(Originally posted on Myspace, February 17th, 2007)
Back when I was new at NMSU, I lived on campus. Every morning, I would eat with Nathan Jones in the dining hall; lunch to me, breakfast to him.
My very favorite memory of Nathan is the day he told me, “I have a personal question to ask. Geez, this is embarrassing…”
I froze, braced for anything, until he learned forward and murmered, “What are split ends, and do I have them?”
Years have passed, but now every time I pass the Corbett end of campus I catch myself thinking, “Hey, maybe I’ll run into Nathan Jones!” until I remember that he moved back to St. Louis. This happened to me all last Spring, too, even though I knew he was living in Mexico; “Hey, maybe I’ll run… into…. Nathan J…. oh. No. I suppose not.”
Honestly, I barely know anything about Nathan; we talked about music, food, and our unruly hair, but you couldn’t call us close friends. Even ‘friends’ is stretching the point. Nevertheless, I am a deeply sentimental, nostalgic soul, so I miss Nathan Jones.
Swimming in reverie…
I miss so many things: friends from elementary school (even the mean kids), JNCO jeans, Pound Puppies, playing board games with my siblings (even the mean ones), the shed I used as a music room, my battered old guitars, my best friend Greyloon, the agony of teenage romance, the smell of honeysuckle in Indiana, old bedrooms, dancing in the rain, hideous polyester shirts, Sunday afternoons baking and reading with Sara, old flames (not the mean ones), being young and cocky….. the good old days.
The children from elementary school will never know how much I admired them, I lose touch with old boyfriends, and very few people know how much I love them. While some trust too easily, I rarely trust. I keep to myself at school— most of my classmates would be surprised to learn that I have any personality at all. But underneath all that, I am softer than custard. I care deeply for almost everyone I know. I never forget a face.
Having been here for two or three years, there are plenty of faces on campus I recognize. I feel warmth for these people, these familiar strangers. Do they recognize me, I wonder? A week or two ago, I held the elevator for a guy with a ponytail. Now I’ll be forced to remember him forever— that’s the way my brain works. Would he recognize me?
You can imagine how cluttered my memory gets, with all these faces milling around. It’s no wonder I distract so easily. I’ll be off work soon, biking home past Corbett. Hey, maybe I’ll run into Nathan…..
No, I won’t.