The ring of the phone penetrated my haze of sleep. I chose to ignore it, in hopes I could doze off again after the interruption on my Day to Sleep In. No such luck. Feet pounded down the hallway, I heard Friend S answer, and then my name was being called. After untangling myself from the covers, I stumbled to the phone, still dazed.
"Hello?"
"Hi...Mail order's coming down - right now." In my groggy state, I couldn't quite place the male voice, or completely understand his words.
"Mail order??" I echoed, confused.
"No, Miller!"
"It is?!" I suddenly recognized Music Friend R as the caller, and I gasped as his statement sunk in. "Thank you for telling me. I'll see you."
'Miller,' our abbreviated name for the music building on the edge of campus, has always been a special building to me. I have a sentimental spot for all old buildings, and the history their walls have seen, but many personal memories were attached to Miller for me. This old structure was erected about eight decades ago, and was certainly the oldest remaining building on campus. Some people have been impatient in recent years for the new performance facilities to open up on campus, but I was always unalterably fond of old Miller, with all its quirks. There was the strong, musty smell 
of age that greeted you when you entered, the way the stage clunked and creaked when you crossed it in performances, the archaic radiators that seemed to take pleasure in rattling and whining during the most inopportune moments in students' graduate performances, the worn wooden floors, and most of all, the sense of wonder that it always gave me to think that I was
studying and performing in exact rooms where generations of music students had studied and performed before me. Sure, music buildings and performance spaces all over the world have held the hopes, fears, dreams, successes, and lessons learned of many, many people. But this was the building that held all of mine. Heck, I even travelled out to this campus when I was only a kid, to have band adjudications in that very building, long before I ever dreamed I'd pursue music seriously, especially on this very same campus. I'll never forget the recitals, juries, examinations, auditions, competitions, classes, rehearsals, and deep memories that have been a huge part of my life and musical development over the years. We knew that Miller's demolition was going to happen eventually, but we had no idea what the date would be. The aging building had had its rooms gradually blocked off last year, due to the spreading black mold that was slowly eating away at the wood, and the air quality.
After I hung up the phone, I tore down the hallway to relay the message at a shout to Music Friend J, who was in the shower at the time, then proceeded to throw on whatever clothes I could see laying around, throw my hair up, slap a hat on, grab my camera, and sprint for the door. As I sprinted across campus, I heard the event before I saw it. Finally, I rounded one last building, and saw dear old Miller, with a yawning hole in its side. Music Friend R and several others were standing at a distance, watching as an escavator tore chunks out of the old music theory classroom. The building was very old, and the machinery had no trouble at all nudging 
and pulling through the flimsy structure, which flexed and tore like cardboard. Doors splintered, walls caved, and sawdust insulation poured out, clouding the air. Music Friend J came out shortly after, hair still wet, eyes glued to the carnage. The three of us stood together, lost in our individual thoughts, and watching together as Miller's innards were slowly exposed. The whole process took a couple of hours. The stage and auditorium floor were crushed down into the basement, the radiators were plucked out, never to rattle during another recital again, and fluorescent lights and wooden beams swung out and hung at wild angles from the disappearing ceiling. The escavator began to 
seem more and more like a scavenging carnivore, as it crunched mouthfuls of already-demolished wood in its jaws, grinding it down before crawling over the wreckage to reach another section of defiant structure still standing upright. The final portion of the building toppled with another tremendous, terrible noise singularly unique to the toppling of ancient wooden buildings. After the great cloud of dust and mold spores settled, we tore ourselves away to leave the machine to the chewing and sorting of the debris. It definitely was a sad event, but I wound up not being nearly as emotional as I thought I would be. Yes, the structure is no more, but the memories we all have didn't go down with the wood and shingles. That building was an important part of important times in many people's lives. I loved it, and I'm simply grateful to have made my own musical memories in musty old Miller's halls in my time here.
