Merrick

And I'm back to being an anonymous face in the crowd. RP has absolutely no idea I'm alive. He'll flirt with a chair if that's all that's in the room. I hate adolescent crushes.

My very first serious adolescent crush began as a freshman in college. Coming out of the closet, for me at least, has been like pealing an onion. I've always known what was at the core, but its getting at that core that has not always been easy. Anyway, continuing with the onion metaphor, freshman year was ripping the dried skin layers off.

At the beginning of my second semester, I discovered a beautiful young man who always seemed to be crossing my path. He had cheeks that were chiseled from granite and eyes the color of pina coladas. He wore a forest green leather jacket. He was breathtaking. Of course, I had no idea what his name was. When I'd go to dinner at the cafeteria, no matter where I sat, he'd be sitting on the other side. Four out of five meals a week I'd catch him staring at me. I'd tell my friends, and when they'd look he'd be absorbed in conversation or a book. Everyone thought I was crazy. Finally, toward the end of that semester, Jeffery who was gay and had no knowledge of the situation with me and my imaginary boyfriend, pointed him out to me and told me that he'd been staring at me.

I don't remember the social gyrations I went through to discover his name was Merrick. He was working on an urban planning degree, and he lived in the men's dorm. I had his last name too, and that was it. On several occasions I'd be having a conversation with someone while Merrick was within earshot, and I'd try extra hard to say something witty. Twice I caught him laughing at what he'd overheard.

Yet he never approached me, and being the social moron that I am, I never approached him. But once we did speak.

I had a paper due and needed a specific book reserved at the library. I went tearing into the library early, but there was no one around. I didn't realize they weren't open. As I was looking around, trying to find someone to help me, Merrick popped up from behind a desk. I literally stopped breathing. He asked what I wanted. His pale eyes were frightening and thrilling at the same time, and they were locked onto me. I'm sure I stammered something. Anyway, he said I'd have to come back because the reference books were locked away and he couldn't get to them.

He spent a semester in South America, and I know he saw me in two plays. By the time I did Jesus Christ Superstar, we had a mutual acquaintance who was aware of my fixation, and he told me Merrick saw the show. The second was a studio production that began with my character addressing the audience. On opening night Merrick was in the front row, alone. How I made it through that, I'll never know.

The week before we graduated, I went to the art store. At the end of the block I saw Merrick crossing the street. I stopped and watched him walk out of sight, certain that would be the last time I ever laid eyes on him. When he was out of sight, I remember sighing and then going into the art store to get whatever it was I needed. When I came out, there was Merrick again at the end of the block, walking in the same direction as before, but this time he had his shirt off. I didn't break my stride, but kept walking in his direction. He just waited at the corner, as if for a crossing light that wasn't really there. When I reached the intersection, without looking at me, Merrick just got a big grin on his face and then continued on his way, sun beating on his perfect body.

The last time I actually did see him was after the graduation ceremony. He was wearing a pink shirt under his gown and he seemed to be looking for his family. The crowd swallowed him up, and that was that. End of romance.

Years later, as the last American to buy a computer, I finally hooked up to the Internet, and one of the first things I did was run his name through a search engine. I discovered that he'd gone on to Harvard and gotten a degree. And died shortly afterwards from AIDS. He didn't reach thirty.

I can't say I was devastated, but I was sad. It's still a great romantic story, but in a sort of dusty rose and lace way. And I will always remember him.

In a few ways, I react to RP similarly. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson -- not to let opportunity pass you by -- but fear, for lack of a better term, prevents me from taking that first step. There isn't a chance in the world RP is interested in me. Not one. And I don't really need another Merrick story. But why can't I let the fantasy go?