Cigarette butts lay scattered on the ground as the aroma of cheap cologne and wildflowers wafts through the air. Typical, nothing day on a community college campus. The newness hasn't worn off yet. Everyone is still walking around with that wistful air of happiness. It's enough to make man puke. Give it a week or two; they'll be bitching soon enough.
This is my second year. On a university campus, I'd only be a step above a freshman. This aint a university. It's a college in a town of less than fifty-thousand people. A second year man, such as myself, may as well be an old hand.
Everyone here either looks too young to be here or are clearly going back to school after some failed career path. The people in my first class pegged me as one of those idiots who 'vacations' for a couple of years before lazing into college life.
I suppose I've never looked my age. I can still remember my freshman year of high school. After being sent to the nurse's office when I puked on Ms. Stafford's desk, the nurse kindly told me I could go ahead and leave. I politely stood there for a moment. Living in the country, one does not simply leave when they can't drive. The bus would've passed me at the half-way mark. After about fifteen seconds I asked her if she was going to call someone.
"Can you not drive?" she asked.
"No ma'am. I'm fourteen."
"Oh my, I thought you were a senior. Well bless your heart, you're going to knock the girls round here right off their feet." Not likely.
I suppose there are worse things than looking older. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll stay looking thirty even when I'm fifty. Sure, it's a disadvantage right now, but I'm thinking of it as a new pair of boots; if you can ride out the bad, there'll be plenty of good. Just got to break them in.
"What up Jamie?"
"Nothing much Bulldog."
Bulldog is Alex's nickname. One look at the big bastard renders any explanation moot. He was the starting middle linebacker for our high school's team before a rough tackle messed up his back. He still works out plenty. His shoulder and neck muscles are so bulky it looks like his torso is trying to swallow his head. Within two minutes of meeting each other, I was calling him bulldog. He didn't like it... at first.
"How's day one so far?"
"Fine," I answered. "Every teacher wants to do that stupid 'tell the class a little bit about yourself' shit."
"I hate doing that! Why do they pretend like we're going to see any of these people again?"
"I'm told it's to help build people skills."
"My people skills are perfect."
"I'm sure half the female population of Stonewall High can attest to that."
"Only half? You know I'm better than that." Him and that stupid half grin.
"You look like a jackass when you smile like that."
"You're no fun. Don't pretend like you don't remember the good ole days."
"What, living party to party you mean?"
He shrugged. He knows I'm right. Football opened many doors for us, including the ones which lead to every part within a fifty mile radius of this shit little town. Between Bulldog and myself, we made just about all of them. I've puked in in more front yards than I care to admit to. We've pulled each other out of ditches too many times to simply be friends anymore. We're not brothers like all these other dumb asses like to throw around. We could be separated for a decade and pick up where we left off. We don't need to talk every day to maintain our friendship. It's a bond that defies a word. How do you say what your buddy is to you? He just is.
"I'm not sure if I should be happy those days are over or not." I said.
"I know my liver's a lot happier." He said, followed by a throaty chuckle.
"Kinda wish we could still play. At least we wouldn't be stuck here."
