"Love at first sight" is a classically romantic ideal. It's a simple two step process: 1. Two people meet. 2. They fall in love. Maybe they're walking their dogs or maybe one of them spills coffee on the other.
Hooking up at parties is not so romantic. This is also a two step process: 1. Two people meet. 2. They start mashing. Maybe they're in a frat basement or maybe they're at a random bar.
It is unfortunate but true — unlike hooking up, "love at first sight" lives far outside the realm of everyday college life. And so begs the Valentine's Day question: If "love at first sight" were to happen at Northwestern, how might it go?
* * *
I might be at Blomquist. It’s 10:20 on a Wednesday night and it smells like it’s been a long day in the gym. In the background, I hear the steady noise of shoes slapping on treadmills and, quieter, from across the large room, the sound of basketballs bouncing on the court. I ran out of time to work out this afternoon so I decide to take a late-night study break, come to Blom and jump on a treadmill. But every single treadmill, elliptical and bike is being used. I check my watch, frown and then turn to the girl standing next to me.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask. The girl pulls purple earbuds from her ears and looks over at me.
“Hmm?”
I motion, pointing with my finger, first to a treadmill and then an elliptical.
“Oh,” she says, “a treadmill.”
“Me too.”
There’s a moment’s pause. Not an awkward pause, just a silence that sits between us. I notice that the girl is very cute. She’s just shorter than average, with shoulder-length brown hair, and pretty blue eyes. She has yet to put her earbuds back on and I’m holding mine in my hand — the situation begs further conversation.
“Are you usually here this late?” I ask.
The girl laughs. “I’ve actually never been here before.”
“Never?”
She shrugs.
“Are you a freshman then?”
“Yeah. I’m on a dance team, so I usually get plenty of exercise. We had a show two weeks back and now we’ve got some down time. I was feeling a little guilty, you know, not having done anything for a while.” She smiles and pauses. “What year are you?”
“Freshman.”
We go through the obligatory exchange. Freshman year is fun, classes are cool and Northwestern is the place to be. “So what kind of dance do you do?” I ask.
The girl taps on the screen of her iPod and pulls up some pictures. She holds the iPod towards me and I take the bottom of it with one hand. She keeps one hand on top so that our hands are ever so slightly touching. I notice that she has on a layer of blue-green nail polish.
A treadmill opens up. The guy who just finished walks past us, sweating up a storm and panting miserably.
Meanwhile, the girl ignores the open treadmill. She scrolls through the pictures and, typically college in my descriptive ability, I say that the pictures are really cool. The girl smiles modestly and thanks me.
Another silence passes. We both glance at the treadmill. “You can take it,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
I nod my head.
She starts in the direction of the treadmill, but she takes baby steps and continues the conversation. “I didn’t catch your name,” she says.
“Joey.”
“I’m Jessie.”
Another treadmill opens up, two down from the treadmill that Jessie is about to get on. And now, for the first time in the evening, it’s awkward. We both just kind of step away and then onto our treadmills.
It’s about 20 minutes later and I’m cooling down when I notice Jessie get off. She heads back around the desk for a quick stop at the water fountain. I check mileage and decide to end my cool down three minutes early, timing it so that I’m off the treadmill and at the door at the same as Jessie. We’re hit with a blast of cold air when we step outside.
“That feels good,” she says, tilting back her head. We come up to Foster and she asks me which way I’m going. I motion south, pointing towards Plex and the sorority quad. She has to go east and up Sheridan.
“I need to run more often,” she says. “Once a week at least.” She points her finger towards Blom. “Every Wednesday, 10:30. It’ll be my new thing.”
“Sounds good.”
She turns to go. “See you around.”
“See you.”
***
I get back to my dorm, say hi to my roommate, and turn on my laptop. I realize that I don’t know her last name, phone number or dorm. The Facebook search comes up futile — Jessie is very a common first name.
***
A week passes by and it’s Wednesday night again, 10:15. Before I go, I spritz on some Old Spice body spray. I think to myself that it’s rather strange to scent up before working out. I make the quick walk over to Blomquist, the student at the desk scans my Wildcard, and I walk in. There are empty treadmills this time around, but I don’t get on. I wait a minute and then another. I feel a little self-conscious, just standing there, so I walk into the men’s locker room, throw my coat in a locker and come back out. Still no sign of her. I get on an open treadmill. Before long, 11:00 rolls around and it’s closing time for Blomquist. There is no sign of the girl with the purple earbuds.