The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

05⎜The Blonde

05⎜The Blonde

As I exited the classroom, a sense of respite washed over me. It was nice to be back to a regular school schedule, but the hour-long periods of informational sessions weren’t exactly my—or anyone else’s—idea of enjoyable. There was just a lot to take in and the whole aspect of time made everything pretty intense. In my most recent class, the professor stood in the front of the room at a podium with one of those white curtains that projectors used to, well, project directly behind him. His voice retained no animation whatsoever, so it was a pretty boring period, but I was just happy to be there. It was Stanford.

           Though it may have come across as a surprise, I liked school. I was good at it, and knowledge and education were two intangible things that I would have forever. With football, I always knew that there would come a point where I physically could no longer play. But with school, one was never required to stop learning. It was comforting to know that intelligence wasn’t temporary.

           I stepped into the midday sunshine, the warmth with which I was slowly getting familiar instantly hitting me like a tornado of heat. It wasn’t the type of weather where it was simply too this or too that to operate, but rather perfect. The temperature was in the region of eighty, but slightly less, due to the insistent breeze that would pick up at varying times. It was a day that possessed the most vivid sky I had ever seen—a swirl of ocean-like colors, ranging from blue to blobs of cotton-ball white. As a whole, everything was just perfect.

           As planned, Seth had gone home on the weekend and brought back a mini fridge. After not bothering to read the instruction manual, we had set it up adequately so that we now had a cooling system for food in our room. Because of this new progression, we had been able to store food. Seth explained that despite his alleged religious restrictions, he had no issue with any form of nutrients—except squash. He hated squash, and made a point of it.

           Thus, this morning after my early workout, I had gone to one of the cafeterias and bought a sandwich in preparation for the day ahead. I went back to the room, utilized our snazzy (the word was an underappreciated one) mini fridge, took a shower, and then dressed to get judged for the day ahead.

           Like with everyone (or maybe just girls and me) my first day of school outfit mattered to me. It was the first thing that people would see me in and be able to judge me based on. Generally, people had a tendency to misjudge me. They either assumed that I was this godlike creature, or a complete asshole with no brain, personality, or basic comprehension of others’ emotions. No matter the assessment, those who chose to judge me were always wrong. They didn’t know who I was. No one was all good or all bad, and that just so happened to be the case with me. I was fallible, just like anybody else.

           Anyways, what I wore for my first day of school always set the mood for the rest of the year. Some—like my dear roommate, Seth—elected an ensemble of sweats and a T-shirt to establish the tone for the year to come, while others—like me—dressed slightly more, well, formally. I had always been told that I looked good, regardless of what I wore (surprisingly, my ego wasn’t that big), but I personally preferred the colors white and blue in comparison to the rest. With white, it made my tinted skin stand out even more, and with blue, I just liked it.

           And so, when I was sifting through my limited drawer space at 7:43 AM, I had decided to go with a white button down, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows, and light blue shorts. Brown boat shoes were on my feet, and because I was such a metrosexual loser, I had also put on this rope bracelet that I had gotten on vacation two summers ago. I was happy with the way I looked, and deemed myself acceptable for the day ahead.