Spring Day & Cold Shoulders

The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.

When the hooligans that banged on your door the morning of Spring Day showed up on that cold April morning of my sophomore year, I wanted nothing to do with festivities. Part of me hoped that the blur of alcohol and silly activities would wipe away all the awkwardness I had caused with my letter to Heather. The rest of me, though, knew that part of me was full of shit. There would be no break for me, not yet anyway. The only thing colder than the weather that day would be the cold shoulders I got all day.

Of course my steadfast friends, people like Rachael and Russel, said hello to me and tried to keep my spirits up. But Rachael was friends with all of her floor and that was where Heather T. lived and that meant that even my steadfast friends couldn’t hang out with me because they were too busy hanging out with the girl who hated me and her friends who hated me by proxy.

I’d later see pictures of the day, of all of them sitting together, and God how I wanted to go back in time and be there. It makes me tear up just to think of it. I really fucked things up good.

So I spent most of Spring Day alone, while everyone else got drunk and enjoyed the outdoor activities as best they could in the cold. I suppose it was just as well though. It was about time I had some time to myself, to think about all the shit I’d done over the past few years.