Misadventures of a College Girl

by Lauren Rowe

“Well, duh. I’m not a complete moron, Zooey.”

  We share a sad smile.

  I lift my face to him, and he presses his lips against mine. “I love you, beaver,” he whispers. “I’ll love you as long as I live. Always know that.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Please don’t say it like that. It makes it seem like this is goodbye forever. It’s not. I’m coming to your first game, remember? And I’m sure I can make it to games you play on the west coast. And there’s always Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. This isn’t goodbye.”

  I don’t know why I’m babbling like this. We’ve already talked about all this, several times. And when we did, we both came to the stark realization the actual opportunities for us to see each other will be so few and far between, and likely so short and unsatisfying when they do occur, they might actually feel more heartbreaking than uplifting. In fact, after we looked hard at the reality of the situation, it was me who suggested we shouldn’t be exclusive any more. It’s just too hard to make long-term commitments when we know Tyler will probably be in Miami for the next four years at least, and I’ll be here in LA, followed by chasing my Broadway dreams. And so, we’ve made the mature and rational decision to be friends who love each other deeply and who might get to see each other on special occasions and quite happily fuck each other’s brains out when they do. But we are officially no longer in a committed relationship. And we are officially not going to be sad about it, because this new chapter in our lives came about thanks to Tyler’s lifelong dreams coming true. Which is totally and completely awesome.

  “You’d better go,” I say. “You don’t want to be late for your flight.”

  Tyler nods. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Look at this nifty shirt I had made for the occasion.” He unzips his fleece to reveal the phrase I Love Beaver! emblazoned across his broad chest.

  I’m aghast. “Tyler.” I look around, half expecting someone from TMZ to pop out from behind a luggage cart and snap a photo. “Cover that up, babe. Someone might see.”

  He laughs.

  “Thanks for the sentiment, but you can’t wear that. Someone will take a photo, and it’ll go viral and the whole world will think Tyler Caldwell is the biggest douchebag pervert sexist in the world.”

  Tyler chuckles again.

  “I’m not kidding, love. Your branding is really important now. You’re on a national stage. You have to think about that kind of thing now.”

  “Relax, little freshman, I’ve got a change of shirts in my bag. I just wanted to see you freak out over it. Mission accomplished.”

  “Very funny.” I bite my lip. “And very sweet. Thank you.”

  “It’s yet another instance of our elephant wearing his elephant T-shirt, don’t you think?” He winks at me and zips up his fleece again. “Seriously, I’m a genius with this T-shirt thing. Just watch. It’s gonna be huge.”

  “No doubt.” I kiss him. “Text me when you land so I know you’re safe.”

  “I will.” He touches my hair. Pulls on a strand and watches it spring back. “God, I’m gonna miss this beautiful hair.”

  I take a deep, steadying breath. My only job today is to keep our farewell light and bright so he can walk onto that airplane feeling nothing but excitement about this new chapter of his life. “I’ll miss this superhero chin,” I say, touching his steel chin with my fingertip. “But I’ll be happy knowing you’re doing what you were born to do. No matter what happens, one day we’ll look back on the twists and turns of our lives and say, ‘I wouldn’t change a thing because it got me to where I am right now, and right now is fucking awesome.’ You’ll see. Everything happens for a reason. I firmly believe that.”

  Tyler bites his cheek.

  “So get on that plane and kick some ass and enjoy every minute of this crazy ride. You’ve worked too hard not to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

  For a split second, Tyler looks like he’s stuffing down tears. But he takes a deep breath and regains control. “I’ll text you when I land.” With that, he kisses my cheek, picks up his suitcase, and strides with purpose into the security line.

  For the next few minutes, I stand frozen watching him, even though all he’s doing is standing in a security line with his back to me. I know it’s stupid, but I need to see his face one last time before I can leave, even if it’s just in profile.

  Finally, Tyler reaches the front of the line. He shows his ID and boarding pass to the TSA officer and, thank God, as he does, I get a glimpse of his handsome profile. The officer waves Tyler through and he walks toward the screening area. But just before Tyler gets to the entryway to the screening area, he surprises me by turning completely around and searching the crowd.

  Our eyes lock.

  Tyler flashes me a crooked smile, and I touch my heart. He makes a face like, Can you believe this? and I laugh and nod. Yes, I can. A nearby TSA agent says something to Tyler, and he nods at the woman. But his gaze immediately returns to me. He graces me with one last, heartbreaking smile and a palm pressed against his heart. And then he turns around, walks through the entryway to the screening area, and disappears.

  I stand rooted to my spot for a long time, irrationally thinking he might pop through the entryway again. But, of course, he doesn’t. He’s gone.

  “O, I am Fortune’s fool,” I whisper softly.

  My shoulders drooping, I turn on my heel and begin walking through swarms of travelers, feeling like I’m trudging through molasses. After about ten steps, I stop short, my breathing too ragged and my vision too blurred by tears to continue. I stumble to a nearby bench and plop myself down, a deer in headlights. One more glance at the entryway where Tyler disappeared only moments ago and the bottomless sorrow I’ve been stuffing down for three solid days lurches out of my mouth and pours out of me in the form of racking, wretched sobs.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Can I borrow some of your rouge, Zo?” one of my fellow cast members asks, pointing to a palette of stage makeup on the table in front of me.

  “Sure thing, baby.” I slide it over to her.

  It’s Sunday. About an hour and a half before the start of our matinee performance in…Where are we again? Oh, yeah. Appleton, Wisconsin. And I’m sitting next to one of my best friends in the Wicked cast in the communal dressing room assigned to us lowly chorus members. All around me, fellow chorus members are getting ready for the show, totally invading each other’s personal space as they do. But that’s just the way it is with a traveling production; everyone has to be willing to kiss their personal space goodbye because you never know how big or small the dressing rooms might be in any particular theater. And, frankly, the surprise of each new city is half the fun. Even some of the suckiest things about the grind of performing in a touring show—the stuff the veterans in the cast seem to gripe about the most—seem like a grand adventure to me.

  I’m just starting to apply my eyeliner when a reminder goes off on my phone, telling me it’s time to text Tyler before his one o’clock game. I grab my phone and tap out a text.

  Good luck in your game, Mr. God’s Gift to Womankind. Rip their heads off, you savage beast!

  I add a football, dolphin, and aqua and orange hearts to my message and press Send. It’s more or less the same pregame text I’ve been sending to Tyler since my very first text to him well over two years ago, back when I was nothing but Tyler’s five-week miseducation project. Minus the dolphin and aqua and orange hearts, of course. Back in the day, I used to send Tyler a little bear, a football, and blue and gold hearts with whatever message. But, otherwise, it’s essentially the same text.

  And my text isn’t the only thing that’s remained constant when it comes to Tyler. Since I first plastered a smile on my face and said goodbye to Tyler at the airport over a year and a half ago, my heart has never stopped being his. In fact, I can honestly say I love Tyler now more than ever. Unfortunately, though, I’ve come to realize in all this time he was right all along. Loving him doesn’t change our fate.

>   Tyler’s meteoric rise in Miami happened exactly the way I would have scripted it if I’d been writing the movie of his life. Last year, he wound up having a stellar rookie season that far exceeded everyone’s expectations of him. And that’s saying a lot, seeing as how football organizations and fans tend to have extremely high expectations of a guy being paid forty-one million bucks. And now, in the middle of Tyler’s second season, he’s performing even better than he did last year. In fact, thanks to Tyler and some other notable impact players the Dolphins acquired in the off-season, the formerly abysmal Dolphins have more than a snowball’s chance at making the playoffs at the end of this year.

  Of course, thanks to Tyler’s stellar play and good looks and larger-than-life personality off the field, not to mention his omnipresent message T-shirts, Tyler’s become a huge fan favorite, and not just in the greater Miami area. He’s a star across the entire country. And it all started when Tyler showed up for his first press conference as a rookie wearing a shirt that read “This is what God CALD a job WELL done!” Those first images of him looking so gorgeous and cocky went completely viral, and a star was instantly born. And the best part? Tyler had already gotten that catchphrase and a bunch of others trademarked the prior year, which meant when Nike came calling toward the end of his rookie season to propose a global line of “Tyler Caldwell” brand sportswear, he was in the driver’s seat.

  And now, here we are. After a season and a half in the NFL, Tyler’s already one of the league’s most recognizable and valuable players. When Tyler’s sportswear line launched this past summer, it was an instant smash. Plus, he’s a featured face in Nike’s latest ad campaign, a series of glossy commercials showing Tyler and other highly attractive athletes shirtless and full of muscles in black and white, working out while sweat drips down their glorious muscles. Seriously, it’s hard to figure out what they’re trying to sell in those ads besides sex. Not that I’m complaining. Tyler in particular looks like a freaking wet dream in those commercials. They’re one tick shy of soft porn. So, yeah, needless to say, Tyler’s quickly attracted a massive fan base in record time. Which has led to even more commercials and ads for products like cologne and watches and suits and cars and celebrity fashion shows for charity. Which means Tyler’s not hurting for cash these days. Or adulation, both of the male and female varieties.

  Speaking of female adulation…I don’t know if Tyler’s dated anyone while he’s been in Miami this past year and a half. If he has, he’s had the good sense not to mention it to me. He certainly hasn’t been photographed with anyone. If he had been, I would have seen the photo by now. Because I’ve been looking. Hard.

  For my part, I’ve had no interest in dating anyone else, though I’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities both at school and here on the road. The first and only time I kissed someone else, just out of curiosity, my stomach revolted and I instantly realized, if I can’t have Tyler, I’d rather just be alone. At least for now. Obviously, I can’t be alone forever. But I just can’t seem to move on from Tyler. Not when my heart still belongs to him so completely. When it comes to Tyler, it’s like my heart is bursting with joy and panging with emptiness, all at the same time. It’s wonderful and horrible, all at once.

  It was only when I accepted this job with the official traveling production of Wicked almost six months ago, right after the end of my second year at UCLA, that I finally found myself leaping out of bed every morning again, the same way I used to do before Tyler left for Miami. Before I got this job, I went about the business of my second year of school, including throwing myself into all sorts of new activities. I got cast in the Spring Sing. That was awesome. I went to football games to cheer on Aaron and Hanalei. Hung out a ton with Clarissa and Dimitri, who are as cute together as ever. And, of course, I studied like crazy, too. But, through it all, I always felt like I was missing a limb. Was I happy? Sure. Most of the time. But never completely.

  On the few occasions when Tyler and I saw each other during his rookie year, we always picked right back up where we’d left off, both emotionally and physically. But while those short reunions were wonderful and amazing at the time, they were torturous, too. Each and every goodbye became harder and harder on us both. It was like we kept wrapping bandages around our broken hearts only to take a sledgehammer to them right afterward.

  Just when I felt like my heart couldn’t bear another swing from the sledgehammer, the off-season arrived, and Tyler came to stay in LA for four solid months. And our hearts mended. We were as in love as ever before.

  And then, dang it, June rolled around. School ended. Tyler left for Miami again. So I got a waitressing job and went to a slew of auditions, just for the heck of it…and immediately landed this job right out of the gate. Of course, I was over the moon about it…until I found out the job would require a nine-month commitment, not the three months I’d originally thought. Which meant I’d have to take a year’s leave of absence from school to take the job. Not that big a deal, actually. But it also meant Tyler and I wouldn’t be able to spend his second off-season together. And that wasn’t okay with me. Not at all.

  But Tyler was adamant I take the job. In fact, he wouldn’t hear of me turning it down. And my dad was surprisingly encouraging about it, too, especially when he found out the pay was two thousand per week plus a per diem for food and lodging. Plus, two professors both told me accepting the job was an absolute no-brainer. “You’ll learn more on tour for nine months than you would in a classroom for three full years,” one of my professors said.

  And so, I took the damned job.

  And I’ve been on the road ever since.

  The last time I saw Tyler was about a month ago in Boston. He came to see the show during his bye-week and stayed with me for two nights at the swankiest hotel I’ve ever been in. And, of course, our time together was amazing, as always. But when it was time to say goodbye that time, I sobbed harder than ever—so hard, my eyes swelled shut. I begged Tyler to let me move to Miami, but he said no. He’d seen me onstage three times in two days and said he’d never seen my face light up that way before. I protested, but Tyler firmly shot me down. “If you moved to Miami, you’d eventually hold it against me for keeping you from your soul’s destiny. And then we’d be doomed, regardless.”

  And that was that. I didn’t fight him. Because, to my shame, a part of me knew he was right.

  My phone buzzes on my makeup table, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s a reply from Tyler to my “good luck in your game” text from earlier.

  Can you talk for a minute, Zo?

  I’m shocked. Tyler rarely replies to my “good luck” texts before games. He almost always waits until afterward. And he’s never once in two years asked to talk to me before a game. To the contrary, Tyler always prefers to shut out the world and retreat into his own mind before every game. I text him.

  Everything okay?

  Just want to hear your voice. Big game today.

  I’ll call in 2 secs. Need to go somewhere quiet.

  I bolt out of the dressing room, find a quiet spot, and place the call.

  “Hey,” Tyler says when he picks up my call.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Just wanted to talk to my good luck charm for a minute. It’s a big game.”

  “Why is today such a big game?”

  “Every game is do-or-die from here on out for us. But, you know, one game at a time.”

  “Do-or-die is good. You thrive under pressure.”

  “True. So where are you?”

  “The epicenter of the western world, Appleton, Wisconsin.”

  “Nice.” He chuckles. “You gonna be watching my game today?”

  Wow. Yet another question Tyler has never asked me before a game. “Just the first quarter,” I admit. “Sundays we’ve got a matinee, remember? But don’t worry, I’ll watch whatever I missed on NFL streaming before my evenin
g show. That’s what I always do when I miss one of your games—I stream it later.”

  “You do? Do you watch the entire game or just the highlights?”

  “The whole thing. Every play. I’ve never once missed a single minute of any of your games, Tyler. I might have to watch a game after the fact, but I always see every second of every game at some point.”

  “I had no idea. I thought you just watched the highlights. Wow. Thanks.” He pauses. “So are they begging you to be Elphaba yet?”

  I chuckle. “No, Tyler. Not even a little bit. Our Elphaba is phenomenal.”

  “You’re way better than she is.”

  “She’s not the Elphaba you saw in Boston. This one joined the show a couple weeks ago. She used to be Elphaba on Broadway before she had a baby, and now she’s back. She’s incredible. The best one I’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t need to see her perform to know you’re better than she is. Nobody is better than my beaver.”

  “She’s better than me.”

  “Not possible.”

  “I’m learning, though. Getting to watch this woman perform every night has taught me so much. I feel like I’m going to be ready to kick some serious ass when I get my chance one day.”

  “Of course you are. So why’d the Boston Elphaba leave? Was she tired of looking like a chump onstage next to Zooey Cartwright for three hours every night?”

  “Yeah. That’s why she left. She was shown up by some anonymous curly-haired girl waaaaaaay in the back of the chorus. Either that or she landed the lead role in Waitress on Broadway. It was one or the other.”

  “They should have made you Elphaba when the Boston Elphaba left. They’re idiots.”

  “Patience, eager beaver,” I say. “I’m a wee little freshman in this world. I’m still learning and earning my stripes.”

  “Good girl,” he says softly. “Keep earning those stripes, pretty baby.”

  My heart pangs. God, I hate it when his voice sounds all wistful like that. It makes me want to drop everything and go to him, no matter what he says.