It drove my mom insane that I didn’t have direction when I left for college. She also didn’t particularly like that I’d pulled away from the church when I was in high school, thanks to my self-education in religion and newfound questions that neither she nor our pastor could answer. Add in the fact that she found a gritty motorcycle club romance stuffed under my pillow and read a scene that made her clutch her pearls before declaring I was banned from reading anything like this ever again! And I guess you could say we weren’t exactly close.
But, to her credit, she didn’t spend much effort on trying to steer me toward a career path or toward the church, not before she’d sigh and give up and turn her focus back to one of her God-fearing children who had a good head on their shoulders.
What she couldn’t see, what no one could see, was that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life yet because I didn’t know enough about life itself.
I’d never traveled outside of New England, never had a boyfriend, and never even gotten close to second base, let alone to going all the way.
There was still so much of life I wanted to soak up and study before I committed to my role in it, which was a big reason why I pushed myself out of my comfort zone when I came to college and picked the major that was least suited for me.
Public Relations.
Putting me — the quiet, nerdy virgin — in charge of public perception just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. But that’s why I loved it. That’s why it was important to me.
It was unexpected, and different, and challenging.
And I wouldn’t stop until I’d mastered every aspect of it.
Clay
I had a lot of expectations for my sophomore year at North Boston University.
After winning our bowl game last season and having a winning record on top of it, I expected us to be the team to contend with in The Big North conference. And after having one of the best seasons of my life, I expected to make said team easily, to start every game, and to demolish the records I’d set last year. I also expected us to win, to get not just a bowl game this season, but one of the bowl games — the ones that would serve as semi-finals and take us to the National Championship Game.
What I had not expected was for my girlfriend of five years to dump me.
Any time I thought of it, my chest caved in on itself. It felt impossible, how the girl I loved, the girl I thought I would marry, could walk away from me so easily. It was like being safe onboard a cruise ship one moment, basking in the tropical sun, only to be thrown overboard the next — nothing to hold onto, no one to hear my screams as the ship continued on its course and left me behind in the unrelenting waters.
What was worse was that it wasn’t just a breakup — not the way most of my friends knew them, anyway.
Maliyah Vail wasn’t just my girlfriend, she was family.
We grew up together. Our families were close, weaved together in every way like a thick blanket. Her dad and my dad were best friends in college, and even after my parents split, her mom made sure to keep an eye on mine, to make sure she was okay.
Which she wasn’t often.
What I once considered a fairytale childhood was demolished with just one decision — my father’s. Overnight, we went from a happy family of three to a broken family that consisted of me and Mom, and every now and then, Dad.
When he wasn’t busy with his new family, that is — the one he’d easily replaced us with.
Maliyah had been by my side through all of it. She was there through the episodes with my mom, who didn’t know how to cope after the loss of her marriage and tried to find solace in the worst kind of men after. She understood the abandonment I felt from my dad, and her own father stepped in to take his place, teaching me all the things a father should have as I grew up. More than anything, she was there through all the ups and downs of playing football, reminding me every chance she had that I would make it one day, that I would go pro.
It didn’t feel like losing my girlfriend.
It felt like losing my right arm.
It still hadn’t sunk in that we’d finally made it through a grueling year of long-distance — her in California where we grew up, me here in Massachusetts — only for her to get into NBU, move across the country, and… break up with me.
Nothing about it made sense. I’d tried combing through every word of her breakup speech and had come up empty each time I tried to find reasoning.
“What we had was a great first love, Clay, but that’s all it was — a first love.”
Maliyah’s face crumpled, but not in the way that said she was actually hurt by the statement. It was a collapse of pity, like she was telling a little kid why he couldn’t ride the big boy rollercoaster.