I Told You, Eli Oxley

Chapter Two

Orientation was a drag-party. No, not that kind of drag. The kind of drag in which a hulk of a man has your wrists knotted together and is pulling you along by a rope, dragging you. He's walking so slowly, but for some reason you can't keep up, so you fall to the ground, but he just keeps dragging you. So if you can imagine being dragged along face first on the ground by a big dude, let's say your own dad (or mom), then you can know what college orientation feels like. At Crockett, anyway. I imagine it would be more interesting at CU.

We skipped the "Discovery Week" of orientation and opted for the one day intensive. So instead of a week-long event of touring the campus, staying up all night making s'mores and listening to that one d-bag play his acoustic around the campfire, and sleeping in the decrepit dorms with "potential lifetime friends", Al and I, plus my mom and dad and Renee (Al's mom) spent eight hours in a lecture hall suffering a slow death-by-powerpoint. I decided that eight hours was better than an entire week, so I tried to stay positive.

After learning about the exact incline of the wheelchair access ramps around campus, we wrapped up the lectures and began the official tour, which was pretty dead. Literally. Just like the rest of Chattanooga, the grass was crispy and dangerous to walk on barefoot, while the cicadas screamed (some idiots say they sing) in the giant furnace we locals like to call "outside". I always wanted to do a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the face of the numb-nuts who says "It's not the heat, it's the humidity!" How about both, you dumb-ass?

Anyway, the tour was pretty dead outside, but once we made our way to the main quad in front of the Student Activities Center (SAC, or Sad SAC, as Al called it), things livened up a bit. A fountain with about a 12-foot spray was the centerpiece of the quad and a few students waded in its overflow. In front of the fountain, a handful of guys were playing Cornhole, with the bean bags making loud thumps as they hit the slanted wooden boards.

Inside the Sad SAC was even more lively. We were immediately greeted by girls sitting behind tables surrounded by poster boards and signs. One table was labeled IJM, another posted a sign that said "The Arts - Music, Theatre, Literature" with a subtitle of "A Wonderful Alternative to Engineering or Business". The Sigma Deltas were grandstanding with kettle-bells next to the Crew team and their crew cuts, and to their right a pocket-protector was soliciting signatures to dissolve the Post Office. My head, instead of following the rest of my body, stuck to the Sigma Deltas in their black spandex shorts.

"You're ogling, Eli," Al said.

"No, I'm just . . . fascinated, I guess." It wasn't a complete lie.

At the end of the day, I was hacking my second-hand computer for the hundredth time as Al was lying on my bed reading some book way above my reading level.

"I know I've asked this about thirty-six times, but are you still undecided?" Al said.

"Yes."

"If you're planning on getting to Colorado, you're going to need focus - you need to show them that you have a plan. Why would they give an undecided a scholarship?"

"Look, I'm just going to get my gen-eds out of the way, then I'll tell them that Crockett doesn't have the same level of education in my major-specific courses as CU does," I said.

"That's actually not a bad lie," Al said.

We were silent for a few moments. I already knew she wasn't going to change her mind on double-majoring in Art and English and double minoring in French and Religious Studies, so I didn't return the question.

"What if I don't get to go to Colorado, and you do?" Al said.

"Why would that even happen? If anyone can get a scholarship, it's you, not me."

"Okay, hypothetically, then. Would you go to CU without me?" Al said.

At that moment, a feeling of bitterness towards Al (not a completely new thing) rose up inside me. She seemed so selfish and thoughtless. Of course she couldn't bear to lose her best friend. But she couldn't see how much being around her was killing me. I loved her and loved to be with her, but it was tiresome as well - wishing for more than friendship, wishing she would finally see me as more than her "bestie". That's one of the reasons I wanted to get out of Chattanooga: if she came with me, maybe a new environment could bring a new life for us together - actually together. But I was beginning to think it would be just fine if she didn't come. I could move on with my life and find someone who loved me as much as I loved them.

But I couldn't tell her that, of course. "Not a chance," I said.