Nine Times

I saw him nine times.

The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.

I tested out of the class.  

I don’t know if he did.

The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren’t in the same classes I was, they were outside of people I thought about.

Once he got into the building and out of my sight, I promptly forgot about him.

The third time I saw him was that autumn, when the leaves had already fallen off the trees and the entirety of campus was visible between the gaps in the building. I don’t know what made me notice him again. There was nothing that would really draw us together, other than the fact that we had entered at the same time and would graduate together. He smiled at me this time, and I smiled back, before hurrying into the building. I was the one almost late for class that time, after I tripped down the stairs and had to stop to shove my shoes back on. Luckily, the professor didn’t notice me slip in.

I took my seat and tried to stop myself from wondering about what that smile had meant.

The fourth time we saw each other was in the spring. It was final’s week, and instead of rushing to class, I was rushing to turn in a test. He was studying in the library, I was cursing the printers as each one failed to work right. He didn’t look up that time. None of us really did, because it was the week when ‘Sleep is for the weak’ took its harshest hold on all of us, as we attempted to be more than human. In the end, I think we all somewhat believed that if we didn’t attempt such things, we were worth less as students than those that did. So while I would ordinarily have been worried to see the dark circles under anyone’s eyes, I merely shook my head and rushed away.

I sometimes regret not taking a chance to speak to more people when things like that happened.

The fifth time was at the end of the summer, when we had just returned to campus. It was hot in most of the buildings, and I took a certain amount of glee in the fact that the floor that all of my classes were on was known as the icebox to those who had classes down there. I passed the other students, including him, sweating as they exited the older buildings.

It might have been wrong of me, but that moment made me more convinced my major was right.

The sixth time was once again in the spring. But this time it was earlier, and we were a little wiser, and very few people were skipping on sleep to study or cry. This time he was lounging on the ground as I exited my dorm building. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, wondering if he intended to show up to class covered in grass stains and possibly bugs. Then I reminded myself that it was none of my business, and hurried off to experience the wonderful theory class I was signed up for.

This time, I didn’t let the fact that I was in class stop me from wondering about what he was doing.

The seventh time I saw him was in the winter. Once more everyone was getting ready for finals, but there was no pleasant breeze outside, instead a biting cold wind that came off the freezing river. Even having lived in the area my whole life, I never became used to it. Nor was my balance up to the ice that overtook portions of the sidewalk. I slipped, fell, and realized what had happened five seconds and ten feet away, when I managed to uncurl from the ball and see him standing above me. He helped me up as I grabbed my knee and moaned.

It was only bruised, nothing worse. My pride, on the other hand, took a battering that day.

The eighth time I saw him was also in the winter, but a few months later. The ice had melted away and I was coping with the jokes about sidewalks that now popped up whenever the weather affected the way the sidewalks were. I still don’t see what was that funny about someone falling, other than the fact that young women are expected to be capable of walking - something that I apparently decided to prove wrong.

This time, he didn’t see me. I kept my face low, cheeks burning at the memory.

The ninth and last time was graduation. I walked up on stage, took my diploma, and noticed him as I turned. For one moment, our eyes met, and I wondered about the what ifs that could have taken place. Then the ceremony was over, and we picked up our things and walked away from the life we had led for so long.

The cliché thing is that I wish I could go back and live them.