a Monday Night.

One of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me - and it's happened a couple of times, actually - was that I saw something in them when no one else did.  Well, once upon a time, someone saw something in me, too.

If you've read my last few posts in this blog, you've seen the name Mava pop up a few times without much background.  She was the one who got me to come downstairs at the first party where I met Loui.  She was the first person I ever did a designated drive for.  She also is the one person I credit the most for helping me come out of my shell in college and start to live a little.

I first met Mavamarie Cooper the day I moved into my house sophomore year; she was dating one of my roommates.  Shortly after I moved in, she told me, "you know, I was just telling these guys (my roommates) that you and I were probably gonna be best friends."

It was a joke, implying that any guy off the street (as I was, essentially) could be better than the other guys.  It was a joke, but also oddly prophetic.  She was, as it turns out, the first person I ever called my best friend (and got pissed when I didn't let people know that).

This was also around the same time my family moved to South Carolina.  The guy who she met that day was in a state of recovery, and meeting her sped up the recovery a lot.  She became, in some ways, my surrogate family when I was at school.

I have many Mava stories I could tell.  There are some that are sweet: the time we took her niece, Vanessa, to the Ann Arbor Hands-On Museum; the letter she wrote me when I moved home for the summer after sophomore year that I still have in a folder in my closet; the many times one of us went to the other for emotional support.

There are some that are really funny: the time she almost burnt her apartment down frying an egg and asked me to come help her fix it; the time we took her Aveo in to get fixed and she made a complete fool of herself at the dealership; the time she taped me taking the most disgusting shot ever created.

Then, there are some that deserve an entry in the Top 25...

The story begins the summer after sophomore year.  I spent half the summer taking classes and half the summer in South Carolina.

It was a Monday night, and my friend, Julie, came over to hang out.

Julie was another one of my very close friends.  She and I had a lot in common and were at times inseparable.  Julie was, at many times, the person I saw more than anyone else.

We had a lot of memories, Julie and I.  Our trip to Chicago, our weekend in St. Joe, 99 Problems, Pretty Girl Rock, Scrub-a-Palooza, and breaking into the Big House together (which was an earlier blog post).

Julie was also someone I was able to talk to a lot, and who trusted me to share things about herself with me.  She was, for a long time, one of the few people who truly "got" me, and often served as my "translator" when we were with other people (I'd say something stupid that made no sense, and she'd tell people what I was actually saying).

We also played sports together (I am a dodgeball god) and video games.

But on this Monday night, she wanted to do something more.  She wanted to break from our routine.  She suggested a road trip.  I suggested I show her Detroit, since she had never been there.  She, in turn, suggested we get Mava to come along.

She felt uneasy about it at first, but we talked her into coming. She went to tell my roommates, Peter and Casey who laughed and said, “You’re going to get shot.”  Their comments about how dangerous the city was convinced her not to go. 

It took a solid ten minutes of Julie and I begging and telling her it was still light outside and that we’d stay in the nice parts of town before Mava would even think about coming.  

Finally I said, “Mava, you’re always telling me that you get upset because you miss out on fun things your friends do without you.  My gut tells me tonight is gonna be awesome.”

She reluctantly got in the car, and spent the entirety of the 40-minute drive complaining, hyperventilating, and almost crying out of fear.  Then, as we got off the exit to park by Comerica Park, we were greeted by a traffic jam, police blockades at almost every intersection and dozens of cops walking around.  Right away I thought, ‘oh shoot I’m going to eat my words; there was a murder here.’  

We drove all the way around downtown with nowhere to park, and settled on the sketchy little 5-dollar lot we saw when we first exited the interstate.  Mava, of course, was fearing the worst: that my car would be broken into and all our things would be stolen.

            

We got out and walked over to Comerica Park and took pictures with the gigantic Tiger statues outside the ballpark and by the beautiful Edison Fountain nearby.  Then we headed down Woodward, which was mysteriously closed off to all vehicle traffic.  It was then that somebody finally told us what was going on: the yearly summer firework show was that night.

            

The three of us went and bought some sweets at Astoria, a fantastic little bakery in Greektown, took another walk, and lined up in a crowd to watch the fireworks from the foot of the Renaissance Center.  

It was, by far, the best night of my college experience.  We really enjoyed ourselves.  And, of course, on the way home, I had to prove my point to Mava.

            

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” I asked.

“Yes, Zachary,” she said, “you were right.”