Graduation came and went.
I'd considered the implications of leaving for a while. For one, I'd never be in my house again, where I lived senior year.
I always grew attached to my dorm rooms, but I especially loved living in this particular yellow house down the road. It was old, but charming on the inside, and I loved the cozy little room that I'd done up with magazine covers. Two small windows gave me a lovely view of...well, the roof mainly, but still lit it up pretty well. And the closet was massive. I could have made a fort. (Hey, where was that idea until just now?) I watched The Big Bang Theory and Wheel of Fortune there. I studied for tests there and cried over crushes there. I spent tons of time browsing SBM there. And it had a wonderful wraparound porch. I could sit there, overlooking the street and the health sciences building, watching the world go by.
Now, those double doors that were once so friendly would be cold and imposing rather than welcoming if I were to appear there ever again...which I wouldn't, because why would I be on the porch again? The reality really hit the night before I left to go home after my last final. The walls were bare of the Seventeen magazine covers I'd wallpapered them with, which only seemed like a month ago. It was actually already nine months since move-in day, when I was acting pissy with my family who constantly fussed over where to put things and where we could go to buy a table, BECAUSE I JUST WANTED TO BE DONE AND GET OUT AND FIND TIM, GOLLY DERNIT. The room now had no personality. It was no longer mine even though I was about to sleep there.
I wanted to get the leaving part over with!
Obviously, I had to keep my schedule if I didn't want to go crazy. I watched my nightly episode of The Office before bed, as usual. It ended up being the Michael Scott farewell episode. When the cast gathered to sing their version of "525,600 Minutes," I felt like we were all saying goodbye. I'd still watch The Office, but it wouldn't be the same as watching it in a dorm before classes the next day as part of the "college routine." Sigh. It just wasn't going to be a happy evening, because I also had to spend the last night of college taping up my wall. It had literally decided to start peeling off on my very last night until the plaster almost hit the floor despite showing no signs of damage all year...bye bye, security deposit! Fortunately, that night I learned that duct tape can fix everything.
Adult life wouldn't be nearly as much fun either. No more stepping outside into life happening...cute basketball players on the outdoor courts, nearly getting pelted with footballs and Frisbees, locals walking their dogs around campus, sitting on the lawn on my beach towel doing word searches, the list goes on. There would also be no more buttered potatoes in the dining hall, field hockey games to attend, or crushes to see around campus at random moments coming out of their classes.
I dreaded that part of life. I'd missed Ben for five years and life without an in-person crush just wasn't as much fun. Now, I was facing the same story with Tim. Would I ever see him again? Was I just about to enter another five years of lost-love-induced torture? My stomach twisted.
That thought crossed my mind a lot, but I didn't feel like thinking about it. Emotional exhaustion, perhaps. Thankfully, because he'd accepted my friend request, we'd at least stay in touch, and I'd eventually get up the courage to message him. I strangely was not worried.
Then I went home for a week. As I slowly closed the door on my room, I took a mental snapshot of the beloved place I'd never see again. I'm not going to lie: that was one of the hardest parts of leaving.
Two weeks later, I got emotional at soon as the Irish drummers and bagpipers started to play and we started marching into the gym. I barely kept it together as we marched toward our seats in front of the stage and started tearing up. Oh, no. What if I cried...no, what if the tears in my eyes actually started falling? I was in the front row for Pete's sake. I came very close to crying that day, and it was the most terrible five minutes of terror. That in addition to hoping my cap wouldn't fall off--it was suspiciously loose. I did nearly in my heels---yes, I was almost that person. My feet were so small that I easily wore the shoes that I wore for my middle school graduation, still in great shape. It was almost a mistake!
The ceremony proceeded without incident, or tears. The speaker was boring and the speech itself wasn't especially interesting (something about African animals or something?), so I zoned out. I didn't really care that the speech was dragging on. I paid more attention to all of us sitting there together, the audience on all sides of us, the faculty watching us. I clapped and cheered extra loud when Tim walked onstage to accept his diploma. Before campus I hugged him and wished him a good summer. That scenario was the stuff of my dreams in middle school. Something I could never pull off. Maybe I was on my way.
It was time to become an adult for real.
***
So what was I going to do with my life, anyway? Besides think of ways to come visit Tim, who lived in a bustling suburb nearby the college. Like many of our nursing students, he would soon begin working in one of our nearby hospitals. I'd already considered filling out a volunteer application...you know, in case I ever moved up there for some reason. Still, happy fun time---aka the past 22 years excluding most of high school really--- was over.
Working adults usually fall into two camps: those that get their life's joy from their work, and those that use their job to put food on the table while getting joy out of friendships, hobbies, and holidays outside of work. I was going to start out in the second camp.
There is plenty to do with an English degree, despite arrogant doctors and engineers who will say otherwise. The problem was that my college had fewer practical courses than I had hoped. Classes in copywriting and technical writing had never appeared in the catalog, and sometimes my schedule felt literature-heavy. Still, there was stuff for me.
The first job application I filled out was a long one. It was for an admin assistant position at a college right across the street. It was perfect for me because I'd had a similar internship for several summers, but temporary, and I decided to go for it. Half an hour of password creation, answering questions about my high school career (???) and finding *four* references later, I was done.
Man, this application thing was going to be more time consuming than I thought.
Fortunately, the world was changing. Online job boards made it easy for me to submit a ready-made resume. I could apply for many jobs in a day, and I eventually got a spreadsheet list going. Unfortunately, despite the amount of jobs that always popped up, applying for jobs was much easier than getting them.
Three months later, I had Interview #1.
I would be looking at an activity assistant position for a retirement community that I volunteered with a few years back. My job would be to help promote and carry out activities for the elderly residents. I'd already participated in many of these activities, from card games to horse-derby games (roll the dice, and a senior's horse would move depending on what number was rolled until one reached the finish line) to rock performers. It wasn't usually a very lively time. But maybe if I worked there, I could help to improve it. I could also do something with my life besides, you know, merely exist.
My first interview was with the HR department, and the lady I spoke with seemed lovely and was all too eager to tell me about their facility. I was given maps, information about benefits, and calendars of events. It seemed like fun...summer camp for seniors, really. Of course she had contacted me because I'd volunteered with them before, unlike probably most other applicants. I thought it was going quite well.
But no, I still had a second interview. This one was with the person I'd actually worked under the direction of during my volunteering time. She was very professional and barely acted as if she knew me. But before we stepped into the room, I saw a familiar face.
Ann was an older woman who I'd seen working around the facility, who was evidently still working there. I wasn't clear on what she did, but I remembered her anyway.
"Hey, Morgan! How are you doing? Are you coming to work for us?"
"Yeah!" Strike one. I'd implied to everyone my overconfidence about getting the job. I fumbled to recover before my interviewer could correct me, which she was about to do. "Well, maybe. I'm here for the interview."
"Wonderful! Good luck!" Really, this job would be perfect for me, and everybody knew me anyway. I tried to forget about it as we walked into the room...chapel, actually...and my interviewer proceeded to hammer me with tough questions. I had been told to expect about two or three of these per interview, not FIFTEEN. I ended up quite often staring at the ground fabricating or trying to remember stories off the top of my head. I spoke about a spaghetti dinner my dorm had last year (that part was true) and how I'd stayed around to help clean and organize it, even though it wasn't my job (that part was not true). I tried to recall a moment from high school when a friend of mine was ranting about the terror of 9-11 and freaking out about what might have happened to her that day, and how I realized that I should try to listen and emphasize with her instead of calling her out, or something.
Even if they had been convincing stories, strike two for poor body language.
My at-bat at the job plate continued with the interviewer pulling out my resume and looking it over. "It says here that you've helped set up activities for residents? You'll want to be careful, though. I don't think you 'organized and carried out parties.'"
Unfair Strike Three! A strike that should have been a ball! I called foul on the ump and corrected her as much as I could.
Just so we're clear, I did set up parties. On my first day, I worked with another volunteer, and my current interviewer, on setting up a party and decorating one of the lounges. I'd also assisted in "parties" in the rec room, like a 50s celebration and trivia game to match. Clearly it was a curse to have the memory of an elephant.
Thus, I didn't have a good feeling about that one.
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait too long for Interview #2. This one was for a sports club ten minutes from home. It was easy to get to, and I always enjoyed a sports game at school. So this could be a lot of fun. I even found myself thinking back to my favorite nightly Netflix show.
What if I could be like Pam from The Office? I could work the front desk and fall in love with a super cute sales guy along the way. And we could become good friends or something even more?
HAHAHA like that ever happens.
I dressed in my navy blue dress and brought my classy blue Coach purse along with me. I could see immediately that this would not be a toughie. I was asked some questions about how I included fitness in my daily life, as well as one about what I knew about the club, which I was able to answer after doing the basic research. I was told to check my email and finish the personal information section when I got home. Things looked promising. And I got the jobâmy very second interview attempt.
Training would begin the following Monday afternoon. Just like that, I was about to start a job. I almost wanted to push back the start date, but realized that would be ridiculous.
Monday afternoon came and I found myself beginning. Hopefully the next two hours wouldn't seem too long, because my shifts would be six. How on earth did people get through a regular 9-5 workday?
I braced myself for the day, walking through the doors, and...
Aw, crap.
Apparently the guy I was working with, Joe, was really, really cute.
I did a double-take and tried again. Sometimes when I first looked at a guy, he wasn't as cute the second time around and it would be an original oversight on my part. It happened with a guy in my junior year history of rock and roll class. I spent an entire class trying not to erupt into giggle fits only to look at him again the following week and realize I was wasting time.
But no. Still cute.
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, except I'd have to talk with them for two hours without getting too flustered and still manage to learn some things about my new job.
Yippee-kai-yay, I guess.
It didn't get any better when he started talking to me. Describing a person's voice was hard, so I'll just say it was a strange combination of completely wobbly and adorable. Unfortunately (and this probably goes for many), when a cute guy is teaching you things and you are made to learn them so you can actually perform your job, focus becomes Mission Impossible.
So I would be doing what I was essentially trained to do: answer phones, check in clients, provide towels, and figure out the rest along the way.
I usually worked weekends, along with the occasional morning that started with me getting up at 4:45. That was hard. My brain knew that it didn't have much time to rest, and so decided just to get energized about the next day starting at 11 PM. I would show up to work on barely any sleep. When I did sleep, it would often be time to wake up in the morning in the midst of a vivid dream, meaning that I probably was in need of more sleep. (I still remember a vivid snapshot of an interrupted 4:45 AM dream where Captain Underpants was running down a shopping center in my hometown.) I took away those hours a month into starting them.
That might have been for the better, because I wasn't their best desk associate. Not to throw anybody under the bus, but more than anything it was probably due to lack of training. I was under a lot of stress when I first started, mainly because most of the training consisted of them throwing the software manual at me and saying, "hey, read this!" and the fact that I trained with a cute guy which made it impossible to focus...which was still basically software-based training, which taught you little to nothing about how the actual business worked. I learned very little about the club. I ended up working at the second desk, down by the courts, pool, and party rooms, while another staff member would work the desk by the fitness studios and tennis courts. As a result, I knew nothing about checking in families for birthday parties, signing kids up for summer camp, or a bunch of other stuff I was supposed to be doing. Half of this stuff I didn't even realize I was supposed to do until it came up.
It wasn't all bad though. On Sunday mornings I usually worked with a girl who knew the company well but was a bit fussy about it and often came off as irritated even when I don't think she meant to be. Eva was the Rabbit to my Winnie the Pooh, but at least she was good at showing me the ropes and reminding me of stuff I should know.
Days were spent willing the hours away, standing at my desk, checking people in. It was tiring at first; I would mentally prepare myself to give the typical, "Hey, how are you doing today?" every time someone walked in the door. I answered phone calls the best I could. And that was my very exciting weekend. I had no social life, so who cared?
It could also get quite boring. The first weekend was tough, as was the standing. See, sports clubs don't exactly condone a sedentary lifestyle, so we had to stand for the entire shift, no breaks. My feet and legs hurt like the absolute dickens. Sometimes after work, they'd still be cramping up until late into the evening. I found ways to pass time--- the first day, I clicked through a training manual (which they never gave me beforehand and was probably a reason for some of the struggles I had)- but the rest was up to me.
Every day it was the same. I'd get there in the dark, open up, use the restroom, and say a little cheer to myself in my head, so nobody could hear me. My college's field hockey team had a special cheer they said before every game and I borrowed it from them.
First, the coach would say, "Good to be!"
The team would repeat. "Good to be!"
Coach again: "Good to be a!"
"Good to be a!" the team would repeat.
"Good to be a cou-gar!"
"Cou-gar!"
"Cou-gar!"
"Cou-gar!"
And that was what I chanted in my head. I don't know why that particular cheer spoke to me, but it got me going in this boring, semi-stressful job. Maybe it appealed to me because the animal allegory reminded me of chasing after a guy. And for good reason.
***
One day in November, life turned around, at least for a day. As I pulled up to start my early morning shift, it wasn't Eva that was there, but Joe. I saw him hold open the door for me and had to stop my jaw from dropping. He was adorable. I never understood how it always looked like
As I booted up the computer to clock in, I had to stop myself from doing a happy dance.
But of course we worked on different sides of the building, so time together was limited. Sometimes I had to call over to him to bring fresh towels, and remembering the times I struggled with calling Ben after we graduated, it was nerve-wracking the first time I did it. Still, it allowed me to see him on a couple of occasions.
Later that morning, volleyball players began trickling into the gym. There were several members of the coaching staff; one was a younger Asian-American man who seemed pretty cool, the other was a larger prickly woman. There were talks of her getting a job at the club, and I knew that the day that happened, I would be leaving. She was never polite to me whenever we encountered each other, blaming me for a random kid at the club taking a ball that belonged to them and ordering me to find them a new one. On this particular day, there was a food delivery. Knowing that whoever had ordered would be along soon, I placed it on the desk behind me. Soon, the coach appeared.
"Why didn't you just tell us? You were just going to leave them there?" she said, among other angry things.
The friendly coach took the bags, thanked me, and they were on their way, while I tried not to let the tears fall. I kicked myself a few times, trying to pull myself together. Members could come strolling it at any moment.
When Joe came around with towels again, I smiled.
"At least we're almost done, right?" he said. I smiled. I took one last glance at him, and I think he may have caught me.
Then the hours returned to normal, and life sucked again. It sucked through the holidays (though I got out of a Christmas Eve shift) and it sucked through the cold miserable January which sent a gazillion members to the gym to avoid the weather and get going on those resolutions. It sucked through February as well. Weekends of worrying about whether there were enough towels, worrying about how to handle phone calls, worrying about members coming in to sign up for programs which they never taught me how to do...the worrying was strong.
I knew I wouldn't have a chance with him anyway. We never shared the same hours. The morning in November was a rarity. Fun time was over.
The job search continued so I could get out of there as soon as possible. I took some breaks, but often found myself going on interviews without a whole lot of success. One of these job interviews was an administrative position with a landscape company. I was nervous at the prospect of a skills test, but the interviewer seemed impressed and the rest of the meeting was quite casual and laid back. Now this was something I could do! At least for a while. Finally, finally, it looked like a potential job was on the line. I also aced the skills test.
Until one morning in March that made me rethink everything.
It was a typical Sunday morning. I was working the desk as usual alongside my favorite programs manager, Lila, who was only a few years older than me. We got along swimmingly and things were always much more laid-back when she was on duty. Behind me, a small group of people suddenly appeared, but I didn't really pay them any attention.
And that was how Sundays would go. I would show up and wait several hours for him to show up too. When my shift ended, I would usually stay for an extra twenty to thirty minutes just to talk to him, which was the highlight of my entire week. I thought back to my Office scenario and realized, partly in horror, how true that was becoming.
It was barely spring, but that called for one occasion: ice cream. Kelly and I jumped in the car and headed to the local scoop shop for some delicious soft serve with sprinkles. It was the first time I'd ever been in a car with her as she was driving, and it felt strangely freeing. So we talked.
"There's a reason I don't want to leave work," I began. "I met this new guy, and he's really yummy." Yummy? Ugh. Here I am being a teenager again.
She didn't have a lot of advice for me as far as the job went, but she did help me look up his Facebook profile. It wasn't hard to find, and I got a thrill at seeing a different side of him. There was one thing that wasn't so thrilling though, and that was finding out he was six years older than me. I had thought he wasn't too far out of college, and we got along so well that it was impossible to believe he was almost thirty.
"If you get along, just go for it," my sister said. That's the funny thing about age...it really didn't matter. Once I was out of college, I could interact with many people like they were my equals, if they were adults. Joe and I also had a lot of things in common, like an interest in sports...and writing.
Yeah. I found his sports blog while Facebook stalking. I'm not sure how popular it was, but it discussed many popular sports, particularly college basketball and football. It was like reading his voice in my head, and whenever I had a tough time making it a week to the next Sunday, I'd read a few entries. He wasn't afraid to be honest either. In one entry, he admitted to crying after not making it any farther in the state finals in high school. I kind of fell in love with him even more after that.
And now I had a new job prospect on my hands. Right after I found a potential new guy, the chance was about to disappear again.
The ice cream outing must have inspired the weather, because the following day was gorgeous. I had my bedroom window open and was jamming to Jump5, a Radio Disney group that was once profiled in an issue of American Girl magazine, for no reason whatsoever. I listened to Hilary Duff and Michelle Branch, along with other feel good pop singers. It was just a good day, and I had a new guy in my life who actually seemed interested in talking to me. So when my cell phone rang, I assumed that it would just be something great. It turned out to be the landscape company.
"Hi, Morgan? I was just calling because we were very impressed with your interview the other day. I'd like to offer you the position!"
Okay. NOW I got a job offer. No more getting stuck in situations I should know how to deal with because I hardly got training. No more closing and having to force out irate members. No more annoying phone calls. No more horrendously early hours. And no more seeing at work each day.
Perplexed, I told them I'd let them know by the next evening. They seemed perplexed too and they said they'd be eagerly awaiting my call. I felt weird about keeping them waiting, but what on earth was I going to do now that I actually wanted to stay on?
What could I do?
I called the next day and told them it was a no. Besides, it was an office with a bunch of old landscaping guys. I mean, I could hold my own with adult coworkers, but maybe not a bunch of heavyweight 50-year-old lawn mowers. I tried to convince myself it was the right choice and not a silly teenage decision. Another job would come...eventually. But my current job was where the best coworkers were at. At least that's what I told myself.
So I continued, feeling exhilarated. The following weekend at work saw us hosting a regional racquetball tournament. It was packed. Middle aged men roamed the halls freely and the pop of racquetballs hitting the wall echoed throughout the club, as did arguments over which team got which court and fights with the referees. (If you've never experienced being in a room with lots of angry old guys...it's hysterical.) Fortunately for the membership department, these events generated plenty of new leads. Needless to say, Joe was down at my end of the building a lot. We were always running into each other. At one point during the late morning, staff were trying to reach out to a member who left a dog in their car. It only lasted two minutes, but we were communicating about it as well, trying to figure out who was going to help save the dog (neither of us, as it turns out). And at the end of my shift, of course, I went to go say hello at his end of the building.
All in all, it was a good day. I went home feeling more awake after a morning shift than I ever had.
In April, I knew a hiatus would be coming. Due to immense corporate greed, I was asked to work Easter morning and (surprise, surprise) could not find anyone to cover for me. Even corporate knew that it wouldn't be a big moneymaking day, so I doubted that the membership office would even come in to work. It was going to be a very long two weeks.
(It never, ever occurred to me to take extra shifts, or to use my free membership to come in and work out during one of those times. Ever. Yeah. I'm just that fuzzy when I like a guy, but you can bet I'm beating myself up pretty good now.)
On Easter I was correct. For some reason, though, it was packed with other employees. Corporate had still made everyone else come to work, including all our managers at once. That was rare on a typical day. So I went home for another week and waited it out.
Next week finally came and went. I waited the full six hours as usual, but he never came over to my side of the building. Oh well, I thought. I'll just go say hi to him as usual after I get off.
And that's what I did. I skipped up to the desk on the other side of the building, parked myself at the usual table in the lobby. He wasn't there, so I waited patiently. Then I noticed a flyer about outdoor pool memberships on the wall. Maybe I could sign up and get extra time talking with him in the process.
I asked my coworkers, one of who was getting off and the other who was coming in. Trying to play it cool, I said, "Hey, is membership in today? I had a couple of questions about joining the pool."
"Yeah, Dave's in," Eva said. He was the new assistant manager, but was certainly not an official membership consultant. She turned around to the back office. "Dave, Morgan has a question!"
"No, no, no," I said, my face burning. Now I'd have to explain myself. "It's good. I just wanted to know if anyone from membership was in today."
"Oh, well, Joe used to be Sundays," Eva said.
"Er. Used to be? He's not here today?"
"Yeah. He left."
I felt like I had been sucker punched in the stomach. That past week, I had decided that I was going to ramp up my game and talk to him even more than I usually did on the off chance that one of us quit. And now, he did. Where was he now, even? He could be across the country and I wouldn't know it.
I ran into the women's room, took a stall on the end, and quietly cried.
It was beyond frustrating. This wasn't the first time I'd had a relationship ruined by getting the rug pulled out from under me. I could have seen Ben at his graduation when I ended up not going on my high school's senior trip, but my parents had said no at the last minute (after saying yes two weeks prior, mind you). Tim? He broke up with his girlfriend...right after graduation and after we went back home. And now this.
Aarrrgggh!
At home, there were the telltale signs of a good day. The Red Sox were beating the Orioles on TV and my mom had made slice-and-bake sugar cookies. But I couldn't taste the cookies and it was hard to focus on the game. I still stayed on the couch for the remainder of it. I couldn't move. (Oh, if only I knew how bad things would get three years later when he got engaged very quickly to an unfaithful woman! This was nothing!)
A mere five hours later, something weird happened. There was now an option to add Joe on Facebook. The "Add Friend" button sat on his profile prominently, when it wasn't there recently--he must have turned off the setting that banned people without mutual friends from adding him. It wasn't there two days ago when I was stalking it for the umpteenth time. All the hopelessness of the afternoon evaporated.
And...here's the kicker...I'd also very recently disabled people's ability to add me as a friend. Someone from Egypt had requested me again, so I said buh-bye to that option. And now here he was, enabling his own "add friend" feature when nobody could request me, both of these enabling/disabling actions taking place within about a week. There are seven billion people in this world; he could have done that for anyone. But I took it as a sign.
I have the tendency to overthink things, so I did what I always do: texted Danielle. She agreed that something was up, so I eventually got up the courage to friend request him. She had come to visit at that point, so we decided that she would be good for any moral support.
A very tedious five hours later, he had accepted.
Like my experiences with talking to Ben via Facebook chat, the first few times were thrilling. A cute guy is talking to me!! He even asked me how I was and did his part to complete the conversation, albeit sometimes in short simple sentences. But it was a start. He even followed me on Instagram completely voluntarily. No guy had EVER voluntarily done anything with me before, except for in first grade when Jake invited me to play basketball at recess.
We had plenty to talk about. My college and the one he worked for were in the same sports league and located just twenty minutes apart. So naturally, when our terrible football teams clashed, it gave me the opportunity to take a conversation from "polite nicety" to "joking trash talk." Very rarely do conversations with people my age go past "polite nicety." There's my chance.
But best of all were the sports games he worked at. His sports teams vs. mine meant that I had legit opportunities to see him. There was a field hockey game taking place there in October, which could be awesome. I marked my calendar and began counting the days.
If you've read my other love stories, you know that opportunities I have with guys tend to evaporate. I'm pretty sure I mentioned it a few paragraphs ago. Parents say no to Ben's graduation. Something gets canceled and I can't see Tim. Blah blah blah.
I eventually quit and got a new job, which I liked much better. Fortunately, they liked me, too, so that's why I got to take a day off only a month in to go see the field hockey game. That was not something a girl like me did, take off work to see a friend. But there I was, doing it. Rebellion was fun.
So I got permission to go. I had off work. The game was set. They rarely canceled for rain unless it was severe, so I'd likely be okay there. The PA Turnpike decided that it finally had to shut down for that construction project it had been planning for ages. Everything was perfect.
Wait. What?
My eyes narrowed as I saw the banner flash on the local news screen. It was indeed the part of that road that I used to drive up to school, and thus was also the way to the place where he worked:
"PA Turnpike Set for Monthlong Construction Project To Last Through At Least November"
Slowly, very slowly, I lowered my face to the coffee table.
Just once I'd like to have seen an opportunity to see my friends without the laws of the universe rudely interfering. And now, here it was, a long-awaited chance to see him about to be snatched from me. Just like about
Fortunately, it panned out. And soon I was on my way to go to a field hockey game at long last.
Game time. I tried to laugh at the irony of "Nowhere to Run" playing on the radio before getting out of the car, but couldn't quite manage it.
I barely beat the buzzer; the team was already lining up for the anthem and starting lineup announcements when I got there. We sung about America and we listened to player's names.
And then our field hockey team did their cheer.
"Good to be!"
"Good to be!"
"Good to be a!"
"Good to be a!"
"Good to be a cougar!"
"Cou-gar!"
"Cou-gar!"
"Cou-gar!"
I got chills. This was meant to be. My work pep-talk cheer was coming into fruition for real at this new workplace. Maybe something would finally come together after years of nothing ever working.
I settled down and watched the game. I wouldn't be able to see him until at least halftime. Their school scored a goal first only about a minute and a half in, but I wasn't concerned about winners and losers today. Soon, my alma mater got on the board and tied the game. From then on, we seemed to be in control.
We had a nice few minutes together when the game was over, and it was definitely worth going for those few minutes. However, as in every other love opportunity that life brings, this one failed as well. Turned out that he was already dating someone, and marriage loomed on the horizon. Apparently he met her because her sister was the goalie on the field hockey team. Who, by the way, I had seen play before in college.
And that was that.
I don't have a lot to be gained from this story. Love always perseveres? It takes a lot of work to find "The One?" Nah, I got nothing. Just that sometimes, bad luck intervenes and there's not much to be done about it. Like everything else, I am hoping that this story will continue.
Life went on.
It's not necessarily easier. I mean, I still struggle with Valentine's Day. First of all, I'm not sure whether this day needs to exist at all. If you're in a healthy relationship, why do you need to take one day to make it special in the first place? Why do you need a calendar for that? Would you be buying roses if February 14th ceased to exist? Do you really need to rely on Instagram to let the world know how happy you are? And, if so, shouldn't you be rethinking this relationship?
Anyway, it's bad enough being single, but it's even worse when people use the day to send you pity. No relationship right now? Happy Love Yourself Day! You don't need no man! You're so strong! Well, what if I would like company? And what about your relationship, that's making you so happy while you're praising how independent I am? Do you not want this relationship? Are you jealous? You're allowed to break up, ya know. My point is, however well-meaning these people are, they often inadvertently make things worse. If one thing is needed to worsen my Valentines Day, it's people devoting a day to send me pity messages.
But enough getting deep. Love or not, I'm grateful for the people I got to know, and I hope that I get to meet many more. Just no more Valentines Day crap, please.