I walked out of the building and let loose my umbrella. It had rained all night and, even though we all had something to do that day, it continued. I walked to the edge of the building's overhang, woefully contemplating the route I would take across campus. It needed to be efficient, avoiding as many puddles as possible and ensuring a timely – and mostly dry – arrival.
As I pondered a handful of routes, I looked to my left and noticed the bright eyes and long dark hair of a damsel in distress (yeah, that’s a bit of a stretch, but this is supposed to be fun, right?) I sprung into action.
This rain kinda sucks.
At least I remembered my boots.
You heading to the expo?
Yep! But I don’t know how to get there.
That’s where I’m heading too. I can walk you there if you want. We can share my umbrella.
Sure.
Her name was Rose. She was a freshman, new to this mountainous campus, from a small town close to the coast. One thing you quickly learn about the lovely little mountain town our college called home is that the weather has a callous, unempathetic mind of its own.
You don’t like the weather? Wait 15 minutes, they would say.
That was true sometimes, I suppose, but more often than not we’d be afflicted with some form of inclement weather for weeks on end. Rain, ice, snow – even those aggressively perfect sunny days – they all came to town and stayed for a week or two just like any of the other tourists who strolled through our high country. Rose was learning that lesson.
And I learned a lot about Rose on that rainy morning stroll. We had the same major. She played soccer in high school. She had a cute smile that – at least for this conversation – she seemed to often choose to hide beneath her hood.
I liked Rose. I started finding reasons to have more small chats with her, like catching her on the elevator or asking her about her day when I ran into her in the lobby. We got along well. Soon our friends would notice, poke fun at our budding romance, and tease us about our imminent-yet-unscheduled first date.
Asking her to go on a date, I nervously understood, was my responsibility. With my track record with dates up to that point and my well-documented lack of self-confidence, I wasn’t exactly itching to put my ego on the line. Despite how much we vibed with each other, the voice in my head just knew rejection was lying in wait.
Eventually, after enough poking, prodding, and gentle shoving from our friends, I mustered up the courage to finally ask. I pulled out my phone, texted Rose’s friend to let her know I was ready, and we cooked up a plan to get Rose into the lobby. When the time came, I rode the elevator down, took a deep breath, and wove together the perfect, if a bit awkward, string of words. She happily agreed and I made my way back to my room to hoot and holler in triumph with the boys.
When date night came, I put on the coolest outfit I owned, fixed my hair, shaved away any accumulated peach fuzz. We walked to dinner, walked to the bowling alley, walked home. It was one of those nights you never forget, the reel rewinding and replaying through my memory with the sort of rose-colored filter only nostalgia can paint.
Back at the dorm, we said good night in the elevator and went our separate ways. She went to do whatever it was she did and I went to, well, hoot and holler in triumph with the boys.
Rose and I were inseparable afterward. I’d walk her to class, though hers were in the opposite direction of mine. We sent each other kissy faces and good morning texts. We danced the bachata, cuddled together to watch Disney movies, and kicked around a soccer ball. For the first time, in as long as I could remember, I was happy.
Unbeknownst to me, this whole time we were just dating, or perhaps seeing each other. It got to the point where I was repeatedly being berated about when exactly I would ask Rose to be my girlfriend. Communication was not – and still isn’t, if we’re being honest – my strong suit. Once again, the anxiety boiled up in the pit of my stomach. The fear of rejection, the voices laughing at me in the back of my head, the catastrophizing thoughts that this would soon come crashing down all hit me like a hurricane.
I devised a plan. We’d hike to the top of the mountain, meandering ever so romantically with the switchbacks and once we reached the summit, I’d look her in the eyes and ask her to be my girlfriend with all the earnestness in my body. It was foolproof, I knew. Who could resist such charm? What I didn’t account for was exactly how much of a fool I was.
Seized with anxiety, we reached the peak and I paced back and forth making awkward jokes until we turned around to hike down to the car. I drove us back to the dorm. We said good night in the elevator and went our separate ways. She went to do whatever it was she did and I went to, well, bash my head into my desk.
Anxiety had gotten the best of me. I gave in to the voices in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough. The voices so sure that she deserved so much better than me. The ones that reminded me I was too nerdy, too chunky, too broken for a girl like her.
And then an urgency took hold of me. I slammed my fist into my desk, took a deep breath, and powerwalked two stairs at a time up to her floor. I knocked on her door, briefly contemplated running in the opposite direction, and then braced myself. When she cracked it open, I let it all out. I told her how I felt and what I wanted.
With a smile on my face stretching from ear to ear, I marched back downstairs to – well, you know – hoot and holler in triumph with the boys.
Unfortunately, our relationship was not fool-proof – or I severely underestimated how much of a fool I really was [am]. Despite the unrelenting momentum of the magic between us, I began to grow uncomfortable in our relationship. I was afraid of how permanent it felt. I feared such a commitment, the weight of it all, at this stage of my life. This was my first real relationship and I often wondered in the back of my mind if I was settling too soon. I was afraid of someone being so close to me, of me being so close, open, and vulnerable with someone. I constantly feared the day she’d find out how truly worthless I was, how fucked up I was, that she could do so much better than me.
My insecurities with myself and with our relationship wore away at me, and when drugs and alcohol added their own fuels to the fire, it was only a matter of time before I started making even more stupid, terrible decisions. When I joined the debate team, I began to spend long weekends away from Rose, surrounded by drugs, and booze, and other women. One woman in particular had caught my eye and for longer than I can even remember, we lusted away together while I masqueraded through the days with Rose.
Maybe I was exactly as stupid, terrible, careless as I feared I was. Maybe my fears bred those thoughts, feelings, and actions into me. Maybe I feared hurting her so much it led me to hurting her. Maybe I was too young. Maybe there’s no excuse for it at all. It was never my intention to hurt someone I cared so deeply about. But that’s exactly what I ended up doing. It’s a sad irony. And I’ve been left with a regret sown so deep it’s shaken my sense of self for almost a decade. I always said I would never be this kind of person. I knew men like this. I wasn’t them. Until I was.
I’d forgotten one of the earliest lessons I’d ever learned.
Think with your big head, not your little one.
One mental image sticks with me more than just about any from the time Rose and I were together. It haunts me. It reminds me to be better now than I ever was then. It makes me smile that sort of rose-colored smile only nostalgia can paint.
One day, I stopped by her room to walk her to lunch. Waiting for her to finish getting ready, I looked down at her desk and noticed a date scribbled in pencil encircled with a heart. It was the date of the night I’d asked her to be my girlfriend.
I guess it’s a good thing it was in pencil.
an excerpt for you
She my number one I don't need nothing on the side Said that I was done for good and don't want no more lies But my phone be blowing up, temptations on my line I stare at the screen a while before I press decline But she plants a seed and it still lingers in my mind Told myself I'm strong enough to shake it and I'm trying But I'm only human, I know loving you's a crime If I take this cookie now one day I'll do the time I love her, I don't want to lose her I'm selfish, I know that I use her My ego get stroked and I bruise her My ego get stroked and I bruise her My actions I know they confusin' At home I look happy as usual On the road I'm a mack, I'm a chooser I'm a addict, I'm maskin' that Kevin's Heart
J. Cole - Kevin’s Heart
a journal prompt for you
Who or what is your motivation?
If you do write something and you would like to share it, I’d love to read it. You can send it to theguidelines@substack.com or leave a comment.
korick is…
korick is reading Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon
korick is watching HINDZ. His videos are always right on time. This one about motivation was the gentle reminder I needed.
korick is listening to 30 for 30 by Dave East and Cruch Calhoun. New Dave East means new required listening.
korick is paying attention to staying warm. It’s been cold, y’all.
What are you consuming or paying attention to? I’m always taking recommendations.
And that’s that, folks. If you stuck around this long, you’re real af and I appreciate you. I don’t really have much to say down here today. I feel I’ve said enough.
I just wish you a wonderful weekend.
Mood follows action.
I’m really enjoying all of your writings. I think it’s very courageous to be so open and vulnerable, as well as humorous and introspective. I love getting see things through your experiences and getting to know you through your perspective of yourself.
I so enjoy reading your stories. I'm realizing that the way you see yourself is so different from the way others see you. Thanks for being so open.