32. Is it just meis college just Googling stuff all day?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
is it just me or is college just googling stuff all day?
College. Is. Perfect.
I’ve been looking forward to college for as long as I can remember. I don’t think everybody needs to go or even should go, but it was always the plan for me. After hyping it up for so long, part of me was worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectations. Thankfully, it has.
Even though I’m not as far from home as I’d like, and I’m in a small state that sometimes likes to act like a small town, there’s still something freeing about being here.
It is a different state from home, and even a little distance helps me feel more independent here.
I think it’s the small things, like getting to decide where I want to spend my time between classes and what I want to eat for every meal.
I even get to decide if I want to go to class.
And consequences of those decisions are all my own.
So, what I do feels like it matters more.
I may have turned eighteen almost a year ago, but I feel like I’m a real adult now. I’m out of the house, and I’m figuring this out. I think I’m doing a pretty fucking stellar job, if I do say so myself.
I’m passing my classes. I remember to eat vegetables.
I’ve kept track of my wallet, and I use my planner to stay organized(ish).
Even though we’re in different programs, Forrest and I still get to see a lot of each other, and because we’re not doing the same thing all day anymore, we have new stuff to talk about.
It feels very mature in a way my relationships with people in high school never did. Maybe that’s why they never lasted.
This one is different. Forrest and I understand each other without having to explain every little thing. It leaves time for other stuff like growing together as whole-ass people.
Kind of accidentally—because he’s going to have to pick something for a major and graphic design is just offered as a minor here—Forrest seems to have fallen into a passion he didn’t know he had for architecture.
Since he doesn’t have to worry about us, he can explore that, and I’m excited I get to share in his excitement.
Sometimes, I just sit and think about it, what we’re doing here. We’re planning the rest of our lives right now.
I’ve started a list of places I want to go once we have the time and money to do so.
I don’t want to call it a bucket list, because that feels morbid, but other than its name, there’s really no difference.
Florence, Vienna (especially at Christmas), Shanghai, Paris, Rio, Edinburgh, a cruise through the Drake Passage.
There really isn’t anywhere I don’t want to go.
As a writer, I can do my job anywhere. The more places I go and more things I experience, the better my writing will be.
They say to write what you know, and I want to know it all.
Plus, if Forrest is going to be an architect, maybe we can even live in some of these places for a while, and he can help change their skylines.
They’re big dreams, and maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but we’re young. And I think there’s no better time to dream big. No better time to see the world away from the small piece we’ve been in so far.
“Hey you,” Forrest says as he slides into a seat next to me. The second he sits, he pops back up like he’s forgotten something and leans across the corner of the table to press a kiss to my lips.
I think I fall more in love with him every day.
“How can you concentrate in here?” he asks, looking around the crowded space.
I’ve been camped in the student union for about an hour, working on a short story I want to submit to the school’s literary magazine.
Professor Rupert, one of my writing professors, a visiting professor from an enormous college in Arizona, keeps saying the biggest responsibility of a writer is to write.
So, I’m trying to write, and I like how noisy it is in here.
It’s enough background chatter to make me feel alive without any particular conversation sticking out to distract me.
“Isn’t it perfect?” I say, propping my head up with my hand. Everything feels perfect these days.
“Can’t say I fully get it, but whatever makes you happy,” Forrest says, reaching out to ruffle my new bangs.
I got them at the start of the school year to signify a life change, and I think I love them.
It’s possible Forrest is a cat considering how much he likes to play with them, but he always straightens them out again. I like to let him take care of me. He’s running his fingers through the fringe when he tilts his head to look at his watch.
“When’s your next class?” he asks, but I close my eyes with bliss.
“I’ve got some time. Can you stay with me?” I peek one eye back open and pout.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he says with a sweet smile.
So, we sit. I write, and Forrest props open a textbook for one of his classes, silently staring at the page even though I know he doesn’t like working when there’s a lot of noise like there is around us right now.
When I ask if he’d like to move somewhere quieter, he kisses me on my nose and shakes his head.
I think this must be what having all my dreams come true feels like.
I get into a groove because it feels like no time at all has passed when Forrest places his hand on my arm and says, “I think it’s time for your class.”
“Shit!” I swear when I take a look at the time on Forrest’s wristwatch. It’s definitely time to go.
“I’ll walk you. We’ll still make it, promise,” Forrest says, standing with me, and when he takes my stack of books from my arms, I practically swoon.
This man delivers me right to my seat in English lit, setting my things on the little fold-up desk before kissing me once more and promising to meet me once class gets out.
“Cam, you’ve got to tell me where to find one like that,” my roommate Iris says when she falls into the seat beside me.
I look over my shoulder just in time to see Forrest slip out of the door at the back of the room.
“Wouldn’t you believe I found him up a tree?” I say as our professor starts class.