We had a basketball game during the last weeks of winter break my freshman year of college. He happened to live about 20 minutes north from me, so reluctantly, he offered to give me a ride back to the school for the game. He was going to pick me up at a mall, we would spend the night in his apartment, and then he would return me back to the mall. A little less friendly than I would have shot for, but that was more than what I could have asked for. This was it! I was going to travel with the man of my dreams, alone in a car for almost three hours and then sleep over at his apartment, just the two of us. This was the chance I had been waiting for almost since the day that I had met him.
When his car pulled up to the mall, I was sitting huddled against the cold with my things next to me. The mall had been closed so I had no shelter from the weather and I had been sitting in the howling wind for nearly half an hour. When he arrived, I was so glad to see him for a few reasons. I was glad because I had such a crush on him; I was glad to get into that warm car; but most embarrassingly, I was glad because I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that he wouldn't show up. The fact that he did made me feel better. He opened the trunk, helped me load my things in and then (joy of joys!) opened the door for me, my first real glimpse of the gentleman that he was.
The trip to Athens was a disaster. I spent the whole time just trying to compel my still young, shy mind to say something...anything. I would look for opportunities such as passing a road sign or a restaurant and repeating a mantra of "Say something...now! Okay, now!" I never did get myself to say more than maybe five or six words total for that whole trip. He didn't say much either, but I had figured that was because the roads were icy so he was trying to concentrate on driving.
We got to Athens in one piece, even if no words had been exchanged between us. Things were off to a "wonderful" start. We went to his apartment, dropped my things off and then headed over to the game. We lost badly (against U of Kentucky), but there was going to be a party that night. I begged him to go with me, but he said that he didn't want to go, although he'd leave the door unlocked for me to get back in. I informed him that I wanted to stay in then. He began chatting online, blocking me out completely. Eventually, I worked up enough nerve to put my hands on the back of his chair (I didn't have quite enough courage to put them on his shoulders), leaned over, and asked him what was he doing. "Chatting," he replied. "If you want to watch TV..." Soon it was time to sleep. He gave me a sheet and I slept on the sofa. Unfortunately, it was freezing cold with a terrible draft and I laid in a tight, shivering ball. I again tried to coach myself into talking to him, appearing in his doorway and coyly ask him if I could sleep in his bed since it was so cold out in the living room. I just stood in his doorway and watched him sleep before I woke him up and asked for another blanket. The next day, when he took me home, I asked him to drop me off at my house. We sat in his car parked in front of my home and I wanted to kiss him goodbye and tell him that I'd seem him in a few weeks, but all I could muster up was a feeble thank you before getting out of the car and a disappointing weekend.
I tell that story because it would provide questions that we asked each other later as we got to know each other better. It took a long time for us to finally ask each other why we never said anything. It took me even longer to realize that we really were just like two kids, neither of us brave enough to do anything but wait for the other to make that very important first move. Springtime came around and a semi-formal was coming up. I couldn't think of anyone that I wanted to go with besides him, so being a foolish one, I wrote him an e-mail, scared of having to get an answer shortly after like I would if asked him over the phone or in person. I was expecting either a simple no or a stop-bothering-me-you-freak kind of reaction. I got neither. He just wrote me back and said, "Let me think about it." As vague as that sounded, it was like tinkling bells in a summer breeze. There was no negative response so I was delighted. Later, I asked him again in person, and he said, "We'll have to see what happens." His use of the first-person plural had me in euphoria for a week. Then he called me and told me that he made up his mind. I told him to tell me face-to-face, and he said, "Okay, come over in a couple of minutes." Then we hung up.
I waited for about five minutes in my room, running around squealing in delight and jumping up and down. I pinched myself to make sure it was real. It hurt. It was real. I walked over to his apartment, half skipping, half dancing, looking really silly, but I didn't care. My hands started shaking as I got down the hall. I counted doors, 106, 108, laundry room...110. This is it...Here we go... I knocked on the door and he called out to come in. He was unshaven and his hair was a little messy. He was beautiful. It was the first time I had ever seen him unshaven...nothing too rough, just a little stubble. It was also the first time I noticed his stunning, deep blue eyes.
"Sit down," he said, motioning to the spot next to him. I sat down without a word, not taking my backpack off my back.
"Your hair," I smiled at him as I tried to smooth it down. It was like touching spun silk. I sroked his rough cheek. "And you need to shave."
"I know," he answered, letting me touch him the whole time...something that he probably would have never let me do if others had been around. "Do you want to know my answer?"
I got up, grabbing the straps of my backpack tightly for support. I mumbled out a yes.
"I'm afraid I have to turn you down."
Oh no. I felt myself sinking within myself.
"Why?" I managed to spit out softly.
"I have a lot of work to do with my studies and I want to graduate in four years. I would if I didn't have so much to do. There's always next year and the year after that."
I wanted to tell him that I might not be in the country next year and that he wouldn't be there the year after that, but I couldn't get the right words out.
"I probably wouldn't have enough money anyway," I said, lying to him and myself, not realizing that those words would come back to haunt me when he did decide to go. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
Then without saying a word, he got up and put his arms around me. No words could even form in my head; it was like being in heaven. I didn't feel shy; I didn't feel scared; I didn't feel anything but extreme joy. Being able to smell his neck, to feel his arms around me: no words can describe that moment when time stopped and eternity began.
"I have to go to class," I finally said when we separated. "I have psychology."
"Are you sure you want to go?"
No, I wasn't sure. As a matter of fact, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay right there with him forever, but that stupid little part of me, the part that controls my mouth and keeps back the words I longed to say said, "Yes, I have to go."
So he opened the door for me and we stood there...he looking down at me...I looking up at him. The electricity in the air implied that I was not the only one who wanted to kiss, but neither one of us could work up enough courage to make the first move. Gazing into his beautiful eyes, I finally kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the door. Walking out on what could have been, walking out on what should have been, but walking out on the moment of my life that I regret the most, leaving him there without him knowing hust how amazing he was. Sure, there were other times we spent in that living room talking, but none were as magical as that one fateful day when I found heaven in his arms.