Haven't Met You Yet

Today is the first day of my sophomore year at Carmen College of Literature and Arts, where I study History and Classical Literature Studies. I walked out of my dorm and still felt very sleepy because last night my dorm was having an unofficial pajama party to celebrate the last day of our summer break. We danced, we sang, drank, and foolishly (tended to) forgot that tomorrow’s gonna be the start of a new semester. When I left the building at 7.30, hardly anyone was up.

I stepped on my mustard flat shoes lazily across the street, glancing back before I walked away from that small three-floored building. The dorm only accepts female students so it’s pretty neat, even though the building is looking rather old with an exposed red brick, old-time style from the last century. I lived there with around 35-40 other students from various colleges and universities, but most of them study in a state university a block away from the dorm. I have lived in this dorm since I left my hometown for college a year ago.

My hometown is a small seaside town in the middle of nowhere, approximately 300 miles from here. I lived there since I was born, with my mom, dad, and twin little brothers. My dad is a fisherman, he usually gets back to port every 5-7 days, sells everything they catch, and sails back to the sea in around 2-3 days. My mom, on the contrary, is the only lawyer in that small suburb. A pretty odd combination for parents, eh? I think so too.

I didn’t even know how they could agree to be married to each other since they also have a contrasting personality that definitely matches their opposing careers. My dad as a fisherman, is always a laid-back easygoing person, while my mom, living with her is like joining the army because her rules are very strict and the time schedule is the one she worship the most.

I left my hometown for further education, and also because I felt the town was really small and there’s nothing left for me anymore. It felt really suffocating sometimes if you lived in a place populated by only less than 1000 people who have lived there for at least 20 years, and hardly ever gone anywhere. I have known everyone since I was born, and believe me since then only 10 people have moved into that town. Yes, TEN people! A 70-something years old couple who wished to spend their remaining days in the seaside retirement home, two priests with three nuns (because they’re opening a new church), two teachers from a nearby town who filled the job vacancy, and an Elvis impersonator, who shortly became the celebrity A-lister at the town with his stories of Las Vegas, Memphis, LA, NYC, and all those cities he visited when he was in the US because everyone would gather around when he comes to the diner or bar and listen to his “adventures”. That’s all we’ve got these past two decades.

I hardly ever get any date for the last five years, because there are literally too few to date. The good boys are already taken or moving out, and the rest are criminals, perverts, or gays. Although almost all of the gays in town are really close to me, and I usually hang out with them and go anywhere with them, I couldn’t REALLY count it as a dating date, right? I always hoped when I moved out of that town, I'd get a bigger chance of finding a date. After a year living in a bigger city, do I think I have a bigger chance in dating? Not really.

Ugh, maybe I just sucked in picking a date. I broke up with my last boyfriend three months ago when I found out he’s three-timing me. And a relationship before that ended because my boyfriend constantly broke and made me pay for everything including his meals, rent, and even his cigarettes and beers coz he said his mother who lived far away is ill, and he sent nearly all his money to her. A few months later in relationships, I found out that he spent almost every cent of the money on gambling, and he always lost, and his mother is very healthy. So I left because apparently, he was the one who was ill, mentally. Since then, I promised myself I really had to make sure that if I meet some guy to date, he has to be the competent, sincere, and trustworthy one.

Oh, sorry... I just blurted out everything without introducing myself. I’m Anita Meyer, 22 years old, not dating anyone right now (as you already know), 155 cm short, medium brown pixie-look hair (my mother said it is my signature Tinkerbell look), greenish-brown eyes (which I count as one of my best features because it’s pretty unique), a heart-shaped face (which always makes my cheek looks chubby, no matter how many kilograms I lost), and a little curvier figures than I probably should (some people said I’m a little overweight, but I count it as curvy. Hey, even Beyonce and Marylin Monroe counted as a little bit overweight, but they really do have a fabulous body. They just have their extra fat in the right place).

The college is just a few blocks away from the dorm, so I usually walk for 15 minutes to reach it. I arrived at the campus and gazed sleepily around the front gate. There were just not as many people around the campus yard this morning, even though the semester officially begins today. And I guess only freshmen and the unlucky ones like me, who have a Monday morning class on the first day of the semester, who appear this early. Hmm, maybe the others are extending their summer break for a few days, as usual. Damn, why should I have an 8 am class every Monday this semester?? I really hate morning class (and double hate it if it’s on Monday, like this semester).

I walked into the yard while yawning a few times and looking around to find someone I know. When I was looking into the parking lot, I saw someone I really eager to see, the one who’s gonna make the day way much brighter only by seeing him. He’s Clayton Sommers, the 25-year-old handsome ex-runway model and now quite a famous movie actor who just won his best actor’s title in the independent movie award this year. He also studied here, in his senior year, majoring in Philosophy. Because of his perfect appearance and his profession, he’s surely our college’s #1 heartthrob. He was secretly chased by all of the girls around him, fancying him from afar, yet nobody dares enough to talk to him, because he was really cold toward anyone, especially girls.

I felt instantly refreshed when I saw him, then sighed by the time I saw him walking in front of me, wishing someday I could just easily call him and walk with him into the building while chatting a bit. But I don’t know how. To him I’m invisible, I’m unknown. We have nothing in common, different majors, different years. But after all, I know even though I always hate morning class, maybe this semester won’t be that bad if I know I have a chance to see him every Monday morning.

I had been having a secret crush on that guy a few months before the last semester ends. Actually, I am kinda reluctant to admit to anyone that I liked him because it sounds too common. I bet a quarter of the total people on this campus have a crush on him, not only students but lecturers, librarians, administration officers, cleaning services, and cafeteria workers of any gender. Since I usually loved being a one-of-a-kind and unique person, I hate to be on the same side with the majority this time. I never want to be the mainstream kind of girl who instantly has a crush and chases every cool and charming guy, especially because he’s a celeb and he’s one of the rich, handsome and famous kinda guys. Nope, I didn't have a crush on him because of those cheesy reasons. I have my own unique reason.

I fell in love with his smoking style.

Well, I know it might sound really odd, but I thought it was his strongest and coolest look. I’m sorry for the non-smoker, I know I’m not gonna promoting a healthy lifestyle here.

I was at the campus that afternoon when I spotted him wearing distressed light blue jeans and a faded grey loose t-shirt, standing alone beside a standing ashtray and trash can, leaning on the outside walls of one of our campus buildings, and smoking. He looked really striking and showed a breath-taking coolness while he exhales the smoke from his curved thin lips. His cold, dark brown, sharp-looking eyes were peeking behind his long, wavy, shoulder-length black hair, gazing at the smoke that flew upwards like an enchanted snake and watched it deeply. His smoking style looks so mysterious, mature, yet I felt a hint of wildness and rebelliousness in there. It was picture-perfect for me.