Ace and Flunk

When I was a kid, I remember every year after school had ended in early June, I always grabbed all my homework, my math worksheets, and tests and threw them in the trash as fast as I could. Like they were going to self destruct or meld into my body if I didn’t throw them out. I wanted to get rid of anything school related (especially math) and delve into summer by hanging with friends, going to the beach, and reading books (yes, I was a bookworm). Now I collect all my college notebooks, papers, and exams.  As I rifled through the 15 page papers, math exams, and notebooks on Anthropology, I perused through my old Political Philosophy notebook.  Looking at my scrawny handwriting on the differences between an oligarchy and authoritarianism, the duality of man’s body and soul, and Hobbes’ political contract; I noticed a tiny scribble on the margin not belonging to Rousseau or Locke. At least I don’t think.

“Look but do not talk

Stare but do not chat

Admire but do not love”

Then it hit me. It had been my philosophy quote of frustration on a particular being in my political philosophy class.

Political Philosophy class scared the hell out of me. Our Professor, which I thought would look like Marx or Edward S. Burroughs, at least was instead a very well dressed slim man with a booming voice who he used to instill fear in us. He jumped on us with questions on Plato and Socrates if we yawned, he randomly asked you on relativism and rationalism if you looked at the door, mobile or someone of the opposite sex. I was terrified. The class as a whole was terrified. What became a full capacity 40 student class soon became the standard 25 by two weeks end.  Thinking back, the first time I met my crush was when he asked if I had a pencil. We were sitting on the floor because all the desks were taken. Horrified by the Prof. I can’t remember my answer but I’m pretty sure I said no because I wanted to listen to the Prof. and write everything he said for fear of the imminent pop quiz that might land any second or day. I had a comrade with me in this class, *Gina*, the brightest and smartest student I’d ever met. She was like me, shy and no boy experience. I can still remember us picking the talent in the class. There were so many guys, every time one entered the stifling classroom, we would just look at each other and decide if they were cute and which one would we crush on the entire semester. 

Among the many, I made the choice of picking a Spanish looking Israelite who drove a bike. Later, I would regret this pick when sitting close to him one class day, would find he had a “tramp stamp.” Turned me off and confused me instantly and just focused on the subject.  “The guy next to you was so hot! He looked like Chris Evans”, *Gina* told me. Which guy I asked myself but remembered it was the guy who had asked for the pencil.  I still to this day do not think he looked like Chris Evans. He had small but kind eyes, short blonde hair, and was very preppy dressed. Maybe the short blonde hair gave my friend the comparison but I thought he was okay looking. My friend *Gina* had picked her piece of eye candy, which would be direly needed in this stress inducing class.  Every class, *Gina* and I learned a little bit more of Chris clone; he was from New Orleans and was an actor getting a law degree. I always pressured her into talking to him, to ask him if he was at Katrina, did he like the teacher, etc. but she always chickened out.

I don’t know when it started, but maybe it was that second day of class when he looked at me the whole class because I didn’t have a pencil or when I wore Madonna gloves with a cloche hat that other class, but I would usually catch him looking at me. Again, the usual standard questions followed, did I have something in my hair? did I have something on my face?, etc. *Chris* pondered for more than a second on where to sit and would sit near me each class. I usually sat in the back and would usually see his eyes catching mine every time the Prof. would take a breather from lecturing. The clock was in front of the classroom so I know he wasn’t looking for the time. I even recall looking at the back myself but nothing was there. I got suspicious. I got suspicious when *Chris* dropped his pen when we were signing up for study groups. I got suspicious when he sat next to me when my friend was absent and informed the professor “May the fourth be with you” which I had been telling my friends.  I pressured my friend to talk to him but she wouldn’t budge. Even when a group conversation came about the preferable university, I couldn’t help noticing he was looking at me, but again it is debate-able to whom he was looking at.  The only time he actually talked to me happened on the day of the final exam in which *Gina* trounced on my words. He asked me what the difference between Hegel and Marx were and of course, my friend answered but kept asking one more question and was interrupted by the teacher and off we went to finish our final exam.

I never saw him again after that day and do I think about him?, yeah sometimes.  I was definitely in a conundrum, liking my friend’s crush but who was at fault here? I blame him because why didn’t he talk to me or my friend? Temporary pledges are a fickle thing. I may have gotten an "A" in that class, but I got an "F" in dealing with guys.