First semester of my sophomore year I had a total school-girl crush on a boy in my anthropology class. He would make witty little jokes under his breath and doodle during class. I never once had a conversation with him.
His name was John. Or Joe. Or Josh. I simply called him Anthropology John.
I talked way too frequently about him to my friends and painted him as the perfect, All-American boy. He was more of a fantasy character than an actual friend to me. Or even acquaintance.
I hadn't seen him since that class, but imagined running into him in a Disney-inspired moment of passion-filled eye-locking.
Today, the day of my last day ever at UGA, I went to do a pre-employment drug screening. And there, between the redneck with the Ford belt buckle and the man carrying newborn twins, was Anthropology John.
I swear he glowed.
He looked about two and a half years older than I remember (read: oh-so mature and manly) and I'm sure he recognized me by my good looks and girlish guile.
At one point, I considered actually talking to him, but decided I liked the Anthropology John in my mind better than whoever he probably is. Sorry, AJ.
No comments:
Post a Comment