In my fraternity, we divide all members up into cell groups of four to five guys; we do it by big/little relationships, and if someone is old enough not to have a little (like me), they get thrown in, as well. My cell group meets at Common Grounds on Sunday nights, because that’s when D.J. Soulfree weaves patterns to make music. We sit right by the speakers, and have to shout prayer requests at one another. But when Hate It or Love It comes on, its worth it, because we are all reminded of the fellowship that 50 Cent and The Game shared (before the feud). We love it.
Last Sunday, we were talking about our semesters. Scott is planning to take the MCAT. Taylor is going to India. Dylan, who runs track, is swamped. I don’t have much to do anymore. But at this time, another brother, Nick Pavey, came in with his girlfriend and two girls from Potter’s House, where Nick Pavey works. Potter’s House is a ministry for at-risk students. Nick is very faithful with them. We said hello, and they sat next to us, and we all watched DJ Soulfree brush the falling dreadlocks out of her eyes.
Near the end of cell group, I began to notice Nick Pavey’s two girls staring at me. I thought he was encouraging it, but I ignored them. On TV, they say that drives women crazy. Nick said, “Go tell him,” and one girl got up and came over. “You look like Heath Ledger.” Oh. I am him. It’s nice of you to notice. The conversation devolved from there.
When I was a sophomore, I worked as a houseboy for Pi Beta Phi for a semester. It was difficult; the food line is in the kitchen, so when girls get their lunch, they make uninhibited eye contact with the houseboys. Houseboys are like 19th century fieldhands or medieval serfs – girls don’t touch us, probably because we’re marked as hired help, and they still have aspirations of marrying millionaires. Good luck with that. We live in Arkansas.
But I would see these girls everyday, and though I knew their names, we never talked. One nice girl asked me to their winter formal, and I accepted. It was a lot of fun. But when it was over, and as we were waiting for the limousine, one of the seniors approached me. I used to see this girl at breakfast, wearing someone else’s shirt. She was a very cool cucumber, and she would have never talked to me sober. But as she past me exiting the dance, she suddenly stopped and looked at me. She looked like Gonzo. She put a hand on my shoulder and leaned against me, breathing heavily in disbelief.
Her date took her other arm and pulled her away, but she walked backwards and continued staring at me, confused and possibly starstruck. It made the houseboy job worth it.
This was before Heath Ledger died, so it is not morbid.
Then, the Pi Phi house mom, Mom B, was losing her mind. I went to Rome the next semester, and when I came back, I asked for my job again. She thought I was another houseboy, and said she gave my job away. Thanks a lot Mom B. Now I work at the Kappa house, where, I am told, the girls call me “Sexy Lumberjack Man.” But if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, is my ego still inflated? Yes, yes it is.
I’ve had a few questions (from the same person) about the contest in the previous post. I’m leaving it open until midnight tonight, and you can post multiple times. Admit it – unless you’re David Lee or Dani Schulke, you’ve never posted on this blog. In exchange for being killed off in my thesis novel, I think it’s worth it. All entries must be attached to the previous blog post.