Homecoming for me conjures up fragments of memories of college, specifically one time that I came home from Berkeley. Be sure to check out different perspectives on the same issue from JK and $.
It was the most depressive phase of my life. My genius girlfriend had just broken up with me and I wasn’t making many new friends. Even worse, I was trying to rebound and failing miserably. There was a girl in one of my classes who was a solid 3, ugly enough that I would never be interested in her ordinarily. One day I came to class, put on my most charming smile, and tried to spark up a conversation. She looked at me like I asked her if I could defecate on the floor. What IS that with girls being able to smell the desperation?!
Anyways, my only solace toward the end of that semester was chatting online with this one girl from back home that I thought was really cute. I met her when my brother was having an ugly breakup with a Japanese girl, causing something of an uproar amongst that girl’s friends. I had to intervene and iron out a peace on behalf of my brother, and I ended up talking to this girl quite a bit. She was really quiet at first but opened up to my goofy jokes and funny tales of adventure. I liked that she had a cutesy and quirky sense of humor, and she played basketball in high school, which is hot.
She got depressed that nobody would ask her to a formal since she was a senior and I thought that was a travesty. Being the gentleman that I am, I asked her to the formal and declared that I thought she was such a good person and so beautiful that I would actually be willing to drive from Berkeley back to Palos Verdes to see her dress up and dance crazy for me. So my roomie and I rented an old Fiesta, where I also learned to drive stick, and drove down to LA.
And you know what? I walked into that formal like I was a king. I may have been depressed at Berkeley, but driving through the familiar streets of LA gave me a huge surge of confidence. This was territory that I had already conquered. I felt like I was walking in with my leather jacket and aviator sunglasses, throwing my jacket over my shoulder, and soaking in the admiration of these children.
But this story doesn’t end well. I didn’t really feel it with Lisa because I kept thinking she was holding back. I wasn’t sure what to do to get her going – up to that time, all of the girls I dated were all fairly open in their enthusiasm for me. Awkwardly, at the end of the night, we both sort of twiddled our fingers for a while before she disappointedly said, “I had a good time, I hope you have a safe drive back to Berkeley” and left. I ended up sleeping in the car thinking about what the freak went wrong. Waking up in the car in my tux is among the worst mornings of my life.
The aftermath is that she was waiting for me to make a move. She wanted to be taken, for me to sweep her up and go for it all. And it was a lesson learned the hard way, because my hesitation meant that the door slammed shut once and for all.
Good times, good times.