I sit on the couch between Sean and Amber. BeBe Kids flashes on the oversized plasma to my left. My attention is not in that direction due to the mystery set before me by the fate and the die of chance. Her lenses are removed , and ’09 sweater clothes her back, black basketball shorts rest upon her legs and Chuck Taylor’s, black in color, guise her feet. Seeing as it was the first week of school, I didn’t know many people; however I did have more acquaintances than the average freshman. Amber starts a conversation and I promptly introduce myself, seeming uninterested. Time passes, more people join our group of introductory friends and my attention shifts from the mystery to an occupied vision. Soon our group proceeds to get dinner and return to the dorms to watch tv. We do this the following night, when I progress to strategically position myself between the vision and the mystery. Many topics arise during conversation and, inevitably, we discuss sex. During the course of our discussion I find that the mystery has been celibate for the last few months. This forces my attention wholeheartedly to the mystery away from the vision.
Her confession of celibacy compels reexamination. Her lens-less glasses still remain perched upon her soft face. Acne plagues her visage but her beauty shines past it. Physical attraction was not a priority at this point. Her solidarity ropes in my curiosity. She looks cute with her tiny pink blanket to combat the air conditioner.
That night we share an armchair in the dorm’s common room amongst all our newly acquired friends. Sleep descends upon us all seemingly simultaneously. During our sleep, I held a mystery in my arms and with this mystery I shared a kiss of unbeknownst power. This surge of emotions causes the wheels of our relationship to churn many revolutions faster.
Bypassing scores of revolutions through time, I buy a bag of barbeque Lays from the vending machine in my dorm. She has told me that her day hasn’t been too bright and I decided to surprise her with a modest gift. I arrive in her room and present her favorite chips. In return I get a great hug, a passionate kiss, as they all are, a radiant smile and an array of accolades. Everything about her warms me. We sit in her room and play Guitar Hero 3 for awhile as she describes her day and her ail to me. The game, though very entertaining and enjoyed by us both, gets boring and our conversation dies down. Soon shows of affection occur, which became a large part of our relationship, in my opinion now, too large.
We went many places together, but only with our group of friends. When it was just us we were either in her room, on the way there or going to meet friends. But when we were out together we still made displays of affection. We neglect holding hands, but clutched pinkies and whenever we were seated her lap was perpetually in her lap. Even during car rides or while waiting to be seated in a restaurant. I always cherished the affection.
A few days later are on the way to assemble with our usual friends but we end up talking in the sitting area near the elevator. “I haven’t had a relationship or any sex since my last boyfriend.” “Why not?” I ask. “Because I always get hurt”
“I won’t hurt you.” Is my lie. I wish that statement to be true. I strove to project it into reality, but my intentions were not able to coincide.
Later that week, I wake, gather my things, get dressed, and kiss her on the cheek and leave her room. Bounding to class with a smile on my face, I consider my first months of college. I indulge in the revelry of college life, have sex on a consistent basis and have very few worries. Speaking of sex, I begin to wonder about Ashley, the name of my mystery resounds in my head. We rarely congregate, other than at night. When I do come over its only occasionally during the week. The late night hours have to available for the fictitious other female callers I had. Furthermore, we do not converse as we did initially. We meet up have sex, sleep, and then I leave. Bliss. Or at least I perceived it as so.
One day in between classes I took a nap. My phone rings jarring me awake. It’s her. The specifics of the conversation are no longer clear, but I remember the emotions tied to it by us both. She felt pain and her conveyance thereof besieged pain upon me. I had hurt her with my senseless use of her. My nightly routine began to take a toll on her, and she never forgot my promise not to hurt her. But my treatment of her was inadvertent.
“You can’t have you cake and eat it too!” Next, I am greeted by the dial tone. For a short while I sat on my bed, trying to digest and understand what I had done. My pursuit of colligate frills caused me to neglect the well being of one of my newest, closest friends. She was the first girl who’s arms I cried in. Underneath my nonchalant exterior raged emotions I knew not how to control so I shied away afraid. Had I embraced these emotions I would have been able to understand how I had mistreated her. Only time revealed such wisdom. But, of course, my understanding arrived after she left.
Winter break came around and, naturally, everyone prepares to return home. I had the pleasure of helping her carry her things and seeing her off. Our final embrace, I took for granted, expecting her to return as I did following the break. But she never did. I close her door and wave as she rides off. I forget to say it but my mind thunders with the words:
“Bye Domo.”
