7. Dixie
DIXIE
The surface of the table is covered with so many flyers that it's now impossible to see the wood underneath.
"I had no idea there were so many clubs," Pia marvels.
This afternoon, Saphya, Pia, and I made the rounds of all the student organization booths during the campus activities fair. Following Saphya's directions, we took a brochure from every stand, which resulted in quite an impressive haul.
The colorful papers spread out before our eyes, and I have no idea what I'm going to choose. At OMU, it's looked upon favorably to get involved in an extracurricular activity, and I admit it would be a pleasant way to distract myself a bit when the pace of classes intensifies.
"There are so many choices!" Pia continues, picking up a few flyers that she studies carefully. "I'm torn between several clubs..."
"Sign up for all of them," Saphya suggests.
"I'll never have time to do everything. No, I think I'll focus on art-related ones."
"Isn't that already what you're majoring in?" Saphya asks her.
From what Pia has told me, she has gone deep into the art courses: photography, sculpture, visual arts, art history, all on top of her required freshman courses.
"Yes, but that's all I'm passionate about," the petite blonde answers.
Saphya fishes out a light blue glittery flyer before showing it to Pia, "How about the choir? Music is art too."
Our friend's face turns crimson as she considers the brochure, but she doesn't comment.
"I'm going to join the cheerleaders ," Saphya announces.
My heart lurches, and instinctively, my fingers move to the scar marking my forearm.
"I didn't know you danced," I remark, my throat tight.
"Oh yes, I did it for years! But now my thing is choreography rather than flying."
The dreamy expression that appears on her face resonates with me, but I quickly push away the memories trying to resurface.
That chapter of my life is definitely closed, and I can't allow myself to revisit it, or I'll fall apart.
When you've lived fully for your passion, when you've given everything you had to perfect yourself, it's difficult to give it up and find the strength to move forward.
And that's exactly how I feel about cheerleading. I could have gone very far, if only...
Pia interrupts my train of thought:
"What are you going to choose, Dixie?"
I stare at her for a moment, just long enough for Saphya to interject, "You have to join a club, trust me, if you don't, you'll regret it later. Seriously! We're supposed to be spending the best years of our lives at this college!"
She looks so enthusiastic that I refrain from telling her I hope we'll have other equally wonderful years long after we've graduated. Life would be pretty sad otherwise.
"So, what are you choosing?" Saphya insists .
I pick up a flyer at random and show it to my roommates. "This!"
Saphya's gaze shifts from the brochure to me.
"Cake design? Well, that's not bad! I hope you'll bring us cakes every week.
I love everything sweet!" She has a greedy expression that makes me smile.
I'm the opposite, I love everything savory.
But I figure this club will be a good pastime, and at worst, I can always quit.
Saphya turns to our roommate who's been quiet for a while. "What about you, Pia? Tempted by the choir?"
Pia bites her lower lip and shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."
"Come on!" Saphya insists. "I'm sure you have a lovely voice. I've heard you humming when you thought no one was listening."
Once again, Pia's cheeks turn tomato red.
"I think I'll join the cake design club with Dixie."
She looks up at me with eyes full of... hope? What's going on with her? Pia doesn't need to ask my permission, she can choose whatever club she wants. I get the impression she's waiting for a response from me, so I say, "Cool! We can go together."
Pia seems relieved. Clearly, I gave the answer she was hoping for.
"When you think about it, it's a form of visual art," comments Saphya.
"Exactly," Pia responds. "It should even help me with my sculpture class."
The girls chat, but my mind wanders far from our living room, hundreds of miles from this university, southward to Alabama.
Sometimes I wish I had the power to turn back time to visit the Dixie of the past and explain what she should do, warn her, alert her to what's going to happen.
But the past can't be changed. Besides, it makes me who I am today.
What would I have become if my life hadn't pivoted that day?
I've often imagined that other life I could have led, sketching in my imagination an existence that could only be real in a parallel universe where I hadn't made the same choices.
I am the product of every decision I've made in my life. There's nothing I can do about that. All I control is my present and every action I take now.
The weight of regrets suddenly seems to press down on my shoulders. I push back my chair to stand up, earning surprised looks from my friends.
"I need some fresh air," I excuse myself.
I don't wait for their response before leaving.
The TEC is always buzzing, it feels like there are constantly students in its hallways and stairwells.
Every time I leave my room, I cross paths with loads of varied, interesting people.
While I usually appreciate the relaxed atmosphere at OMU, tonight I feel out of sync with the rest of my peers.
A cool breeze catches me as I dash down the few steps at the building's exit.
Without any specific destination in mind, I follow a path straight ahead, trying to set aside my thoughts and especially my memories.
Part of me hates dwelling on the past, while another part indulges in reminiscences of a bygone era.
"Dixie! Dixie!"
The man who called out to me is behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see who called my name and spot Emery.
The big football player quickly catches up to me, surprising for his sheer bulk.
"What's up?" he asks me.
"Good, and you?"
"Heading to the cafeteria?" he questions without directly answering me.
I furrow my brow, and Emery nods toward a building. I follow his gesture and realize we're very close to the food court where OMU’s located a plethora of food options for hungry students.
"Not really, and I didn't bring any money..."
I don't tell him I want to be alone. My body and mind seem out of sync because my stomach chooses that exact moment to growl.
Emery smiles, and pats his pocket. "Come on, my treat."
I don't have the heart to refuse. After all, we share the same dorm and are bound to run into each other often, so it doesn't seem like a bad idea to get to know each other better. Not to mention that Emery is really nice.
"What are you in the mood for?" he asks when we enter the vast hall.
The aroma hits me, and I realize I haven't eaten since breakfast. I'm used to skipping lunch, but I have to admit I'm starving right now.
"What are you going to get?" I ask in response.
Emery's attention moves from option to option, his eyes peering intently. "Honestly, I could eat an entire cow! Coach doesn't mess around when it comes to practice, and I have a huge calorie deficit to make up for."
It's common knowledge that the Jaguars players follow an intense physical training regimen in addition to practice.
"That's why the team is at the top of the conference every year," I remark.
Emery's gaze settles on me, and I can see the spark of surprise in his eyes. "You're interested in football?"
I shrug and answer vaguely. "Not particularly, but I’m from Alabama, you know. And people talk about the Jaguars a lot on campus."
Which is true. I still avoid telling him that I had a good reason to keep up with what happens in the football world.
We approach a grill station, and Emery declares ,
"I think I'll get a burger. Want one? The bacon cheeseburger is to die for."
The look of greediness that appears on his face makes me smile.
"Burger it is, then!" I concede. “But no cheese.”
Emery places the order, and then we settle at a table. For some reason I can't explain, I feel comfortable in his presence. He has that relaxed attitude that popular people have. Emery is at ease in all circumstances, and somehow that's reassuring.
His tray is overflowing with the enormous quantity of meat and french fries he ordered. He stuffs several fries into his mouth, and I follow suit, savoring this food that's not very healthy, but is a college staple. Besides, it's not like I need to watch my weight anymore.
I bite into my burger eagerly.
"It's nice to see a girl who actually eats," my table companion remarks.
"If you had known me a few years ago..."
I bite my lip before saying too much. Fortunately, Emery doesn't dwell on this point. "Sorry about Player's attitude."
The two fries I was about to eat hover a few inches from my lips. "You don't need to apologize for him, Emery. Your friend is a real jerk when he wants to be, but that's not your fault."
My neighbor chews a mouthful enthusiastically before answering, "True, but still..."
I stuff my fries and swallow. "And don't worry about me, I'm a big girl."
Emery studies me carefully for a moment.
"I admit you know how to stand up to him," he finally acknowledges.
"I sense there's a 'but' coming?"
He takes a sip of soda before continuing, "But he can get creative with his bullshit, so watch out. "
"Thanks for the warning."
I think about our exchange last night. I'd like to claim that Player has no effect on me, that he leaves me cold, but that's not the case.
I wouldn't admit it for anything in the world, but there's something animal about him that attracts me.
Maybe it's just for the game? At least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself.
"Where does his nickname come from? It is his nickname, right?"
The question slipped out on its own, and I regret showing interest in him, but it's too late to backtrack.
Emery takes time to devour the rest of his sandwich before answering me.
"You might think it comes from the fact that he plays on a football team.
.." OK, that was my first theory. "Actually, he earned that nickname because he knows how to play women, if you know what I mean. "
"So that's it? He's called 'Player' because he's a ladies' man?"
Emery shakes her head, almost saddened. "Oh no, it goes much further than that. He knows how to seduce any woman. None of them can resist him."
I furrow my brows, skeptical. Emery notices and adds, "I promise you, Dixie. When he sets his mind on something, nothing can deter him, and he always gets what he wants."
My curiosity is too strong, and I can't help asking the question that's been on my mind since I met them.
"But what's his real first name?" I ask, and Emery stares at me.
I can read the hesitation on his face. "Don't tell me it's taboo and nobody's allowed to say his name? Like, Voldemort or something?"
Emery bursts out laughing. When he regains his composure, he leans in toward me to declare confidentially:
"No, not at all! Actually, his name is..."