Ethan Perkis ∙ 05/09/2022 ∙ May 2022
You’ve seen them looking at you and going back into their notes in the middle of class. You’ve heard your classmates whisper “oh no, they’re going to collide!” whenever you’re assigned to a group together. You passed by their desk on a water break and saw that in their notes was a picture of you—a well-drawn one at that. Next to it is a short poem about how cute your hair would look on a dog they saw. You were shocked. You almost let the water spill onto your shoes. You step out into the hallway and silently scream for half an hour.
Upon returning, your teacher asks if a dean mistook you for a homeless person, and you calmly reply no. You can’t stay calm, not after what just happened. You look to your classmates for guidance, but they are all eating their notebooks. You desperately wish to join them.
The next day before class, you are prepared. You made 11 different slideshows depending on their outfit. You will ask them why they were drawing you with hearts around your face. They enter. You flee out the window.
Several months later after an agonizing recovery process (of which doctors call you “lucky to still be alive from”) you hobble back to class, utterly defeated. Then you see them. They were waiting for you, they love you! Your hobbling grows to a breakneck pace—which is to say, a pace that the doctors warned you could break your neck.
They stop you before you can come any closer. “I’m not interested in you,” they say firmly. Your legs crumble to dust.
“I was just practicing figure drawing,” they say, in a normal Media major fashion: bouncy and lacking commitment.
Ego shattered, your words begin to break as well. “B- but you wrote ab- bout my hair!” you wail.
They smile lightly and pleasantly. “Yes, I wanted to prepare for if I ever met someone who I really love.” Your chest is disintegrating. “Did you really think it was all for you? Don’t be so narcissistic.” All but your head is now a fine earthen-toned powder, full of small insects, and class is starting. You need to pull yourself together. Luckily, you have the answer that always works. “Well,” you say, breath quaking, “I don’t even need you anyway! I just wanted to be in a relationship with you for the money. I’m a gold digger.” They sneer and walk away. They do not have money. That was a blatant lie. You’ll need a new love. And hey, that kid in your math class is always blushing when you make eye contact and not just always face a-flushed, right?