The tailgating was fun. We hung out with a smaller group of Mr. Granola’s close friends and I was welcomed with open arms. I learned how to play classic drinking and tailgating games, and ate tons of food from little grills that dotted the parking lot.
It’s at this point, that I have to let you in on a secret. I hate football. I’ve never been able to understand the game and just cheer when other people around me cheer. I’ve always been frustrated by my lack of understanding for the game. I’m a smart girl, I feel like it shouldn’t be hard to understand a game that most people understand, but my brain doesn’t work in the way of sports. So when it was time for the actual game portion of the day, I was completely lost. Mr. Granola didn’t help. He became drunkenly consumed in the game and got upset with me when I didn’t share in the home team spirit.
That night we went to another party and once again, I was hit on by a slew of men that didn’t include my boyfriend. At the end of the night, when we arrived back at the apartment, Mr. Granola actually got into bed with me. When I brought up how upset I was about the entire weekend and how it had gone (which by the way, was not confrontational in the least, because I’m not a super confrontational person) he made it seem as though I was blowing things way out of proportion. When I started to cry at his harsh recap of the weekend the way he saw it, he rolled over and refused to talk to me for the rest of the night. Once again, I felt alone in a place I was supposed to be moving to in less than a year.
The next morning, Mr. Granola was beyond attentive. I am not sure if what I said sunk in, or he was just feeling guilty for making me cry. But everything felt like old times again. This is what I had missed the past couple of days. I was glad it was just in time for the five hour drive home.
The car ride home was great. We discussed what would happen with him leaving early and the conclusion was essentially that we would figure it out. I’d still apply to a few different schools in the area and see what would happen.
Once back at school, I felt the need to play hard to get after how the weekend away went. I stopped calling him every night in hopes that he would call me. He didn’t. I tried to get him to make plans to come visit me and see my campus. He wouldn’t. To make matters worse, my roommate situation had gotten out of control. I needed to get a new room, but nobody wanted a roommate change mid semester. It got so bad that I started to commute from my parent’s house daily. An hour and a half drive at least, with an eight a.m. class was far from ideal but was the only thing I could do to stay sane.
Finally I got a new roommate! From that point on things improved tenfold. I figured everything in my life would improve as well. For a while I was right, I got accepted into all of the schools I applied to for transfer and I was able to get into a school in the city midyear (which almost never happens) so I wouldn’t have to stay at the small school I grew to hate so much. Mr. Granola had been going through something and things weren’t perfect between us. I just assumed it was the distance taking its toll.
It was far harder leaving the school I hated than I could have imagined. I might have hated the school but my new roommate had become my partner in crime. I had joined a sports team as well and made an incredible group of friends. I would miss them and wasn’t sure if I’d be happy at my temporary school in the city. The last few days on campus were incredible. I think my friends and I ate 5 pints of ice cream and watched The Sandlot at least four times in a row. We stayed in our pajamas and skipped class. We carefully drank the vodka that I managed to smuggle on campus. For the first time, I didn’t want to leave.
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