Krista Voth
2-25-97

     She sits at the table.  Around her are things she has come to know as typical college behavior in the cafeteria.  The forcing down of food that at home would be intolerable, the guzzling of the tasteless red fruit drink, the clang of the toaster when the english muffin is done.  
     The fast-paced movements of the people as they move across the room in search of anything good to eat is something she has learned to ignore.  She dismisses the various sounds of laughter that come from all directions.  She doesn't want to hear people being happy, especially on a day like this.
     She scans the room in search of someone, anyone, who might be as sad as she.  Everyone is at their designated table- the soccer players at the long table in the back, the granolas in the corner by the huge bush that still has the white lights on it, leftover from a wedding, the snobby girls at a table in the middle where they can receive maximum attention from passers by.  She is at a table off to the side where no one will pay attention.  
     She didn't always sit here but has grown to like the anonymity of the tables that are so tightly packed together you can barely get through.  Her friends are willing to follow her wherever she sits, they too are sick of the cliqueiness that comes from sitting in the center of the cafeteria.  She no longer has to try to
impress anyone.  She is popular enough but it doesn't matter now and it won't matter when she graduates.  She has her good friends and that is what is really important to her.  After observing all the childish games and trivial banter that takes place, meal after meal, for three years, they are happy to escape, if only by a few feet.     
     Her movements are slow, fork to plate to mouth.  She doesn't taste the food as it goes down.  She stares across the room as if in a daze, but her furrowed brow shows the concentration.  Finally, he looks up and catches her gaze.  He smiles, then resumes eating. Her heart begins to pound, faster and faster.  She throws down the rest of her food, puts the napkin on the table and gets up.  
     She races out of the cafeteria and down the hall.  "Today will be a good day," she thinks to herself as she feels the ache in her stomach building as she nears her destination.  She rounds the corner and pulls the keys from her pocket.  Her hands shake as she searches for the little round key that is bent from years of frustration and disappointment with the small metal box.  She raises her hand to the top row, inserts the key, turns it at a ninety degree angle, pulling the door toward her.  Her body sways as she stands on her toes.  She loses her balance as she peers into the black abyss.  She slams the empty thing shut, glances side to side and walks quickly away, hoping no one is watching.
     She flies out the nearest exit in a rage, a jumble of thoughts consuming her mind.  "What's wrong with me?"  "What did I expect?"
"How could I have been so stupid?"  Her lip quivers
and she bites down on it, hard, to make it stop.  She feels drops beginning to form in the corners of the eyes he said were beautiful.  
     It was 3 a.m. on a cold November night, the wind had finally died down, the sky was clear.  They were walking, hand in hand, along the path.  They had no destination, as long as they walked in the opposite direction of campus.  It had been a bad day, the stress of juggling studies with work and everything else was just too much for her.  They walked in silence and she was thankful for it.  Too many people had talked at her today, without bothering to listen.
     They walked to the bench where they often came to talk.  This night they just sat there, his arm around her shoulders.  She was staring up at the sky, the moon was full.  It was bright enough for him to see that she might soon start crying.  He whispered her name and she turned toward him.  Just seeing him smile made her feel better.  He was staring at her now, she started getting mad.  "What are you looking at?" she asked, trying to sound pissed.  He laughed, then said, "Your eyes are really beautiful."          
     Suddenly, she jerks to attention, out of the daydream.  It seemed so long ago.  She longed again for the nights when they would just sit together in his room, pretending to study.  It wasn't the same anymore, they were in a routine that was becoming harder and harder to break.  She walks faster, praying that no one
will stop her.
     She passes people on the sidewalk who smile and say "hi" but she keeps walking, nodding briefly.  "They look so happy," she thinks as she continues down the path.  There is a lump forming in her throat that tells her to hurry up.  She is almost running as she trips on a crack in the sidewalk.  She laughs to herself as she tallies the bad luck she has accrued since leaving the shelter of her room this morning.  "How could one day be so detrimental to a girl's life?"  She can't even convince herself that the feelings of rejection aren't warranted.
     She rubs her tired eyes.  Her contacts are so itchy, the few hours of sleep last night now taking its toll.  She thinks about the fight they had yesterday.  She couldn't even remember what started it but it ended with him leaving.  Her thoughts consumed with things she could have said, things she should have said. Lately, everything was a fight.  "Why didn't he call when he said he would?"  "Where was he when she stopped by after her 2 o'clock class like she always did?"  "Why won't he tell her what's bothering him?"  They used to tell each other everything but now there was just silence.
     She wonders what is going on with them.  It seems like the only way to make him talk is to provoke an argument.  She liked to fight, to get the upper hand, but he never let her.  He stayed calm, not saying much, just letting her go at him, until finally yesterday, he had had enough.  He got up and headed for the door.
She asked him to sit back down.  "Tell me what the hell is going on?" she begged.  He said nothing as he left the room and slammed the door.  She hated that he didn't yell back, it made her even more angry.  Sometime in the middle of the night, she realized she didn't want to fight anymore.
     She had just drifted into sleep when the phone rang.  She dragged the phone into the lounge, trying not to wake up her roommate.  She turned on the lamp, settled onto the couch and finally picked up the receiver.  There was an awkward pause before he finally swallowed hard and began talking.  "It's not you,"  he said, "it's me."  She listened as he confessed that he wasn't sure things were working out.  "We're from different worlds, we both know it but one of us has to say it."  He told her about all the feelings he had been trying to avoid or hide all together and she didn't interrupt.  He didn't want to hold her back, he wasn't sure he would be able to give her all she was used to or needed.  "You had your whole life planned out before you met me," he said, "I don't know how I can fit in."  
     She had no idea that he felt like this and it was true that they had really different backgrounds but they were together now and she didn't want to lose him.  She told him so and he said he didn't want to break up either.  They talked for hours, about all the things that had been on their minds for months.  It was like their first date when they had talked until sunrise.  They both apologized for being stubborn and decided they would talk again
later in the day after they had gotten some sleep.  She yawned as she was said goodnight and was starting to hang up when he quietly said, "I think I'm falling in love with you."  She smiled as she put the phone down and leaned over to set the travel alarm on the coffee table to wake her up in time to get to class in a couple of hours.   

     She reaches the final ascent to her destination.  She takes the steps, two at a time, pulling herself up by the handrails.  Her breath is coming faster now, her chest heaving as she spies the top.  The tears are flowing openly now, the lump in her throat makes it hard to breath.  She rushes the door, twisting the handle and pushing through.  She runs past the lounge and
down the long hall, to the sanctuary of her room.  She enters, turning to slam the door behind her.  The crying is uncontrollable and she leans against the closed door for support.       After her normal breathing resumes and the security of the room envelops her, she turns around.  Her jaw drops, as she wipes the last of the tears away.  She blinks as if to prove it isn't a mirage.  She walks slowly to the desk and reaches for the card, hidden among the roses.  Her hands are steady as she opens the envelop and removes the note.  She breathes a sigh of relief and a smile comes to her lips as she reads, "Will you be my Valentine?"