Stephen

Intently listening to my professor,
I quickly scribble meaningful sentences into my notebook.
I sense that there is someone else glancing at me, but I shrug.
Other students may find this class boring.

After a long day in Montréal, our group settles into an Italian restaurant.
While excitedly talking about our experiences and fervidly suggesting which alcoholic drinks to try
(Most of us are under 21),
my roommate spies me taking pictures and poses with the heavyset guy next to her.
I snap the photo.

Years pass, and my birthday is rounding the corner.
My invites go out to the entirety of my friends and acquaintances.
A few acceptances here and there,
but many more go unanswered.
One guy says he wishes he could go, and he’ll buy me a drink later to make up for it.
“Okay.”

Struggling with graduate school and job applications,
my frustration begins to rise.
Trying to break my habit of over-thinking my situation,
I set up a vague profile on a free dating website.
My inbox immediately fills with pickup lines in foreign languages,
and fine young gentlemen looking for a “good time”.
Frustrated more than ever, I return to my endless pile of applications.

A receive a message from the guy who offered to buy me a drink months ago (he never did!),
“I saw you on a dating site!”
Embarrassed, I desperately try to mask my dating profile as a satirical joke.
He, like any intelligent being, does not believe my poor attempt to conceal my dating situation.
Instead, he finds it- and me- amusing.
We talk well into the night,
and it continues for a few days before he asks me to dinner.
I accept.

On our third date,
He cooks BBQ chicken with rice.
We sit close to each other on the couch, but there is a nervous tension that separates us.
We talk and laugh, and I hope my flirting is noticeable.
When the windows turn black, and the street quiet,
I am ready to leave.
He walks me to my car, but I pause to talk for a few minutes more.
He shuffles anxiously, “Can I kiss you?”
I nod, and his lips touch mine for the first time.

My sickness would not leave.
I relay this information to him, expecting him to stay away.
His voice fails to hide his disappointment, “If you are feeling up to it, you can come over if you want.”
With a heavy heart, I tell him it would be best if I rested at home.
We continue to chat, and in a brief moment of clarity, I grab a few essentials.
I drive to his street, but pass his house.
As I distance myself from him, my headache threatens to worsen.
A few moments later, I’m on his couch and he is pulling a blanket over me.
He turns on Netflix, and says he’ll be back soon with a cup of water.
And I realize that I am in love.