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Three Weeks in Oxford

We pose for a group photo on our very first night, thirty-four strangers in Sunday best, arranged  on metal bleachers in order of height. We sway and make small talk about jet lag and courses while below us, on the grass, the tutors flow past in long black robes. I wait for someone else to make the first Harry Potter reference.

Three weeks later we each get a copy of the photo. It's the night of our final reception, and we're dressed up again, only this time, the awkwardness is gone. Thirty-four strangers have become friends. I smile back at the smiling, glossy faces. That's me standing beside the poet from Chicago, and the memoirist from Tokyo, and the science fiction writer from Istanbul by-way-of Harlan, Kentucky, and the young teacher from Malta who was afraid to write a short story and even more afraid not to.

For three weeks we've shared tales of arranged marriages and bar fights and serial killers and childhood homes; we've stayed up late to encourage and critique; we've experienced the anxiety and exhilaration of the open mic; we've collaborated on a bound edition of our work. I can't imagine a better way to spend my summer.

The photograph reminds me of shared enthusiasm, and trust, and more than a few pub crawls. It represents the luxury of uninterrupted time, and the joy of kindred spirits with which to share it. I'm greedy enough to want more than three weeks' worth.

^{Agnieska Stachura attended the Oxford International Summer Programme in Creative Writing in August 2010. She was admitted to Graduate Liberal Studies in fall 2008 and will begin her GLS final project in fall 2011.}