Class 3 – The first time I made love.
The new school year is upon us. I am a senior, finally. Summer has come and gone. All the parties and good times of childhood seem like a shadow in the mist. This is it, it’s grown-up time. I have the whole world ahead of me, what will I do next. I have spent the last six years growing and planning with him, but it now has to end. Like the red leaves on the tree outside the sorority house, it’s time for a change. Autumn is here.
The drive to school is a short one. The highway follows the slow trickle of the Mississauga River. The crisp air can be felt as we shiver inside the car.
We meet at a local pub just off Main Street, shaking off the first week of class. With too much alcohol in our systems, my sorority sisters and I command the dance floor. There he is. A tall chiseled figured above the crowd. Our eyes meet, as I flitter about. Too much Boone’s Farm I think to myself. I can’t believe that grocery clerk didn’t ask me for I.D., I must have thrown him with my combination of grocery items, who buys nectarines and alcohol?
The music slows. Couples are pairing off, slowly swaying to the rhythmic beat of Peter Cetera’s the Glory of Love. I look around and realize I have been deserted by my sisters. The stranger from before approaches and asks me to dance. Of course I say. I don’t want to sit down yet. We kid and flirt. He asks my name. I tell him Sally. Why I answer Sally, I’m not sure but I do. He tells me his, but I don’t remember it. We talk, we sway. He tells me he has seen me hanging out in the lobby of Crawford Hall. That’s when it hits me. Now I remember the face. Our eyes had met before and since that day I had sat waiting in the lobby hoping for a chance encounter again. But here he was in front of me. The nameless stranger. The song ended and his friends pulled him away. Dammit!
Oh, well, it’s only Thursday I thought to myself. Still so much more to do.
The following day, although my classes are over for the day. I head to Crawford Hall with books in tow, hoping to meet the beautiful stranger again. What was his name? What if he asks? Dammit! I sit, and wait. Nothing. Why am I haunted by this stranger’s face? Why is it so important? Although the fog of alcohol had taken me that night, I still see his face. The darkness of his eyelashes made his hazel eyes call to. The goofy, boy-ish grin drew me in like a moth to a flame. His face, so kind, yet devilish at the same time haunts me. If only we’d had more of a moment. A few slow dances in the crowded bar are all I have to remember him by. I loved how he held me gently in his arms. His 6 foot 2 presence looming over me, as I cuddled in his arms. The sweet smell of sweat and liquor filled the air. I breathed in his cologne. I bury my head in his chest, feeling his heart beat with nervousness.
After too much sitting and too much daydreaming, I call the search off, after all it is Friday, and we’re sorority girls, they’re a party somewhere.
Weeks pass and I forget about my search.