I Told You, Eli Oxley

Chapter Three

First day of classes were a little more than I expected. I never would have described myself as sheltered or naive, but I learned a lot about myself and the world that day.

The first thing I learned was that, given the opportunity, people will wear whatever they want. My high school had a pretty strict dress code - khaki or navy only pants/shorts/skirts, solid-colored polo shirt that must be tucked in, and everything had to be at the knee or below for the bottom half, and the shoulders and chest and stomach had to be covered for the top half. At Crockett State, however, the only code was to be dressed. The more decently-dressed folks came to school in pajama bottoms (gym shorts for guys, cotton Winnie the Pooh short-shorts for the girls), while others left little, no, imagination had nothing to do with what they wore. It was ninety degrees outside, so I could only assume some girls rubbed ice cubes on their chests or just walked out of a meat locker with the way their little girls (that's a euphemism, by the way) popped through their tank tops. Bras were optional, too.

Hard to believe, but I actually stood out in my generic khaki shorts and green v-neck t-shirt and sandals. Al stood out, too, but that was nothing new. I had spent enough time shopping with her (sad side-effect of the friend-zone) to know her eclectic style, and she didn't shy away from it today. Her hair was nearly as short as my close-cropped style - semi-curly with strands extending below her ears and frayed to the side. She divided it with a silver accent band, giving the illusion that her hair in the back had a little more volume. Her assorted ensemble also included black Roxy Westbourne boots (a splurged present to herself bought with all her birthday money), bright yellow tights down to her knees, a purple camisole underneath a black strapless AE dress, thin black wristbands, and a large silver cross necklace. Her style was singular, as distinct from mine as Dartmouth was from Crockett State.

The second thing I learned was that I am kind of clueless when it comes to life. Well, not life-life, but the philosophy of life and all that stuff.

Al and I went into our 8am MWF Philosophy class, the one non-gen-ed course she could convince me to take since it would be our only class together. The class was quite crowded for an 8 o'clock-er, with a whole lot more pairs of little girls and a whole lot of guy eyes staring. I kept my head down and sat next to Al.

The professor eventually entered the classroom and slammed the door behind him.

"I'm Dr. James, and this is class PH313: Philosophy of Life and American Thought. If you're not in the right class, you can stay and learn something, or just leave."

I won't lie - I actually considered it. I wasn't sure why, but I guess the novelty of college messed with my head. I forgot about Colorado - I wanted to drop out and hit the road as a vagrant. A deep breath to calm my nerves didn't work, until I felt something underneath the conjoined tables: it was Al, with my hand, giving it a friendly squeeze. God, where would I even be without her?

My head got kind of a helium high the next few minutes. I came to when the professor walked out of the classroom and everyone started scribbling on their papers. I turned to Al.

"We're supposed to write about whether we believe there is a God or not and why we believe so," she said. "As soon as we finish, we're free to leave."

It took Al all of five minutes before she packed up and left. Me? Nearly the entire class period.

* * *

We sat down to eat a late breakfast at the SAC where there was a Pizza Hut, Chick-fil-a, Blue Coast Burritio, a generic smoothie shop and a sushi bar. Throughout the SAC, plasma TV's were mounted on the walls, and couches were posted in front of each one. We sat at one of the dining tables lining the outer edges of the main area.