My pepper-red Nokia 8260 was on its last beep. I had stuck it in my back pocket and it fell out into a public toilet one afternoon as I was rushing to class. Heartbroken, I went to the nearby Fox Hills Mall to see if I could get it replaced. The guy behind the counter was helpful (and flirting) and promised me a new phone by that weekend under one condition.
“Yea we can totally get you a new phone as soon as Saturday night,” he said. “Are you available then?”
“Great! What time is the mall closing?”
“Why don’t I bring it to you at dinner?”
I was stunned. “James” his nametag read, was tall and lanky and didn’t really fill out his clothes. But he had an adorable smile and piercing blue-green eyes. I was in the midst of midterms and really had no time for this, but he was holding my new phone hostage and there was no one else at the counter. I reluctantly said yes and gave him the number to my dorm.
I drove back to campus like a madwoman. I had a coffee date with the most brilliant man I knew. I met Patrick in my writing class earlier that semester and had been in love ever since. He and I would talk for hours on end about our favorite books, authors, and music. He would blow my mind with his fascinating interpretations of Rilke, but balk at my defense of Steinbeck. He let me stand on my soapbox for Kahlil Gibran but would not be moved by my fixation with T.S. Eliot. The one thing we did agree on was The Beatles.
On the ride over to Starbucks he had Abbey Road playing in his car.
“Hey, what’s your favorite album?” he asked.
“The one you have on right now.”
“No way! I always thought this was their best work. My favorite song is this one.” He leaned towards me to change the track and the faint hint of Old Spice teased my nose. He forwarded to I Want You.
“Oh my god. This is the best one!” I exclaimed.
“I know right? People think it’s so simple, the bass line rocks back and forth, and the lyrics just repeat over and over, but it’s so much more complex than that. I can write a thesis just on this one song.”
Hey Patrick, I want you. I want YOU. There’s my thesis.
We arrived at the coffee shop hauling all our books. Not surprisingly neither of us opened a single one. I asked him how his pledgeship was going for Beta Chi Pi. I noticed that his knuckles were raw with little pieces of skin hanging off.
“You know I can’t talk about that,” he said, covering his hands. “Besides, you already know that rule! How’s pledging for the Alphas?”
“Ha, touché. I’m just tired all the time. Balancing school, activities, pledging, and then having my own social life is just killing me.”
“I know me too. It’s only for a couple more weeks. And then when we finish, we can party together at the formal when we cross over!”
Yes, that was my dream: to party with Patrick when we both got our letters. I hate to admit it, but he was the reason I was even pledging. I was never even remotely interested in Greek life, but I saw Patrick at the info night while I accompanied a friend and I knew this was the only way I could hang out with him and get him to fall madly in love with me. I would go to class everyday, then try to do as much homework as possible before being dragged off by the actives for some trust exercise that would keep me up till at least 2am. Sometimes I would come home wet, sometimes sore, but always fitfully exhausted. Then I was off to class again at 8am. I saw Patrick often at these events alright, but my body paid a heavy price for it.
“So… I bet you got a hot date lined up for Valentine’s Day,” he half-laughed.
“I wish. I’m helping the Alphas deliver roses for our fundraiser. It’s just so depressing to be surrounded by all those flowers on that day.”
“You never know, one of them might have your name on it,” he said, smiling with his warm hazel brown eyes.
We sipped coffee for the next 2 hours and I forgot about the untimely aqua moria of my phone; that is until Saturday night.
---
James, the cell phone hustler, came by my dorm promptly at 8pm. He cleaned up nice; he had on a blue button down and slacks. I had jeans and a tee and was completely underdressed. At dinner, I couldn’t help but be bored with him. Perhaps the most exciting piece of conversation was his confession of being a father. He went on and on about the pressures of fatherhood, grappling with this baby’s mama, and how and why I caught his eye. I would nod and smile and say two to three sentences where appropriate. There was no creativity in his game, no luster in his conversation. At the heart of it, this was a guy who ghetto-hollered at me and was only getting the time of day because of a cell phone.
He drove me back up the hill towards campus, exhibiting and explaining the powerful V8 hemi of his truck. I feigned wide-eyed interest as I slipped my new phone into my purse. Once on the grounds, he slowed down to abide by the traffic rules on the two-lane road. A grey civic behind us was tailing rather closely and didn’t appreciate James’ vigilance.
“This guy’s an asshole! He’s way too close to my car,” James said.
“Just leave it alone, we’re almost to my building,” I pleaded. I did not want to cause a scene at this hour.
“No. I’m going to teach these guys a lesson.”
We approached Sacred Heart Chapel, and James hit the brakes as he was rolling onto a speedbump. He shifted the car in neutral and revved his prized hemi. He put it in reverse and ever so slightly threatened to roll right onto the hood of that tiny civic. In terror, the civic beeped its horn frantically and began to back up slowly. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the driver put his hands up in surrender.
“Ha! That’ll teach him,” James said, satisfied. He looked at me with a sense of accomplishment and searched for my damsel in distress response.
I wanted to jump out of the car and make a mad dash to my dorm. This guy was severely unhinged and was going to take me down with him. James wanted to come in to my room and give me a proper goodnight but I fabricated a lie about an early morning study group. I did not want to have anything to do with him or his mania.
The following Monday I ran into Patrick on my way to class.
"Hey! How was the rest of your weekend?" I asked.
"It was alright," he yawned, "except there was this asshole on the road late the other night."
My heart stopped.
"Me and the guys, we were coming back from a pledge thing and this guy tried to run us over!"
I looked down and put my hand over my mouth. "Patrick. Light blue truck, extended cab, in front of the chapel?"
"How do you know- wait, THAT WAS YOU?!"
I cringed in shame.
"What the hell are you doing going out with a guy like that?"
Because you haven't asked me out. I tried to utter an apology but he cut me off.
"Look I have to go. I guess I'll see you later," he said disappointed. "The Betas have to help you guys with the fundraiser."
The remainder of the day I was trying to come up with an apology for Patrick. When I got to our table my pledge sisters were all smiling and staring at me.
"What?" I said.
"Look! You got a dozen roses!" one of them said.
"Who'd give me flowers??" I ripped open the envelope.
Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will. - John, Paul, George, Ringo.
Flowers in hand, I looked up and searched for Patrick in the lunchtime crowd. He was sitting with the Betas and we locked eyes as I ran breathlessly towards him. The guys moved aside while I hugged fiercely.
"Thank you so much for the flowers! They're so beautiful! I didn't think I would get anything today."
Patrick pulled back and looked blankly at me.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmured.
"What? You didn't get me these?"
He looked at the flowers solemnly, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slowly.
"No. Why would I get you flowers when you already have a boyfriend?"
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