Looks of Regret (Part 2)

Those who don’t remember history are doomed to repeat it someone said.

 It’s a true statement in my opinion but sadly I have repeated it and in history class no less.
 
After my idiotic act on Reed, I promised myself I would never do that again. Never run away like a little girl. To smile, to say words like “hi.”  I think I can recall doing smiling exercises.  

I had transferred to a new college and as I put on a happy face at all my classes; everyone was very introverted which was strange for this introvert trying to be an extrovert. After a couple of months, I gave up on the friendliness and became the shy girl I usually am, going to my seat and listening to the lecture. My favorite class during that semester was the History of the U.S. from World War II to the present. The professor seemed to relish talking about Vietnam, Kennedy, Reagan, and the G.I. Bill. His voice was booming and his little anecdotes of college sit ins and Vietnam protests interested me and the class.  As any good class, it was full of students and with all the vibrant discourse, I stayed pleasantly in the shadows, writing notes and getting top marks on my essay exams. 

Whenever I see someone staring at me, directly staring at me, I always think that they’re staring at someone else, and they usually are but this guy was staring at me and he did it in the most funny way and I acted like the snobby bitch. I distinctly remember staring straight and never looking right, where he always sat. I remember every day, he would run in, five minutes before class to drop his backpack on the desk next to me or his drawing pad, as if marking his territory to try to get my attention. 

He wasn’t exactly a class clown, but I remember him usually raising his hand and having a fun debate with the professor over the Toyota Prius and its lack of speed.  The time when I was able to look at him, he was very cute, nice short hair, honey hazel eyes, and I always remember him wearing something grey.  When I could sneak a peek, I would see him drawing on his sketchpad. One time, while waiting for class to begin, I drew a little figure on my notebook and as I drew, I remember seeing him drawing, albeit more professionally and him pausing, looking at what I was drawing. I think I was sketching a crazy bearded king. The only other memory fragment I can recall was looking at my shoes and his shoes trying to move closer to mine during a lecture.

 I still don’t understand why I didn’t look at him and say hi and instead acted as snotty bitch-ella.  I can also remember one moment where a fellow student in the back looked at him and then me with that knowing look as if we were together or something. 

He wasn’t the only one competing for my attention.   One thing I dislike when it comes to guys getting my attention is preppy arrogance.  A preppy arrogant guy was also interested in sitting next to me or around me. I am most certain this person was vying for my attention because he straight up turned around to look at me for like  what felt like 5 minutes then turn around in his seat. It was creepy but believe it or not, I've experienced creepier. When the professor talked about Vietnam, Preppy Loser said his dad was some general or coronel in that war; when the topic of Reagan and the 80s came up, he talked about his father being good friends with him and being in the white house blah, blah, blah. It didn’t impress me. Around this time, the artist with his sketch pad wasn’t showing up for weeks. I grew worried. Then one day before class, I saw him enter and head directly to the professor, he stared in my direction and I foolishly looked away.  “Too bad, it’s your decision,” I heard the professor say with a disappointed face. “Maybe next year, I’ll be back,” the artist said with his interesting accent. The professor said ,”sure,” like he had heard that line before in his lifetime. And as the artist left the classroom, he held the door for preppy loser to enter. The end of the semester consisted of the prepster trying to get my attention and I hating every moment of it. I seeked solace in  the Strategic Defense Initiative and the Bill Clinton Presidency.

Thinking about it now, I think it might have been my punishment for what I did. I wish I knew his name but even the professor couldn’t pronounce it.  His last name had more than 3 syllables if I can recall.

I guess I get stupid when a guy I’m attracted to pays any attention to me. In the end, I become portrayed as a snobby stuckup.