Greatest Hits

The end of the semester is approaching faster than you can say, "FINALS!" and everyone is stressing majorly. For me, stress is secondary to nostalgia. I always do this. I miss things in advance. I'm already viewing the halls of this busted old dorm with misty eyes. I will miss the little family that our hall evolved into. And the thing that gets me the most: leaving this residence hall means the Boy Next Door will no longer be Next Door, technically. Even living a two minute walk apart will seem like long distance compared to this. I've been revisiting old memories more than ever lately and have started compiling a sort of Sports Center highlights of our complicated, fucked-up, mostly hypothetical relationship. In no particular order...

1. Late Night Chats- There have been so, so many of these. Thinking back, my favorites were at the beginning, before I fucked things up and complicated everything. Honestly, I have never been able to talk so easily with anyone. The hours passed extremely quickly and we stayed up far too late for people with 8 a.m. classes. Oh, the good old days.

2. Haircuts- The BND has this thing about haircuts: he refuses to pay for them. He has really dark, dense, curls that get a little out of control as soon as they start to grow longer. He asked me in early fall if I would cut his hair and even though I'd never cut any one's hair in my life, I said sure. We set up a chair on the balcony outside his room and I started cutting away. I was nervous... what if I screwed up? I joked and made contemplative faces as his hair fell away. He closed his eyes and I recognized that he was getting that drunken, tingly feeling that happens when someone touches your scalp. The second time was much like the first, except for the fact that by this time I was fully aware of my feelings for him. It was an unusually warm day and the sun was streaming onto the balcony. I was more aware of how close I was to him, how he was reacting to my touch.

3. Breakfast- It was a morning after some particularly wrenching conversation that lasted into very early hours. Both of us slept too late to make it to the dining hall. I told him I was going to make eggs for brunch and offered to share. He met me in the kitchen and sat in the corner, looking emotionally shell-shocked. I chattered on, pretending that I hadn't just heard him pour his heart out hours before. He went through the motions of breakfast. Afterwords, I set about cleaning up. He took his plate to the sink and washed it, meticulously as always. I stood beside him with a pan and plate in my hand and he silently put a hand out and started to wash them, too. I touched his arm in thanks. It was such a small moment, one that he probably doesn't even remember, but to me it encapsulates the feeling that comes with being so emotionally open with someone else. It hinted to me just how much can be said without words.

4. The Incident with Two Different Shoes- The aforementioned "fucking things up". It was just one of those days, you know? A day when everything you've been feeling has been confirmed and reinforced and the stars seem to be aligning just so. And every fiber in my body was humming, saying, "Just tell him". Unfortunately, the fibers of my being forgot to leave out, "But don't tell him over aim."
Me: Still awake?
Him: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, nothing.
Me: Ok, actually not nothing. I like you. A lot.

And on I rambled, terrified that I was smashing our little glass friendship to pieces.

Him: Shit. The night before a physics test? Seriously?

Yeah, it went down like that. The little screen was telling me that he was typing, but I couldn't handle sitting in front of the screen where I confessed those words. So I put on the first two shoes my feet could find-- which happened to be one mary jane and one sneaker-- and went to his room.

"Hey, I'm really sorry," I said breathlessly, "That was stupid... I shouldn't have done that.."

He jumped down from his lofted bed, and the rest, as they say, is history.

It's one of the braver things I've done and I stand by it, even though it did not quite have the outcome I intended. I think I probably should have taken the hint when he tried to talk me out of it that night.

"I like you, too," he said, "It's just that... I'm odd."

Odd doesn't even begin to cover it, chief. But I like you still.

So here's to a first year of college that's gone by way too fast. And here's to another year of memories with or without the Boy Who Will No Longer Be Next Door.