She had the choice. In spite of all that happened and what she said afterwards, she always had the choice. We had been out drinking...well, I had. I was loaded. She didnt drink. She was a freshman that year, still clinging to her homespun Catholic midwestern ideals. She didnt drink, didnt do drugs, only smoked to be cool...and had held on to her virginity.
Not that I hadnt been working her. The entire first semester she was there, I had been her friend, complimenting her, listening to her problems, her difficulties adjusting to college life, her arguments with her mother. One night, after only a few weeks of school had passed, I decided to make my first move, and invited her out to a local college haunt. It wasnt a romantic spot at all; it was really just a place where you could get a burrito and a beer, overly loud, screened-in porch, etc. I think a movie star or a rock musician or two had frequented it in the past or something, giving it its allure. It wasnt the sort of place where you could impress a girl by buying her an expensive meal. Rather, you had to impress her by listening to what she said and talking intelligently about her interests.
That night, we went back to my dorm room. We talked some more, talked and talked and talked. She was getting visibly flustered. I could tell that she was becoming more and more attracted to me, and this attraction scared her. She clearly didnt know what she would do if left alone with me, and she asked me to take her back to her dorm. We got into my car, and after perhaps thirty seconds of silence I started up a new conversation. By the time we got to the parking lot outside of her dorm, I had her once again talking in-depth about herself. I asked her about a boy back home she had mentioned several times.
"It must have been hard," I said, "leaving the boy you love behind to come to school."
"Oh no," she shook her head vigorously. "Hes not, like, my boyfriend, or anyt... Læs hele novellen
