Junior year at Boston College began for us in the fall of 1993 with all of our money pooled together in a joint bank account. The morning air grew crisper and the trees around campus began to turn breathtaking shades of yellow, orange, and red.
Autumn was my very favorite time of year. I loved walking across campus in just a sweater and jeans, sun warming away the slight chill. I delighted in the deep blue sky of autumn, a backdrop for the leaves twirling and dancing their way to the ground. I had a bounce in my step and a flutter in my stomach. I was unspeakably happy and content.
I had recently switched my major from biology to psychology, with a concentration in neuroscience. I was really beginning to enjoy most of my courses and I had fallen into a nice routine that school year. I had morning classes, work in the afternoon, and I’d hit the gym before dinner. Evenings included study time and heading to the dining hall with a group of friends, grabbing Roly Poly, or making a late night ice cream run to White Mountain Creamery. Evenings included Duff. Evenings were my favorite.
Fall at Boston College meant football season, which brought crowds of people swarming to the campus on weekends for tailgating and games. It meant drinking often commenced before noon and continued on into the night. Sunday, was simply a day to recover from Friday and Saturday. Duff and I began to question the meaning of it all.
Why go out to a crowded bar on a Friday night, when we could stay home and watch a movie?
Why attend yet another keg party of intoxicated foolishness, when we could stay behind and prepare a meal?
Why fight the crowds to get in and out of the stadium, if we could watch the game from the comfort of our living room?
Why brave the elements, when we could sit on a warm cozy couch with chips, dip, and good beer?
We didn’t care that we had pre-paid tickets…
That football season, we chose to watch many of the home games on television, from Duff’s dorm room, not 100 yards from the stadium.
Yes, I believe some of our friends were concerned.
Perhaps baffled is a more accurate description.
They couldn’t comprehend where we were coming from. Didn’t really get that we just wanted to be together. Couldn’t fathom that we were done with the dance and had found that person. The one you curiously daydream about for years– trying to catch a glimpse of their face, wondering about the color of their eyes, the sound of their voice, and the things you’ll share.
They wrote it off as a phase, I’m sure.
The “fairytale phase”…
Those first 6 to 12 blissful months in a relationship when people behave like lovesick puppies.
They subsequently cut us some slack, and stood by waiting for differences to surface. They waited for the minor annoyances to emerge. They expected a few core issues to arise.
But they never expected to return to the dormitory one Saturday evening, pleasantly buzzing, to find Duff and Kelly cooking cornish game hens in orange sauce.
This was just too much for them. Too out there. They smiled and shook their heads, truly dumbfounded, all the while drooling over the delicious smells that lingered in the air.
They struggled to put their impression of us into words,
“You just….
“You don’t…
“You’re like…
We reminded them of an old married couple.
We were the pathetic elderly couple that was missing out on their “college experience”.
We were “Gram and Gramps”…
from henceforth.
