Missed Connection — Rainy College Tour — W4M
It was the fall of our senior year and you were late.
The rain slid down my winter coat, which was draped on the back of a plastic office chair.
I flipped through a pamphlet on the pros and cons of living in a triple dorm. My mom chatted with the tour guide about SAT scores.
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else on the tour.
And then you showed up.
You were wearing khakis and a sweatshirt of some prep-school. You would later tell me that you went there your entire life, when we weren’t paying attention to the wide-range of “healthy options” in the dining hall.
You brought your mom, too, and we made eye contact as you sat down.
There was now a small puddle of rainwater under my chair.
—
The tour began.
Our moms took notes, while we felt our hearts beat.
We stepped outside and saw the rain had let up.
“It’s such a nice fall day!” the tour guide said, as we walked quickly ahead of her.
You asked me where I was from and I asked you what sports you played. I said you were a cliché and you thought I was “funny.”
My cheeks turned pink and you kept running your hands through your hair and shoving your hands in the pockets of that sweatshirt.
Our moms asked questions that we didn’t care to hear the answer to. The tour guide showed us a dorm room, but we were too busy fighting about baseball, that I can’t remember if there were any pros to that triple in the end.
—
Then the tour ended.
Your mom convinced you to get my phone number, so I could tell you about “the other schools we were seeing,” so I gave it to you.
You texted me first and I texted you back from another town, waiting for another college tour to begin.
You added me on Facebook the next day. I stalked you and I bet you stalked me.
We returned to school and continued to like each other on the Internet. I gave your status a thumbs up and you liked the photo I posted of leaves when no one else would.
I instant-messaged you about applications, college football and maybe seeing you again.
You texted me when you got into the school that we toured together and I replied with a sad face.
—
The following fall, I saw your photos on Facebook of move-in day and I liked them, but only sporadically.
I saw you become Facebook official with a girl from the West Coast, who seemed like she was more into EDM than she was into you, according to her Twitter bio.
Then I saw you hide your relationship status and you texted me again.
We said we would see each other soon. We promised with an emoji and everything.
Then I went abroad for a bit and you said you were jealous.
I laughed into a blue bubble, “Haha.”
We didn’t speak for a few months and then you texted me about how much time has flown by since that college tour.
We hoped we would see each other again.
—
It was the fall of our senior year and I was late.
The rain slid down my backpack, which was slung over a half-broken desk chair.
I flipped through jumbled notes from last class with my left hand. I scanned Facebook with my right.
There didn’t seem to be anything new.
And then you showed up.
You were posing in your college T-Shirt and had new girl attached at your hip. You would later post the same photo on Instagram, with some heart-filled emojis, which I didn’t pay any attention to, because class was about to begin.
You two became Facebook official after class and I saw that she changed her profile picture, too.
There was now a small lump in my throat.
—
I liked it. Maybe that was passive aggressive of me, but then you liked an old Instagram I posted two days prior, so I felt like we were even.
I can’t remember the last time we texted and that’s just fine with me. I see you through a laptop screen and you seem to be doing well.
Your smile looks genuine, but you could work on your captions a bit.
Texting you from across the country was fun when we were young.
We grew up together through likes, comments and “One New Message” notifications.
Our connection was made possible by WI-FI and our parents’ data plans. I could see who we were then and who we are now, just by logging on.
—
We might have been a “thing” had I gone to that school.
Or we could’ve just drunkenly hooked up at some dorm party during the first week and just left it at that.
But, maybe we wouldn’t have. I’m not really sure.
Maybe one day we’ll meet again, but maybe we won’t and that’s okay, too.
And what about us?
