Page 65 of Blitz

Friday night comes, and I stay home with my roommates. Amir, Barrett, and I watch a movie and play video games while Wes sits in his armchair and reads. Afterwards, I go upstairs and jerk off thinking of her. This time I’m not some sad, pathetic loser pining over a girl I can’t have: I’m thinking about my girlfriend, the woman who loves me, with whom I’m in a serious committed relationship.

As much as I’d rather sit around in my underwear and think of her some more, on Saturday morning, Barrett drags me to the gym, and we get in a good lift. I hit the treadmill for some cardio and wonder what she’s up to. She has her race today. I wonder if she still has a pair of lucky socks she wears for every meet in the season. If she likes her Newton teammates more than her Georgetown friends. If she’s thinking about me.

I almost can’t remember what I did before her, except that some things are crystal clear. I moped. I pined. I was trapped in a limbo of pain, powerless to the force of my misery.

I stayed at home. I hung out with my roommates. I played video games and watched movies with the guys. I kept tabs on her social media. I had no life, and I liked it that way.

Somehow I missed that she transferred to Newton last fall. Somehow, I missed that her entire life changed. She was so close to me—only four blocks away! We ate dinner at the same dining hall and never saw each other. We existed in the same bubble of school and the athletic department and never crossed paths.

Well, she might have seen me. She certainly wasn’t surprised to see me at the assessment center orientation. Maybe she planned it, as a way for us to reconnect over a neutral topic. Maybe she spent last semester gathering her courage to approach me. Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt.

Barrett stops at the end of my treadmill. “You’re thinking about her again.”

“Always.” I wipe my forehead with my shirt. “Is it that obvious?”

“You really love her,” he states.

“It’s like the last two and a half years, I was existing, but I wasn’t living. I was going through the motions. Everything was in black and white. She makes my whole world turn technicolor.”

He shakes his head. “Sometimes I want that.”

“What? A relationship?”

“Yeah. And then I realize I like being on my own, I like having my own schedule, and I like not having to answer to anyone about how I spend my time.” Barrett laughs. “Maybe when I’m out of college and have a real job.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Consistent sex with the same person every night?”

“It’s so much more than that,” I tell him. “It’s knowing there is someone who loves and respects you, who supports you, who is there when you need a shoulder to lean on. She’s the person I want to talk to at the end of a long day. When I wake up, I look forward to seeing her, and she’s the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. Talking to her makes my whole day better. Actually seeing her, spending time with her?” I shake my head. “It’s great. Even when we fight, even when we have issues, my life is better because she’s in it.”

“You’ve only been together a week. Aren’t you taking it a little fast?”

I give this the courtesy of serious thought. “I don’t know how much of it is our past and how much is our present. I just know that being with her makes me happy.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m happy you’re happy, man. You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but I’m happier being on my own,” he says.

“If you change your mind, Mase has a ton of hot friends.”

He considers. “That Melissa chick is kind of cute. Maybe…”

“Want me to set something up?”

Barrett is like a brother to me; if he wants a date with one of Mason’s friends, the least I can do is try to arrange something.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says. “I’m heading to the sauna.”

Hopping off the treadmill, I join him and some of the other guys in the sauna. Sullivan, one of our safeties, is there with a bunch of freshmen and sophomores, regaling them with stories of his greatest achievements, which usually involve dropping the ball or missing a tackle at a crucial moment. He doesn’t share this with them.

Barrett and I exchange a look and head to the back corner of the sauna, where Wes is sitting with a book.

“Hey.”

He grunts. There are too many people here for him to be comfortable. He would probably prefer if Barrett and I left, too.