What were the chances? One tiny, unimportant decision about where to sit in class led to all of this.
Let me explain. I am terrified of cool people. The problem is, my coolness radar is pretty crappy - basically anyone who is quiet and aloof and bad at making eye contact, combined with some level of fashion sense, gains a cool star in my book. Which means every introverted pseudo-hipster in the history of hipsterdom is "cool" and therefore untouchable. (The irony being that I am
quite introverted and have been described as dressing like a hipster. Does that make me cool? Hmm... to be determined.)
Basically, if I see a cool person, especially in the context of picking a seat for class, I will sit as far from them as possible. A seat that affords me a good view of their greatness without actually having to interact with them will do nicely. I can admire from afar, but not speak to them. That would be too much for my tender little self-esteem to handle.
BUT! That all changed the first Wednesday evening of spring semester, 2013 - in retrospect, one of the most important days of my life. I'd been waiting to take Creative Writing FOREVER because it's, like, my
thing. But when I got to class it was almost time to start and there were a lot of people already there. My options were limited. I could sit in the very back, next to some brooding athletic types - even worse than introverted hipsters - or I could sit in the almost-back along the side, right between a good friend of mine and - horror of horrors - a
cool person.
I recognized her vaguely from high school, although she'd lost the orange hair. She had gorgeous smokey eye makeup and a ratty green knit sweater (swoon!) and, coolest of all, a satchel with the Union Jack on it. This girl was straight out of the European street style runway. So it was with great trepidation that I sat down, turning immediately to my friend to try and diminish some of the glare of the stranger's immense degree of awesome.
Of course, then I learned the truth. Mel was a great writer, and well spoken, and, yes, a snappy hispter-esque dresser (she'll hate me for using the word "hipster" to describe any aspect of her person, but too bad). But she is also an enormous doof. Her word, not mine. Like me, she is introverted - thus the suave, distanced expression that dissuades immediate conversation, an expression that I, too, have perfected. But she likes car racing, of all things, and hardcore rock music, and European football. She plays a mean guitar and she likes to cook delicious food. But mainly, she's a doof. The "cool" was just a facade, but frankly I'm relieved. Because it was the doofiness that led to the midnight premier of
The Hobbit, and cooking shepherd's pie for me, and convincing me to go on the Art in Context trip to Germany that summer.
And
that, well. That changed
everything.
Thanks to that one little decision to sit next to Mel in Creative Writing, I made some amazing friends on the Germany trip (especially Brit) and rekindled my love for Europe. Thanks to her I've made some amazing memories - not just in Germany, but in America, too: eating at the Old Toad pub and then sitting and chatting for hours about everything and nothing; dressing up in black graduation robes and running around Mel's front yard playing a very clumsy, hysterical game of Quidditch for the entire population of North Chili to see; traipsing around Munich in the endless rain; and, best of all, baking shepherd's pie and stuffing our faces with Mel's amazing cooking.
The chain works like this. Because I met Mel, I met Brittany, and because I met Brit I had a connection with Bekah, who has become another of my dear friends over the past two semesters. They say you meet the friends you'll have for life in college. I never really believed them. I have friends, sure, friends I'll probably talk to and see many years down the road. But I don't make close friends easily - the kind that stay up until all hours talking on skype or snapchat, the kind that will come over when you're sick and hold your hair back while you puke everywhere, or tell you the truth when you ask
does this make my butt look big? (The proper answering being, yes it does, and it looks fabulous.)
But now I do. Suddenly my shell was pried open, all because Mel got a fingernail inside and two more people jumped in before I realized it. Because my friend waved me over and said "Hey, sit next to me!" and I conquered my fear of the cool stranger and sat there anyway. (Thank you, Smudge, you really deserve some credit, too.)
So, thanks. You three are my Wonderwall (whatever that means). My BFFs, because if anyone deserves the title it's you guys. I love the word
serendipity. It's not just a pretty word anymore - it's proof that the happiest of accidents really happen, and maybe that Somebody up there is giving me enormous gifts when I least expect them.
