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“I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known.”
He cranked up the volume on his speakers, leaned back, and nodded along to the sweet melodies of Billie Joe Armstrong. It was an appropriate song for the occasion, given that he was spending his Friday evening inside his apartment, even while he could hear the din of other young, 20-somethings from the bar one block over. He’d initially picked this apartment because of its proximity to the nightlife area, hoping that, like a freshman dormitory, he’d have age-appropriate potential friends and romantic acquaintances at every turn. But that was hard to do when he was so socially awkward that even the thought of putting himself out there and venturing to a bar alone caused him to break out in hives. So instead, he sat there, walking the lonely road with Green Day while he waited to get into a lobby for another game of Player Unknown: Battlegrounds.
For a moment, he sat there forlornly, listening to the sounds of young people living their best lives, before turning Spotify up even louder so he could focus on the music. Of course, he would have loved to be out with his friends doing something that night, but he was perfectly content to stay at home with his music, a few movies, and video games. After all, his friends were all busy that night anyway. Ryan and his fiancée were having a date night, his friend Katarina was doing a girls’ night out, likely trawling for some man tail, and his brother Sam was working the late shift. He knew they were all likely to hang out the following night, so it made sense to take a nice Friday night in to charge up for some social interaction the next day.
When his character fell to a sniper’s bullet from the hill overlooking the town, he swore audibly. Barely made the top 50 again; tonight was not his night.
He exited out of PUBG and contemplated whether he’d rather jam on some NBA 2K18 or Dark Souls. Instead, he pulled his phone from out of his pocket, almost autonomously, and pulled up Bumble. Immediately, he tapped the “matches” tab just to see if there had been another match that perhaps he’d missed the notification for. Of course, there wasn’t. All that remained were the remnants of a few first convos with matches that didn’t go anywhere, and one notification from Bumble that “a match was about to expire.”
Her name was Paulina, and she had sent him the opening message–“heyyy there”–the night before. He tapped the tiny photo to bring up her profile. She had a cute, round face and deep, green eyes, which is why he swiped her right in the first place. But then he scrolled to the second picture, and it just wasn’t as flattering as the first. Wondering if he should reconsider answering, he re-read her bio. It was all basic… lover of puns, wine, nerd culture, the things girls all seemed to say they wanted because they think that’s what boys wanted. But there was no personality there, no substance. And so, he clicked away from her profile, content to let the match expire.
Ignoring the pang of guilt he felt because of his intense shallowness, he returned to his favorite pastime: swiping. Left, left, right, left, right, right, right, right. He went through it methodically. Occasionally, he’d go into the second, third, or fourth photos to figure out which girl she was in the group shot. Then his thumb froze when he saw a familiar face.
She was a girl he knew back in college. They weren’t all that close, they’d hung out a few times through mutual friends, but he remembered being smitten from the first moment they’d met. She was a cute ginger, with wavy, auburn hair, a stubby nose, and a dorky grin, but he found her unbearably cute. He scrolled through all the photos, which included one from a hockey game and another of her reading in a bookstore wearing Warby Parker glasses and a Thor T-shirt.
He made it to her bio, finally, and saw that she hadn’t changed. A sardonic, self-deprecating sense of humor, rolled into a one-liner of “recommended by four out of five moms (I’m still working on my mom for that fifth vote).” Below that, a list of her likes and a note that she just moved here and needed someone to show her around.
It was no question. He swiped right.
A bit disappointed that the “It’s a match” screen didn’t pop up instantly, he immediately clicked over to her Facebook profile. They were still friends, over five years from when they initially met and Facebook friending was the unofficial “sup” among college kids. He hadn’t been to her page for a while and was disappointed to see that she hadn’t kept it updated too frequently. Still, he scrolled through her old updates and photos, before clicking off the page.
He tried Instagram, hoping for some more recent updates. Damn, set to private.
For a moment, he considered sending a follow request. It was innocuous enough, an old friend asking to connect on the social network of the era. Maybe he would request to follow a few other people, to make it seem like she had popped up in his “people you may know tab.” But then he remembered that her best friend, a girl named Bethany, was someone he also followed. He clicked over to Bethany’s profile, and sure enough, there were a few recent photos of the pair with the hashtag “bestiesreunited.”
He pulled one up and smiled for a moment before his phone buzzed. Hoping it was Bumble, he was annoyed to see that it was just Yahoo!, informing him that Ezekiel Elliott had been suspended and needed to be taken out of his starting lineup. After swapping Zeke out, he turned his attention back to Instagram.
As he perused the photos, he thought back to all the times they spent together in college. Two moments stuck out in his mind.
The first was the night he met her. He was a junior, at a party hosted by his roommate Ryan as part of welcoming new members of the school’s service society. Although he wasn’t a member of the club and often feigned other obligations when Ryan asked him to come along for some volunteer event, he still partied with them almost every weekend.
She was a freshman. Young, nubile, and innocent at first glance, but within forty seconds of entering their house, she was at the beer pong table, taking the boys to school. She was gregarious, cocky, and always had a smile on her face. Wearing a tight jean skirt and blouse, she looked like almost every other freshman at the time. But then he noticed the tattoo on her back. Not a tramp stamp, but on her right shoulder blade. It was Fozzie Bear, the muppet.
Ryan must have noticed that he was staring at her because he felt a slight shove in his back. “Go talk to her,” his best friend slurred as he pointed to her standing alone.
And so, fueled by Natty Light and adrenaline, he walked over to the beer keg right next to where she was. He tried to play it cool, acting as if he just noticed her while he was filling his red Solo cup when he said, “wocka wocka.”
She immediately caught his drift, smiling and saying, “that’s a good joke,” imitating Fozzie’s signature drawn-out voice.
“Well, I hope you don’t take it personally, but I’ve always been more of a Gonzo fan myself.”
“Really,” she started looking him up and down. “I don’t see your tattoo.”
He leaned in closer, “You don’t see my Gonzo tattoo yet.”
They talked for a while, laughing and joking. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but the right moment just never came. Eventually, she excused herself to hang out with some other friends from the club. He wanted to ask for her number, to ask her out, to ask if they could go find a closet and make out. But he asked none of those things because he was too scared.
As he was considering his game plan—a Facebook friend request followed by a message asking her to attend a friendly gathering a few days later—he saw her out of the corner of his eye. She was making out with Kenny, a senior and the President of the club. It had taken Kenny almost 15 minutes to accomplish was he spent an hour trying to build himself up to do. She and Kenny left together. He spent the night, like so many others, alone.
The second moment that stuck out was the following year. It was Beach Week, the last one of his college career, and he was going with the club. They’d seen each other occasionally over the previous two years, at parties, functions, and the like. They’d talked, been friendly, but she had her own circle of friends, and he had his. They were both on the Beach Week trip, but he had low expectations that anything would happen.
It was the second-to-last day of the trip. The crew had dragged him to a nightclub, a place he absolutely abhorred before he’d had at least five drinks. But after far too much vodka, Everclear, and beers, he’d found himself at the club late into the night. Eventually, he noticed Bethany and her in the corner. Bethany was crying because some boy from another school that they had met was blowing her off after spending the last three nights together. She was drunk, but Bethany was hammered beyond the capabilities of comprehension. Even though he was smashed, too, his good-guy instincts kicked in.
“Let me take you home,” he said after absorbing Bethany’s slurring, sobbing tale.
They walked and talked the mile from the club back to the house they’d rented. Bethany passed out almost immediately upon returning home, so he put her into her bed before walking outside to the deck. The cool ocean breeze caressed his face for a while before he sensed a presence next to him. It was her. She’d followed Bethany and him home.
Without a word, she plopped into his lap and lay her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she finally said, “for getting my friend home safely.”
He wasn’t sure what to do, so they sat there awhile while she slept, or so he thought. “You’re such a nice guy,” she eventually rasped. “You’re so cute and funny. I like you.”
He wanted to say something, but she was asleep again, and so he remained silent. So he just sat there, holding her and smelling the ocean smell through her nest of beautiful, auburn hair.
That was the last time he saw her. He hadn’t thought about that night in a while, but now it came rushing back to him, clear as if it had just happened.
A buzzing from his desk brought him back from his thoughts. It was his phone, on the desk. Another notification. From Bumble. It read: “You have a new connection!” .
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@joshetyler
@joshetyler
This was a nice read for a Monday morning
Plot twist: It’s Bethany.
You know it’s fiction because that match never actually comes through in real life
The accuracy of this comment hurts my soul
This managed to give me a whirlwind of emotions.. Solid read.
Nice start to “Things Guys Do After Graduation”
Thought I’d throw something a little different for my #brand out there, but make no mistake I don’t dare infringe on deFries’s kingdom
Bravo Josh.
hittin close to home this morning
Dang. Way to add some life to this Monday.