The first thing I did after getting settled in my college dorm was order a pizza. I know that sounds anticlimactic, but I had never tasted a real pizza before. They sometimes served pizza at school, but it was all rubbery and it wasn't even sliced properly. It was rubbery, square, fake pizza. I wanted to try to real thing. I was sorely disappointed.
The pizza I ordered was, admittedly, a step above the school cafeteria fare, but it immediately made me realize why my parents never bothered to make the hour long drive to a town that had real pizza. The cheese was greasy and way too stringy, the dough was hard, and the toppings were over cooked and didn't taste fresh at all. I guess living on a farm had spoiled me, but it was pretty unacceptable. With a look of disgust on my face, I tossed the box aside after just a few bites. (I had figured the second bite couldn't be as bad as the first, but I discovered I was wrong.) I then proceeded to pull up the campus map, find a sandwich shop nearby, and go pick up a sub. I figured even if those ingredients weren't fresh, they wouldn't be so greasy.
When I got back with my sandwich (which I tasted before leaving the shop and confirmed it to be to my liking), I found my roommate, whom I had not yet met, sitting on the floor of our room chomping away at the disgusting pizza from the box I had tossed aside. "Dude!" he exclaimed, looking up at me with over-zealous joy as I walked in the door. "Somebody left us a free pizza!"
I looked at him, sitting there cross-legged on the floor, wearing sandals even though it was only 50 degrees outside, his shoulder length unkempt hair knotted around the outline of his face, a face with such an expression of excitement, that I couldn't help but let out a little half snort, half chuckle and shake my head. His expression remained unchanged. "Well do you want some?" he asked.
I had never before felt this superior to another human being. My father, the man who had the biggest influence on my life, had always made me feel like I didn't quite measure up, but now, seeing this supposed peer of mine sitting on the cold hard floor rejoicing over the disgusting fare I had rejected, all I could think about was how much more disappointed my father would have been to have this guy as his son.
"No," I said, walking past him to the computer desk, "Thanks anyway but I just got my dinner."
As I was sitting down at my desk I heard him say behind me. "Well, I'll put some in my fridge for you tomorrow then, dude. I won't eat this all anyway."
I immediately felt terrible. I don't know if it was his words or just those few additional seconds, but I found myself thinking, "What was I thinking?" I had left home in part to get away from this kind of perceived superiority attitude, and now I was displaying it myself, and over what, a guy eating pizza on the floor? How did that make him any worse than me, just because he liked a food I didn't. Was I really that pathetic? Had I left home just looking to feel better about myself compared to others, or had I come here to actually see more of the world and to learn something good. I looked back to my roommate. "What's your name?" I asked him.
His mouth was full of pizza at the moment, but he chewed it quickly, swallowed, and answered, "I'm Zach."
I slid out of my chair and sat on the floor next to him, leaning my back against the computer desk. "I'm Brady," I said holding out my hand. Zach wiped his hand on his jeans and then shook mine.
"Nice to meet you, dude," he said.
I smiled and took out my sandwich. "Likewise," I said.
His face grew a bit of a puzzled look and he said, "So you don't like pizza?"
I shook my head and chuckled. "No apparently not," I answered.
He looked down at the pizza, then up at me, then down at the pizza, and back up at me. "Oh dude, you totally ordered this pizza, didn't you?" he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry."
I waved my hand in dismissal of his concern. "It's no big deal," I said. "I didn't like it anyway. That's why I got this." I held up my sandwich with the bite already taken out of it.
"Well at least let me pay you back," he interjected.
"No that's really not necessary."
"No, I insist." He had taken a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and was waving it at me.
"You can just pay next time," I said.
"Well if you don't like pizza..."
"I'm sure we can work something out," I assured him. "But I really am kinda hungry."
"Oh yeah, totally, dude," he said, taking his money and stuffing it back in his pocket. I didn't see a wallet. I was pretty sure he just was carrying his money and id and stuff directly in his pockets. "Me, too."
We ate in silence for a few minutes and then he started making small talk about where we were from and what we were planning to study. Turned out Zach was a pretty smart guy. He was planning to study either biology or chemistry, he hadn't quite decided which he liked more. I admitted I had very little idea what I wanted to study. I just wanted to discover what else was out there, maybe study abroad for a year if I could. Zach seemed to think that was pretty cool. "I went to Europe with my family in high school," he told me. "Amsterdam is pretty crazy." He paused and then added, "So I hear. We didn't actually go there, not on a family vacation. But you and I should totally go sometime, dude. It would be awesome."
I liked Zach. He was a good guy, friendly and non-judgmental. I felt like there was a lot I could learn just from him. And over that first year, I did my best to learn all I could.
------
I liked sports when I was young. Softball, basketball, volleyball. My dad was always there, cheering me on, camera in hand to make sure he captured the moments forever. I wasn't the best at these sports, but I had fun, and I learned how to work on a team. My father said he was proud of me. He was proud of me so much that it almost became meaningless at times, but I knew he wasn't just saying it.
When I moved on to high school, I dropped basketball and volleyball and picked up track. I was actually pretty fast. I discovered I loved to run. My father said I used to run squealing all around the house when I was little, so he wasn't too surprised. I, of course, didn't remember any of this. I just wanted to run, sprinting down the track, tennis shoes beating against the track, heart pounding, hair flying, trying to catch the girl ahead of me or gain distance on the girl behind me. I ran with all my might. Sometimes I imagined death itself was chasing me down, trying to claim me again, but I wouldn't let him. I was a survivor, I was a winner, even when I didn't come in first place.
But I did come in first place often enough, and eventually I made it to the state track meet my senior year. My dad was just gushing with joy. I think he had expected to once again be the supportive father telling me he loved me even though I hadn't made it, but this time I had made it! I didn't feel a lot of pressure. I didn't have to worry about letting my dad or anyone else down. I just wanted to run, feel the wind in my face as I rushed by, and cross that finish line with my heart racing as hard as I had. I never expected to win state. It was a complete and total shock to me when I did. I hadn't even made it the year before, and now I had won.
I actually felt a little guilty about the win, though it was no fault of my own. The girl who should have won had the flu the day of the meet and had to drop out. The girl who should have gotten second stumbled out of the starting blocks and wasn't able to recover. That left me, the girl who should have gotten third, to be ranked best in the state. I think there were some who thought I didn't deserve it, and they were right, so when they interviewed me about the surprising victory I came right out and told them that the other two deserved it more than I did. I wasn't just trying to smooth things over. I was trying to tell the truth. And even though that was the truth, I apparently was still good enough in the eyes of some to get a modest scholarship to run track at a decent in-state school. My father was thrilled, and I actually was, too. I could stay close to home for school, while still getting some independence, and most of all, I could keep running.
-----
Alyse grew more beautiful every day I saw her. Meeting in the park to discuss her writing and my photography became a regular thing. Yes, I know you already know how the story ends, well at least this part of it, but I've realized I want to tell it anyway. Since I'm not the one who's a writer, the words won't all be right, but I want to try to convey to you just how amazing this woman was.
Alyse was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life. She grew more beautiful each day I saw her. I know I already said that, but I'm one for overemphasizing. She was confident in herself as a person, which blew me away, but she was critical of herself as a writer. She was always asking me, "Does this really convey the sense of awe I'm going for?" or "Do you feel afraid enough for this character right now?" It was all about emotion for her, tugging at the heart strings, and she was certainly tugging at mine.
Things continued on like this for some time - meeting in the park to discuss our work. Every Monday through Thursday Alyse would say "See you tomorrow" and every Friday she would say "See you Monday." It took me weeks of wondering what she really thought of me - was she playing hard to get, did she already have a boyfriend - before one Friday when she said, "See you Monday," I finally said, "How about see you tomorrow evening instead."
She smiled the smile that would throw mountains into the sea. "It's about time!" she said with a laugh.
It was your typical short notice date: dinner and a movie. There was an arsty film playing that we both wanted to see and then I took her out to my favorite Italian restaurant. She wore a stunning yet simple strapless red dress. It took my breath away. At dinner after the show she had so many insights into what this had meant and how that made her feel. I just sat there smiling, listening to her melodic voice ring on, until she'd ask me a question. At first I thought she was just being sweet and trying to include me, because clearly she knew more of the background of the film we had seen than I did, but I realized she really cared about my opinion, just as much as I cared about hers. It was refreshing to be on a date where we could talk about things, things that ultimately weren't too deep, but deep enough for a first date, with comfort and care. I reflected that the same had already been happening in the parks for weeks now, we were just now calling it a "date". And I thought to myself, why would I ever want to live my life any other way than what I was doing right here, right now with this woman.
I dropped her off at her apartment and she asked me if I wanted to come up for coffee. How I wanted to say yes, but my old fashioned up-bringing and past restrictions on my dating rules held me back. I declined. "You don't have to be shy," she said.
I smiled. Took her hand and kissed it. "I'm trying to be a gentleman," I responded.
She giggled a playful little giggle, clearly for show, and then leaned forward and kissed me. It seemed totally natural, and yet it caught me off guard. My heart seemed to skip a beat with our lips touched. It was a simple kiss, but totally perfect for a first kiss. She leaned back with a sparkle in her eye and slipped her hand out of mine. "See you Monday," she said.
------
I was an average student in high school. I could have gone to college if I wanted to. I didn't want to. People kept telling me I would make more money if I went to school. I would have to work extra hard all my life just to make ends meet if all I had was a high school diploma. But those "people" were just my teachers and guidance counselor at school. I politely listened because I had to and then politely declined to take their advice. I'm not sure my mother cared one way or the other what I did. I think she had gotten bored with caring so much about me. She had taken up drinking by this point.
Now my mom wasn't abusive or anything. I don't want anyone thinking that. She still did her duties as a mother, too. She worked hard to provide clothing, food, and shelter for me. She sat with me to watch TV after dinner. She set a curfew and actually punished me if I broke it. But she was really just going through the motions. She was being a mother because she had to, just like I was listening to my teachers talk only because I had to. Really, I think she was bored or lonely and the alcohol was her attempt to fill that void. I wonder if she finally stopped being angry at my father after all those years and started missing him. I didn't really think she would run off to some pig farm and try to find him, but part of my frail teenage brain feared she would. Despite her averageness as mother, I'm sure she could do better than him for a husband, based on what I had heard her say and then take back about him over the years. Once or twice, I even suggested she go out on a date, but she just scoffed, took a sip of her whisky and said, "Who would have me? You're the one who should be going out on dates."
I didn't want to go out on dates either, though. I was focused on what really mattered to me: winning as many beauty pageants as I possibly could. I didn't need school for that. I no longer needed my mother egging me on. She had grown bored of the pageants anyway. She still smiled and patted me on the back when I came home with a trophy, and then promptly displayed the trophy on the shelf with the others I had won, but her heart wasn't in it anymore, just like her heart wasn't in much of anything. Part of me, I think, hoped that maybe if I won enough she would suddenly realize that her dream of me being a renowned beauty had come true, and snap out of whatever funk she was in, go back to the days of saying how much better I was than Ruby. But another part of me, just wanted to keep winning and didn't care about much of anything else.
Now, I wasn't a fool. I knew I still wasn't beautiful enough to compete in the true beauty contests, so instead I found competitions that were less about beauty and more about stage presence. I had a great stage presence. I think it came from realizing just how ridiculous it was to stress out too much about real life worries and concerns. Just live your life, be bold, and see what comes your way. Walk out on stage like it's nobody's business but your own. Show the world you don't care what they think (even though you really do). I was a pro at that. So who needs more than a high school diploma? If you can manipulate judges to vote for you even if you clearly aren't the prettiest girl on stage, can't you do just about anything you need to?
That was what I figured at least. I tole my mom I didn't want to go to college. She smiled her sad little smile that said she was longing for something more in life but didn't know what and said, "That's okay sweetie. You just do whatever you want to do. I love you."
She said, "I love you" a lot to mean, "I'm sorry I'm not a better mother."
So I didn't go to college. I got a job in retail and worked my way up to store manager in a little under a year. I suppose I could have gotten promoted even faster, but I didn't need to. I preferred to focus on continuing to research pageants. I was a little surprised when I moved away from home and my mom asked if I was really going to take all my trophies with me. I wondered if maybe she had continued to care about the pageants more than I thought she had. So I left her that first second place trophy that I won and took the rest. I did love my mother, in my way, but what was the point of having all those trophies if I was just going to leave them for her to stare at all day and not take them for myself? She may have started me down this road, and I was grateful for that, but I had earned my way, and I was proud and wouldn't sacrifice my winnings for anyone, not even my mother.
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