TCNJ

9 FALL/WINTER 2026 What followed was a speech laced with adrenaline. My voice cracked as I explained that I had written my senior paper about utopias, and as I launched further into my story, I found myself taking big breaths of air, trying to get everything in. I provided the steps in my journey, like the day I read the Psychology Today article that featured Twin Oaks, and how Twin Oaks sent me information about other communes, and how one of those communes was North Mountain, and how Twin Oaks had said North Mountain was accepting new members. I said all of this so quickly that I wasn't sure if Chris would be impressed or not, but when I managed to look into her eyes, I saw no change in her decision. So, I went on to confess how hard it was for me to leave my parents, who both wanted me to join the Navy, and that I didn't believe in war, nor did I want to join the Navy. Wasn't this proof of how dedicated I was to communal life, a peaceful hippie life? I walked almost the entire way here, I told her, always keeping the mountain in view, always putting faith in my journey to utopia. And I told her that I was meant to be at North Mountain and couldn't just turn around and go back to Delaware. Coming to the end of this long speech, the longest of my life, Chris had a strange look in her eye. "As in the state of Delaware?" she sang out. I had clearly said something that made her come alive. "Unbelievable," she said to herself. Almost shaking with excitement, she asked me not to move, held a finger in the air — which I guess meant wait — then disappeared. I must have landed on something that finally got her to rethink her decision. I fully expected her to come back and say, "I see that you are the one who has written from Delaware?" or, "I've got my dates wrong, but there you are: 'Delaware Visitor.'" I felt hopeful. I marveled at how quickly things could change. Once again, I found myself waiting in front of utopia, ready to start my new life. When she returned, Chris was no longer carrying her clipboard. Instead, she held the hand of a clean-shaven man in a white shirt, almost dragging him out the front door and down the steps to face me. "This is Mark," she said to me. "Mark," she said with great delight, "is visiting from Delaware." He was not smiling, and he looked as uncomfortable as I felt. "Mark," Chris announced, "is returning to Delaware in two days." With this unhappy news, I heard the doors to utopia creak shut. In one day, I had left home, found my way to a remote country commune, crossed a footbridge, and stood among more hippies than I had ever seen in person, only to be told, "Not now. Not today." What would my parents say? I was a dropout who failed to drop out. I was being tossed back. What should've been simple was much harder than I thought. Dropping out, it seemed, was something you had to schedule. FACING PAGE JOSEPH MODICA Reprinted by permission of the University of Wisconsin Press. © 2026 by Juda Bennett. All rights reserved.

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