Hex

It's the second half of the evening. Part two of the grand hazing tradition. The reason we all remember this evening so fondly, despite what happens earlier.

After showers and new clothes have removed the worst of the stench, everyone gathers in the dorm lounge. The couches have all been pushed out to form a circle. Chairs fill in gaps here and there. Tables in the middle of the room hold bottles of cheap tequila and margarita mix. The curtains have been drawn closed and the lights are off. Candles are scattered around, and the low, flickering light sets the mood for the more serious ritual about to take place.

The four guys in charge of this event sit together on one couch, making it the defacto head of the room. The rest of us find seats as we trickle in, clutching the shot glasses we've been told to bring. Once everyone has arrived the doors are closed. Only residents are given the key codes for those doors. It's the best assurance we have that the rest of the student body will be kept out of this event. The first part of Voodoo Hex may be a very public display, but the second is and remains a secret, sacred bonding experience.

The rules are explained, the bottles passed. Many people create a mixture of tequila and margarita mix in a cup or Nalgene, to be used to refill their shot glass through the night. Others have brought beers. Some few are sticking to water. It doesn't matter what you choose to drink tonight, and no one will harass anyone over their choices.

The room quickly falls silent. More quickly than I've ever seen this group fall silent before. I didn't really think silence was possible in this loud, rambunctious dorm that spends most of it's time wishing it were a fraternity. But silence we have. Then we begin.

"I place a hex on my family's expectations," says the first guy and throws back whatever is in his shot glass. His friend to his left raises his own glass and intones "I close the circle" before taking his own drink. The words are carried around the circle. One by one each of us raises our own glass, repeats the words, and then drinks or not. When they've gone all the way around, the original speaker lifts his glass again to tell us that "the circle is closed". Focus shifts to his left and a new hex is declared.

Many of the hexes are on common annoyances. Early morning classes, upcoming midterms, and difficult homework assignments are all mentioned, though none more than once. Some people keep it light, using their hex to call out the dining hall food. Others use the evening to find some small relief about a more serious grievance, often something that hasn't been shared widely before. Everyone is acknowledged and shown the same respect, regardless of what they choose to hex. Nothing will be brought up again without permission. What happens in this room, on this night, will not be shared with anyone who isn't here.

At the end of the evening, by which point it is early morning, people take their glasses and shuffle off to their rooms, helping friends who got a little too drunk or hugging friends who shared something heavy. The burden has been lightened, just a little, for this night, by the ritualized sharing of it. The people here are a bit closer to being a family. The dorm might be a home. Albeit one that smells of cheap tequila and stale beer.