Back in the days when people used hot pots instead of microwaves, some boiled almost constantly. In fact, some rooms had two: one for pouring hot water into cups and the second for heating the next pot of water for those too slow or too generous to take from the first.

This particular room lay at the very top and very center of a thee-story Tudor-style dorm. Originally intended to house several first-year students, it had, instead been taken over by a pair of juniors with a tendency to prop their door open until the wee hours of the morning and to welcome in their assortment of friends and dorm mates around the clock.

The beverage of choice was, of course, cocoa, and around ten or eleven or twelve (depending on the night), the girls would start to expect company. Residents from around the building (and, sometimes, from other dorms on campus) would climb the stairs to the eyrie and the hotpots would begin to percolate. Those who frequented the gatherings came with mug in hand. But spare mugs abounded and no one ever had to go without.

Neither the girls, nor their guests stood on formality. Early guests got their choice of seating — the small Japanese sofa in front of the row of windows usually went first as it was the most comfortable spot in the room. But desk chairs and space on beds would be cleared off and eventually the contents of the floor shifted and shaped into comfortable nooks and claimed by those seeking refuge from meetings, studies, or procrastination.

Music — Depeche Mode and Disney soundtracks and the Pet Shop Boys and the Indigo Girls were all quite popular — played from one stereo or the other or from the one across the hall, which belonged to the girl with the most extensive music collection of the group — and sometimes from several at once. A hot pot switched from the loud whoosh of heating to the quiet sound of boiling and it would be unplugged and the next plugged in. People rose to fill their mugs, and melting marshmallows were quickly spooned from steaming cups into eager mouths. A ginger-haired boy with an infectious laugh and dancing eyes had earlier introduced the group to the novelty of adding whipped cream to top their cups, and when there was some to be had, the can was passed around and the revelers were encouraged to partake liberally.

The room filled with the sounds of people chattering. It does not matter what they talked about and it would be impossible to cite here all the topics covered. It will suffice to say that the group was fully capable of discussing both the Very Important and the highly mundane and that they did.

An hour would pass, sometimes two or even three. Early risers departed with a fond good night. Others dozed off on the couch or a bed. The conversations grew quieter. The neighbor with the music collection might pad off to the bathroom to wash the mugs and spoons. One of the two girls might open her book.

Rarely did the merrymaking end all at once. Usually it just faded until the residents of the room were the only ones left, just as the small details seep out from good memories leaving only a tableau and a feeling of contentment.