In
my very short list of BYU dating experiences, one story outshines the rest.
This, friends, is the tale of The Date in Which I Almost Died.
My
sophomore year of college, I was very excited to move into a non-freshman ward.
Soon after this occurrence, we were split into FHE families, and in mine was
this boy, a little older and a little odder than the rest, who decided a few
weeks into the semester that I was his lady of choice. Upon learning this, fear
struck my heart. Not because he was a little on the weird side. That was fine.
But
because dating scared me.
The
first (and only) time he asked me out was on the way to an activity on campus.
A large portion of the ward headed up together, and I knew he was going to ask
me. I hid behind roommates and got in a car, thinking I was safe, when suddenly,
a roommate laughed and pointed out the window. This young man was riding his
scooter OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW, looking straight in at me and nodding. Not
watching the road at all. I kind of scooted down in my seat, but it didn't help
much.
We
got to campus, and the inevitable happened. He walked up to me. Asked if I knew
about the football game that Saturday (I did) and then asked if I’d accompany
him to it (I said yes). And that was that.
Fast
forward to Saturday.
I’m
usually a pretty early riser, and so I’d been up since 8, doing homework in the
living room in my pajamas and a blanket. It was about 9 when someone tried to
get in my front door, which was locked. They tried the handle and then started
shoving their body against it, trying to force it open. I freaked out. I knew
all of my roommates were home, so I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me
and opened the door a crack.
It
was that boy.
“Oh,
you’re awake. Why was your door locked?” He looked a little frustrated with my
obvious lack of courtesy.
“Because
it’s still early and everyone is asleep except for me…?” He kind of squinted at
me.
“Whatever.
The game starts at 1, so I’ll be over at 12 to make smoothies,” he held up a
grocery bag, “and then we can head to the game.”
“Sounds
fine to me, see you then.” I closed the door and locked it again. I sat back
down and finished some more homework, then headed back upstairs to take a
shower.
At
about 10:30, my roommates were awake and I had just gotten out of the shower,
when he walked into our apartment. AN HOUR AND A HALF EARLY. Some roommates
headed downstairs to investigate and stall, while I pulled clothes on my body
and tried to do my makeup as fast as I could. I heard the back door open and
close and thought he was gone.
Wrong.
He
just went and got his blender, insisting to my poor roommates that this is when
we’d agreed to meet. With the blender whirring loudly downstairs, I stopped
messing with my wet hair and just put it in a ponytail. I walked down and saw
him sitting at our table with two big glasses in front of him and tons of empty
containers on the counter.
“I
thought you said 12?” I cautiously sat down.
“No,
you must have heard wrong. I said 10, so sorry I’m late.” He took another drink
of his smoothie, handing me mine. I looked down into the cup and saw florescent
pink water with random pieces of floating berries staring up at me. “Drink up!”
It
tasted like acid, but I drank the whole thing.
After
he finished his, he went to clean up, picking up his pile of trash and opening
the cupboard under the sink to throw it away. We hadn’t gotten around to
emptying our trash can, so there was no room for his garbage.
“Woman!
This is disgusting. I can’t believe you.” He almost shouted, gesturing to the
trash can. I honestly didn't know what to say. He sighed heavily and took it
out to the dumpster, coming back in to demand my thanks on his improving my
apartment. He continued to ridicule me as he opened the dishwasher and
rearrange all of our dishes, which apparently were not in the correct places.
He
continues to grill me on my previous football history. I tell him that my dad
played football in college, to which his response is: “So he’s a massive human
being?” I shake my head no, he’s just normal sized and he shrugs.
We
finally leave for the game, and as we walk outside, I realize that I’ll have to
ride on the back of his scooter. And hold onto him. As it turns out, my fear
was irrational, because as I get on the back, he points to two leather straps
and tells me to hang on. Did I also mention that no helmets were involved and
he told me that he’d just started learning how to drive this thing the week
before? BECAUSE ALL OF THOSE THINGS WERE TRUE.
As
we headed up 9th East, he was cutting cars off and speeding, and I
was hanging on to those leather straps as if my life depended on it (which it
did) and praying, “Please, God, please. If I survive this, I promise to be nicer.
I promise to do my homework on time and to actually enjoy visiting teaching.”
Finally we get to the parking spot and begin walking towards the stadium. I
tried to start a conversation with him as we walked, then sat, and then watched
the game, but he was having none of it. In fact, he outright ignored me. So, to
pass the time, I just talked to myself. The couple sitting near us gave me a
look of pity mixed with confusion. Half time rolled around, and he looked at me
and told me he was sick of this and that we were leaving. Fine by me.
Soon
we were back on the Scooter of Death, going possibly faster than we were
before. The plus side of this was that I was home sooner. He pulls up in front
of my apartment and stalls his scooter.
“Well,
thank you. I had a really nice time.” I say as I struggle off the back of the
Death Mobile.
“Yah,
whatever.” He stays on his bike. I wait and see if he’s going to do the
standard walk to the door and a hug routine, but he doesn’t. He starts the
scooter again and swerves around me without a look back.
I
shrug, and go inside, just happy to still have my limbs intact.
-The Indignant
