We had the same Spanish 1 class at UCR. Clasé. Spanish 1 was unequivocally the most fun class at that school. People were going back to Kindergarten where every spoken word was a cause for celebration. Every sultry syllable.
We were free to sit wherever we wanted every day. Most everyone sat in the seat they chose that first day, a fraction sat in the same vicinity and one person made a point to sit in seats in every area of the room throughout the quarter. Señora Guevarra, first name Lilliana, loves Kobe. In retrospect, she seemed like a woman of feelings. Of urges. Since our class was interactive, she got to personally know us. Some she showed affection for, some she barely maintained the mask of unbiasedness. One student, in particular, was the shunned undesirable of the whole class (you especially). I actually used his seat to predict where you would sit and use that guess to innocently get a seat next to you.
We had all sorts of young people in that group. There was one short Asian kid who was such an ignorant meathead that during his oral presentation, he described himself as strong, stumbling on his transition and narcissism. He repeated “fuerte” three times. Señora was annoyed. One guy who sat in front, always dressed in a conscious, put-together way. He paid attention to his shoes and used hair products. He was a supervising RA. Who knows, maybe he liked to project an image, maybe it made him feel like he had an edge. Maybe he was having a lot of amazing sex with this other super-hot RA and she told him she liked his politician look. One girl played on the golf team. She spoke in an emotionless monotone. Other people forgot her name and she remembered theirs. Two guys sat in the back row, secluded. One girl sat in the side aisle, closest to the door. She never wore anything approaching sexy. She hardly if at all had any make-up. She had clearly no need for anyone’s furtive glances and carnal desires. She was a time-stopping goddess. Every moment around her was priceless, every private thought was hers. Spanish at UCR allowed two excused missed days. Most treated these days as vacation days. With her in the class, every class meeting was imperative to life. One time, Señora asked Clasé if anyone had a boyfriend or girlfriend. After an initial hesitation, she raised her hand. But still. Every vision of her was the pinnacle of life. Something unrivaled. Sharing in her physical presence was a cherished treasure, nothing forgotten or taken granted for.
The first time I saw her, she was one among a group of women in a bleacher section across the gym. From a hundred and fifty feet my body was overwhelmed at a vision. Mind locked. There was a women’s volleyball game going on, maybe.
Just before class started on the first day I opened the giant doors of Sproul Hall and hustled up the stairs to get in Spanish 1 before it started and tardiness was recorded. The best thing to do was quickly find and sit at the closest desk to the door. That desk was on the left side facing the blackboard, front row. It was a vulnerable place to sit. When Señora finished attendance, she asked if there were any school athletes. Despite wanting to see the two student-athletes, there was no way to see them without obviously turning the entire torso, revealing to everyone my morbid curiosity. One feminine voice said golf, another basketball. Señora informed them of the missed attendance arrangements for athletes. It was mildly shocking to eventually find the basketball player was that time-stopping vision from that volleyball game or whatever, many months before. There was no delay. No reason thought about. There was instant infatuation. Something different.
You are unforgettable. Not for any good deed you’ve done, or anything you have put in time and effort to accomplish. You are unforgettable because your features do not leave my mind. Your sharp, pronounced cheekbones, your full lips, your receding hairline, your disproportionately large gums, your mismatched eyelids. For a time after Señora Guevara’s Spanish 1 ended, I could hallucinate your image like you were actually in a place I was in. They were realistic but recognized as not real. Letting you go after that class and never seeing you or talking with you again would be a lifelong regret. It was obvious, even at that time. The last meeting for that class was the final exam. Most everyone’s grades were set going into that exam. The final wasn’t extremely important. Especially if you didn’t care about your grade and just wanted to pass. I finished the test before anyone else and waited. You finished relatively quickly, to my pleasant surprise. I turned in my exam after you and hastily left the exam room to catch up with you in that corridor of Sproul Hall. You were obsessed with the Warriors so I said something about that 2015 team. Something to start a conversation, I don’t like talking about sports with most other people. I believe I voiced something similar to “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you, what’s your phone number”. Something brusk and clumsy. You said “oh my god” and gave me it. You must have been scared of me and just wanted me to calmly go away. But both your feet and torso were pointing towards me and away from where you were initially walking. Area code 925, a twenty-three in the middle. You said twenty-three, not two, three. Despite your positive body signals, I needed to scream in a bathroom and smash some paper towel dispensers with all the force my body had. I needed to get away from you at that moment. This was during a time when I had a flip phone instead of an iPhone. We messaged a little bit. When you texted me I squealed loudly and I submerged myself under a roommate’s bed frame as he was typing at his desk. One time you sent me a picture of you and Ron Artest. At that moment, alcohol coursed through my body and I climbed our roof and laid down, stomach facing up, nighttime, befuddled that this Star Athlete Bombshell Supermodel was giving me any thought or effort. That amazement ended after I made a regular phone call and it went unanswered and unreturned.
Over the remaining year at UCR, I would see you rarely. It felt ridiculous but it seemed like you made notice of me whenever our paths crossed.
There was a 2016 Halloween house party that was shut down by Riverside police. It seemed like the whole basketball team was pulling up as we left. Walking past that distinctive group was an exercise in feigning disinterest. What an unforgettable disappointment.
I’m ashamed of my feelings. On the small chance you are actually reading this, please forgive my misguided (maybe) behavior. It’s something that I have to act on.
The next noteworthy run-in happened close to the curve for cars on a campus street, close to the athletics building and parking lot but towards the grass/arts building. It was after your pretender game against Cal. Where you pretended to win and where you pretended to have a good game against a school that overlooked you. The school streaming video recorded all the women’s games live. The conversation between us was about how you were going to watch film of a team. I was wearing a red jacket and walking a racing bike. What was so remarkable was that you hugged me when this other player walked toward you. I was shocked it happened. After, I felt a unique surging electricity all over my body, I had to go do some outdoor karate poses and scream stereotypical Kung-Fu noises.
Most people don’t know the struggle of having to get people with no team connection to go to women’s basketball games. It’s a solid way to see if a friend really values you and the friendship. One guy actually came to one with me and we were super loud and intoxicated. It was Crystal Light lemonade powder, water, and vodka. Litty af. Another friend never actually went to one. That person turned out to be a selfish, deceitful person. A neighbor went multiple times, he turned into a dear friend. He suggested giving you a high five above the halftime tunnel and I will always be thankful for that brilliant suggestion.
The 2016-2017 basketball season was my first officiating High School. That 2017 summer was my first going to Las Vegas for AAU basketball events at the Convention Center. Really, the games were for rich kids of rich parents who wanted to say to their rich friends that their kids are special.
Obviously, I looked at any public picture of you on the known internet. It was a heroin addiction. It was deplorable, irresponsible behavior that made me feel stalky. I did it every day, your image was a high I couldn’t go without. Memorizing all those pictures of you caused me to recognize this guy in the Las Vegas Convention Center during a summer basketball game. He looked familiar and I realized he knew you because he shared pictures of you and with your IG handle. He was watching a mildly skilled girls game with an all black team from Texas and a Canadian team with one black girl. The Texas team barely won because they had a light-skin girl make some outside shots during the last five minutes. I remember that because it involved him, and he involved you. Anything relating to you was Everything. Making this schmuck coach a friend, took a few days. I volunteered for a basketball event he organized because I thought it would be a chance to see you. There was a disorganized email chain but I got it done. That free officiating was scheduled around sleeping at a friend’s house in San José. I was so upset you didn’t show up to the adult women’s game I said Fuck Everything and followed you on a personal IG account even though I was sure you would not reciprocate. I couldn’t touch that app for days, for fear of realizing the inevitably grim reality. I had an extra IG data analysis app that showed me I still had zero people I follow that didn’t follow me. That meant that you somehow remembered me and didn’t think of me as some anonymous Past Person. I was embarrassed about my paltry following. It’s a red mark against me. Something too obvious and atypical.
That selfish and deceitful friend who wouldn’t go watch any of your games with me, called and asked to go with him to Portland before he left his Nike job. It’s only my word but I feel he used me to buy the airplane tickets for the both of us. Based off of your likes and views of my old friend’s and my own shared media, I feel like you had at least a little interest in our Portland adventures. The trip was fun. After we came back to LAX, I asked him to post a picture of him and I so you would see it. I was trying to increase my social proof with you, through him. Social proof I was objectively lacking. True to form, he agreed to share a picture of us in exchange for a ride to his church in Butt Fuck Riverside (BFR) from LAX. Of course, that’s no problem. Anything involving you was the most important thing in the world. Just like when he backed out of going to your UCR games, he backed out of an agreed arraignnment. Some people change, some don’t. Sometimes physically, sometimes mentally, sometimes both or neither. That’s just an opinion. That belief may or may not be true.
My unnerving infatuation for you might remain if I saw you, in person, present day. One night I spent at my grandparent’s house (spring 2018) in San Luis Obispo and we were watching JEOPARDY! There was a news story out of the Silicon Valley about a space hotel. When I saw the field interviewer, interviewing people about it outside, my palms got sweaty and I stood up. I thought I recognized you even though you were side-facing the camera. Immediately, I ordered the recorded show paused and rewound. My palms did not stop sweating. After several replays I was 100% sure it was you, doing reporting work for whatever news company was out there. I called and emailed the local news network for any general info about you. Of course, that’s not allowed to be shared with an unfamiliar voice over the phone. You are objectively beautiful.
I would visit a friend in Berkeley, run the basketball courts at the Cal Rec center with my UCR email login info, and after I would wander the streets of Berkeley on the small chance I would run into you.
If I am attractive, this is persistence. If not, this is criminal. I deleted that personal IG because you didn’t respond to a DM for three or four days and yet usually getting back within a day. The sole purpose of that social media was to find you. I am afraid I will think about you in some way forever. Based off the history of time, I would defy the odds, keeping a woman like you. Based on the public canon of your pictures and the smallest amount of common sense, you have options upon options. Some of which must be more appealing than me. My feelings remain.
I am already incredibly lucky. Living away from my family in an LA beach town is a dream. Having dear friends is a gift I don’t forget. Being self-employed is a miracle of modern living. Being bigger, faster, stronger and more skilled than almost all of the basketball players across the street at 24fit is fun. My life is bereft of unfulfilled wants and desires. You are the lone, constant exception. Some people can never have enough.
My favorite Harry Potter character is Snape because of his undying love for Lily. I have a poster of a blue, silver and white forest with a silver doe Patronus overlooking its reflection on a lake. The poster makes me think of you. Obviously, I am in Slytherin House.
Someone I admire advised to write your feelings on paper. It is supposed to bring insight into your thoughts and emotions. I have found this true. Thus concludes this story.