The Return Home

Freshman year of college was difficult for reasons other than I expected. The academics were more involved, the work was not a joke like it had been in high school. The lessons I learned weren't in the classroom though. I was able to adjust to everything with the exception of living within walking distance of Nathan, my ex-boyfriend. I broke up with him in July, knowing I would be attending the same school a month later. He didn't fight to keep me, although he mentioned his "objection".

Nathan was the type of guy who would let you make whatever choice you wanted to make, mistake or not. He would just tell you his opinion. I didn't back down from my position that we'd be better off trying something new. He ended the discussion by saying, "There may be ten thousand guys on that campus. You'll be free to date any one of them if you choose. Just remember that I am also one of those guys." Twenty thousand students and a campus, miles wide, yet his dorm was just down the hill from mine. That was something I couldn't predict.

The first time I saw him was at the cafeteria. I was anxious, almost scared, but really just an intense level of anxiety. I had no expectations of how he would treat me. I never really played it out in my head of what would happen. My suitemates noticed my pause and hesitation entering the dining hall. They asked me what was wrong. I told them I saw someone I knew from home. Jessica asked me to point him out. Jennifer said he was cute. Brooke asked how I knew him.

Before I could give them the short version, he looked our way and eye contact was made. The heat from my body rushed to my head, and my fair skin was blushing to the color similar to the Amherst maroon. He simply smiled and waved. That was it. Then he just sat down to eat like it was just normal. My new friends argued over who he seemed more interested in, Jennifer or me. I contemplated approaching him once we got our food, but by the time I came back and caught a glimpse of him, he was sitting with some other girl I didn't recognize.

We were no longer dating, and I hadn't seen him in a month, so there was no reason at all for me to be jealous. That much I knew and understood in my mind. I just did not like seeing this girl laughing and talking so casually with Nathan. I ask myself every now and then if the feeling was me being protective of someone I used to be close to, or if it was in fact jealousy. Whatever the feeling was, it was the driving force at the moment that caused me to act. These feelings were supported by my suitemates who threw fuel on the fire saying, "Well that didn't take him very long," and "are you going to just let her swoop in like that?"

I didn't even have the chance to explain he used to be my boyfriend my senior year of high school, and that we broke up with a mutual understanding that college would be a different world. We would want different things, experience different people. I stopped thinking reasonably. I chose not to explain the story to them, it didn't matter anymore. This new girl was obviously flirting with him and some instinct in me made me loathe her for it. I knew I could still have him, and that night I was going to prove it.

The campus directory was my map. I could have called him, but if he had a visitor, I wanted to have my presence known and recognized. Later on that night I marched down the hill to his dorm. My swagger through the hallway commanded respect and authority. I rehearsed in my head my pattern for knocking on his door, but those plans were futile, his door was open when I arrived. The girl who accompanied him for lunch was sitting on his bed, while he sat back in his desk chair. He looked happy. My momentum stopped. "Oh, hello Laura. Hey Elvan, this is Laura, I know her from back home."

I wasn't introduced as a friend, girlfriend, not even ex-girlfriend. Just someone he knows from home. She was pleasant to me though, saying hello as she slid off the bed and began to make her exit. I can't even recall if I had a reply for her, but I do remember the smile she beamed at Nathan as she walked out of the room. I closed the door behind her.

We talked for a while, mostly about our adjustment to Massachusetts life. We laughed about having to hide our Yankee caps under our beds. I mocked him for bringing his Jets jersey to college with him. I felt like our conversation had us fall right back into the swing of things. It turned out his roommate's house was only 40 minutes from campus, and spent the weekend with his parents. We had the night to ourselves. Unfortunately, we spent most of the night talking. I did prepare myself for when he wanted to call it a night.

"Well, it's late," he said.

"I don't know if I have the energy to walk up that hill now," I replied.

There was a significant pause, but he offered me the choice of 'crashing' in his room for the night.

I began to undress in front of him expecting him to watch and make some sort of move, but he turned away, and searched through his dresser. He handed me pajama pants and smiled. "I have to be a good host," he said.

I followed him to bed, and pulled the sheets over us. All we ended up doing was kissing and cuddling. I even had to initiate the kissing. At first, it was incredibly difficult to rest and actually sleep. Rest wasn't what I came to his room for. He held me in a way that previously brought me so much comfort, like how it was on my couch downstairs in my parents' house back home. I remembered so many times in the past when that was all that I wanted. That night though, I wanted to be desired. The fear of being replaced so easily disturbed me. As my body, mind, and emotions waged war within me, Nathan just calmly held me tight. Eventually I fell asleep with comfort, although he didn't offer me what I was seeking, Nathan instilled in me a feeling far more valuable. Respect. Does it make sense that I hated him for it?

I woke up just a few hours later as dawn peered its way through his window shades. I felt the urge to go home and finish my sleep alone. I slipped out of bed slowly, and got dressed as quietly as I could. His eyes opened and he smiled at me. He asked if I wanted him to visit me at my dorm, but I already felt rejected. I didn't want him knowing where my room was. I thanked him for the comfort for the night and let myself out and began to walk up the hill to my own dorm. Some call it the walk of shame, a term I heard a lot throughout college. Such a double standard, for if Nathan was the one walking back home at 5am, it would be a walk of triumph.

It wasn't a walk of shame in a traditional sense. It was a shame that I couldn't fall back into love I once shared. It was a shame that I believed showing up would be good enough to repair the rejection of a breakup. In my journey home, I learned my first lesson of adulthood: where you call home will change, along with who should be there waiting for you.

Two months later I came home to find Nathan and Jennifer on my couch. Second lesson: suitemate does not equal friend.