There Once Was A Beard

<html>It is September 9th. Heat prickles your skin and your kilt is heavy against your thighs. <html>You squint into the sun, atop CMU's least-appreciated colosseum - the football stadium. Your back is still sore from the weight of the bass drum. <html>In spite of this, you are happy. It's the first home game of the season - the Band has played in public, and for the most part, you didn't do too shabby. You watch the Tartans swarm onto the field; you don't know much about football, but you do know how to cheer. <html>[[You watch the Tartans swarm onto the field; you don't know much about football, but you do know how to cheer.]] </html>

<html>The percussion section sits at the top of the stadium, so that you have to squint to see the players properly. The game begins. For a bunch of nerds, these people are quite fond of headbutting each other at full speed. The Tartans score the first touchdown. Ha! You can't wait to tell your dad and brother about this; maybe that will get them to stop making fun of the somewhat shitty - <html>Oh. <html>OH, DEAR LORD. <html>There is a beard on the field. A glorious, chestnut brown Viking beard that drips with sweat and floats in the autumn wind. It is attached to a man that looks like a human Colossus; even from all the way up here, you can see that his eyes are kind and alive and bright. If he hugged you, you're pretty sure it would hurt. <html>He is perfect. <html>[[God help you.]]

<html>Funny thing about CMU's football roster: as long as you know the player's jersey number, you can find their name, their major, and their class year. <html>And you should really, really calm down. <html>But instead, you're here: on your bed, scrolling through Your Boy's non-existent Facebook feed. He uses the site even less than you do, but apparently he likes snowboarding. He also looks good in safety goggles. <html>You need to calm down. <html>[[(we both know that you won't, though)]]</html>

<html>Weeks pass. Another game occurs, and once again, you're up there watching him. His hair is better than yours. Everyone's is, but especially his. You'll never get to run your fingers through it. <html>(//but a girl can dream, and you're used to dreaming//) <html>One night, when you've been studying in the computer lab for too long and still don't have your work finished, you wander over to Doherty. Doherty holds the little patch of hell known as the Soft Sculpture classroom. <html>(//and you're not going to think about that banner right now. you're not//) <html>More importantly, it houses several labs for His major. You walk down the red-floored halls, past empty classrooms you will never step foot in. There isn't a single part of you that expects to find him. But there's a flicker of hope inside saying that you will. <html>You know you wouldn't be doing this if you had your friends around, but without them, you're only left wwith the quiet. And even though your thoughts are less painful than they used to be, they don't leave you any less tired. <html>[[You can't find him. And that's okay.]]

<html>By now, there are only 2 games left in the football season. He's a senior; once the Homecoming game is over, you're never going to see him again. You think if you at least knew what his voice sounded like, you wouldn't feel so... invested? Sappy? Hopeless? <html>It doesn't matter. And you keep telling yourself that it doesn't matter. <html>[[Why did you eat so much bread?]]</html>

<html>One late penalty won't kill you. <html>You follow him into the autumn sunlight, past the Cut, your heart in your throat. Say something! Jog up to him and speak, you swine! <html>And say what? You're beautiful. Please tackle me. <html>(**WHERE IS SHORI WHEN I NEED HER?**) <html>He's heading to Wean. Wean. See? You can even sprint back to Clay when he's done. It's fine. This is fine. <html>You two (**Oh God, you're a 'You two' now, this is bad.**) are in line for La Prima Expresso. You stand behind him. He likes coffee. You like coffee. <html>It is 1:40 pm on a Thursday, and you now have a single, solitary place to find him again. <html>[[You scurry to Clay with your throat locked tight, sneaking glances at the tumble of brown locks that stands head and shoulders above every other.]]</html>

<html>Your grade might fucking tank, but oh well. <html>You follow him into the autumn sunlight, past the Cut, your heart in your throat. Say something! Jog up to him and speak, you swine! <html>And say what? You're beautiful. Please tackle me. <html>(**WHERE IS SHORI WHEN I NEED HER?**) <html>He's heading to Wean. Wean. See? You can even sprint back to Clay when he's done. It's fine. This is fine. <html>You two (**Oh God, we're a 'You two' now, this is bad.**) are in line for La Prima Expresso. You still stand behind him. He likes coffee. You like coffee. <html>He grabs his order and heads for the stairs. <html>[[Goddammit.]]</html>

<html>[[But at least you know his voice, now - it's deep. Gravelly. Like that of a blue-collar Mountain Man and not one of the world's brightest nerds.]]</html>

<html>You don't know how to navigate Wean and you're going to forget the way back out. Your participation grade is now shot to hell and you're still following him, always a yard or two behind, doing your best to look like a fellow STEM person when you still count on your fingers most days. <html>At least you're inconspicious. Dressing like an androgynous trash can helps you blend in and not much else, which is one of the many reasons a boy has never look at you and pined. <html>(//this you know. this you know//) <html>But you don't know if you'd even register as a girl to Him if he looked you in the face. That is what your mind circles back to as the carpet under your feet gives way to red tile. You're back in Doherty after all, and when he finally, finally ducks into a laboratory, your feet stop. <html>There is no one in the hall to see you. <html>[[But at least you know his voice, now - it's deep. Gravelly. Like that of a blue-collar Mountain Man and not one of the world's brightest nerds.]]</html>

<html>Calm down. <html>You have to calm down. You have got to stop wandering to Doherty at 1 in the morning. <html>You are not a feral. <html>But you can see Him in one of the little lecture halls, through the little window in the shitty little door that is determined to keep you from your beloved. <html>[[(Rachel is going to flip her shit.)]] <html>[[(let's be real - at this point, so are you)]]</html>

<html>Maybe the classroom is locked. <html>[[Oh, dear.]]</html>

<html>He's sitting at a desk, and you know he's going to look up at some point, and you smush yourself behind a corner before he can catch you staring. That would be awkward. <html>(//i love you. please tackle me//) <html>(**STOP THINKING THAT.**) <html>Go home. Go home right now. <html>The door opens. <html>You fold your body into the wall and pretend to stare at your phone. <html>(**Your phone is in your pocket, Jesus Christ.**) <html>You can see his feet stride across the edge of your vision. They echo out of Doherty and into the night. <html>[[You're going straight to hell.]]</html>

<html>The door actually opened. <html>And the sound has him swiveling his head up to look at you. He's still sitting at his desk and his eyes are blue. <html>They're so blue. <html>"Yeah?" <html>(**Get your shit together.**) <html>[[(NEVER)]]</html>

<html>Schoolwork starts to pick up as you barrel into November and towards Homecoming. You shuffle from class to work to homework and back again, with only one week of Band left until the football season is over. You've forgotten the sweet embrace of a good night's sleep. You wonder if you'll ever feel it again. <html>(//the answer, of course, is no//) <html>Work doesn't start for another half hour, and you can inhale a sandwich by then. Surely. <html>Which is how you find yourself climbing up the UC stairs. <html>(**Why am I so unfit. My ribs ache after five steps.**) <html>Up past the black chairs and into the small jumble of dining tables on the second floor. <html>And He is sitting to your right. Eating fries. Headphones on. <html>(//you've eaten those same fries before, why can't you remember where. REMEMBER, SIMBA, FOR FUCK'S SAKE//) <html>Your heart flutters. <html>[[And this is why you hate yourself.]]</html>

<html>You walk over to him, and stand off to the side of his table, bracing yourself against an empty chair. <html>"Hi," you say, praying it's not as squeaky as it sounds. <html>He's still looking at his food. <html>(**WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS.**) <html>"Hi," you say again, a little louder. <html>This time, he looks up, surprise widening his eyes. <html>(//why are they so blue. he has aquaman eyes//) <html>"Pardon?" he asks, taking off his headphones. <html>"Hi," you say again, again, because your mind has been wiped clean. <html>(//fine dining. and breathing. jellyfish dance across your vision//) <html>"Hello." <html>"How are you?" <html>(**Someone kill me. Please.**) <html>"Good." His eyes dart back down to his fries. "You?" <html>"Um, I didn't mean to interrupt you, but I was wondering..." <html>You sieze up. He blinks. <html>(//ask him about classes. about being a senior. anything//) <html>"Would you like to get dinner some time?" <html>(//NOT THAT, YOU DIPSHIT//) <html>[[He raises his eyebrows.]]</html>

<html>He's right there. <html>He's right there. <html>He'srighttherehesrightthereHE'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE <html>But you can feel your stomach working and work is in twenty-five minutes and you need this money and you can't be late and - <html>He's right there but you can't. You can't make yourself go towards him. <html>(//he's never noticed you//) <html>(//he has no reason to//) <html>(//what would you even say//) <html>[[Go to ABP and if he's there when you come back it's - it's okay.]]</html>

<html>He shrugs. Blinks again. "Sure." <html>Oh. <html>Oh, dear Lord. <html>"Oh," you wheeze, like you've just been drop-kicked in the lungs. "Okay. Thank you." <html>(**Thank you? THANK YOU?**) <html>"Where do you want to go?" he asks, wiping some of the ketchup off of his big, big fingers. <html>"ABP, 7 o' clock on Friday?" <html>"Alright." A faint smile twitches at his lips. "See you then." <html>"Right. See you." <html>(**You skip away with a weird, clench-y tingle in your stomach. You want to die. And you want to live forever.**) <html>[[And then, about twenty minutes later, you realize what you've committed to.]]</html>

<html>His face twists into a frown - and it's always frowning, sort of, but this time it's from active displeasure. <html>(please no) <html>"Uh." He scratches behind his head. You think it would feel like petting a wolf. <html>(Corvin. Rumancek. Werewolves, man. why are you like this.) <html>"No thanks," he says, glancing off to the side, and you can feel your soul physically leave your body and set itself on fire. <html>"Ah. Okay. Have a good one!" you chirp. <html>(get to ABP. calm down. Get to ABP. Calm down.) <html>Your body is on fire. <html>[[Heartbreak]]</html>

<html>You walk away from him. You keep walking until you see the big, neon red numbers on the clock in the corridor. 2:45pm and for once you were so close to being happy - <html>You turn back. You run to the dining tables. <html>And you don't know what you'd even say but all too soon it doesn't even matter, because he's gone. The table is empty. <html>[[(the fries were from the roti food truck. you've eaten there twice this whole semester. the fries burned your mouth when you did)]]</html>

<html>You're going out. <html>On a date. <html>With the single most beautiful man in all of Pittsburgh. <html>(**Please stop.**) <html>You have never been on a date. You've never even had the possibility of a date. Dates are for TV characters and girls who wash their clothes more than once a semester. <html>(**Why did I do this to myself?**) <html>[[(because you are a thirst queen(TM))]]</html>

<html>(move. move. walk. your feet are walking) <html>This isn't the worst thing you've felt all year. Not even close. <html>You know you look like hell on a regular basis. You don't comb your hair. Your body is hidden under twenty layers of cloth and you have the voice of a chainsmoker. <html>(gotta love northeastern accents, man.) <html>(you're fine.) <html>(this doesn't hurt.) <html>(you're fine.) <html>[[Go to ABP and if he's there when you come back it's - it's okay.]]</html>

<html>You're not confident about this date. <html>[[(when was the last time you felt confident, let's be honest)]]</html>

<html>You should be doing Clay homework. You should not be wandering up and down the Doherty halls like a vagrant. <html>(//you're on the tail-end of your period and there's caffeine in your veins. this is the opposite of calm//) <html>But for once, the universe slides you a win. <html>[[(oh, honey. you thought)]]</html>

<html>But when you're in Doherty after a few hours of Clay homework, you go looking for him. It feels less shameful this time. <html>(//the clench-y feeling is back. maybe it never left//) <html>You're not even looking for him looking for him, just sort of aimlessly walking up and down the halls. <html>[[(you're on the tail-end of your period and there's caffeine in your veins. this is the opposite of calm)]]</html>

<html>Because you find him coming out of a laboratory. <html>(//you didn't know he could fit into a lab coat. you're pretty sure he wouldn't fit onto your dorm bed//) <html>(**And you really shouldn't have thought about that.**) <html>(//fuck//) <html>You passed the elevator on the way here and you can definitely sprint for it before he - <html>"I like your beard!" <html>(**FUCK. WHY.**) <html>He stops mid-stride, glancing over to look at you like you've sprouted a tail. <html>(**Why can't you think before talking?**) <html>(//why can't you think at all//) <html>"Uh... do I know you?" <html>[[Ow. Ow. OW.]]</html>

<html>And the universe slides you a win, because you find him coming out of a laboratory. <html>(//you didn't know he could fit into a lab coat. you're pretty sure he wouldn't fit onto your dorm bed//) <html>(**And you really shouldn't have thought about that.**) <html>(//fuck//) <html>You passed the elevator on the way here and you can definitely sprint for it before he - <html>"Hey. What's up?" <html>[[(FUCK)]]</html>

<html>"..." Your mouth is shut tight and your spine is concrete. <html>(//why can't you look him in the eye//) <html>"Hi," you breathe. <html>He walks toward you, the barest frown crinkling his brow. <html>(**Stop reading so much fanfiction, you goddamn sap.**) <html>"Hi," you repeat. <html>(//calming down is not an option//) <html>[["I thought I wouldn't see you until Friday. Something wrong?"]]</html>

<html>"I - " the word catches in your throat and dies. <html>(//i love you//) <html>(**I need you to look at me.**) <html>(**//I need you to see.//**) <html>He backs away, eyes threatening a freakout and you can't blame him but he's right there, he has to understand, you've waited so long for someone to be there. <html>[[He has to believe you. He has to see.]]</html>

<html>Suddenly you're throwing yourself at him, with all of your might, his ribs encased in an awkward hug while he lets out an 'Oof' of surprise. <html>When he grabs your shoulders, you think that he could very easily snap your collarbones. <html>"Dude, what the hell?" he grunts, peering into your face. <html>"I - uh - you're very pretty." <html>(shut up. shut the fuck up.) <html>"And sometimes I - okay, I sort of wandered Doherty a lot, looking for you, but I was already here and it was more out of boredom, right, and that's technically light stalking." <html>(Rachel told you to stop saying that. you should have listened.) <html>He pushes you away, and it's not even a shove but you can see an entire lifetime of romance and flowers and shit disappear out of your reach. <html>"You've stalked me?" his voice echoes down the barren hall, and he's looking at you like he wants you to disappear, too. "Dude, that's really fucking creepy." <html>"I know!" <html>[[(you should have calmed down)]]</html>

<html>"Okay?" he says, laughing, and his body shakes likes a tree in a storm. <html>(//in a storm of your looooooove//) <html>(**Stop. Reading. Fanfiction.**) <html>When he puts his hands on your shoulders, you think that he could very easily snap your collarbones. <html>His eyelashes are chocolate brown, several shades deeper than the hair on his head and face but just as lush. <html>"I like your beard." <html>(**Why. There is no hope for you. Why.**) <html>He laughs again. "It's a nice beard, isn't it?" <html>(//marry me. I will not give you children but we can have puppies//) <html>You swallow. "Yes. Yes, it is. That's why I can't stop following you." <html>(//your mouth no longer asks permission from your brain//) <html>You can see the exact moment when the amusement in his eyes gives way to discomfort. You can feel his body stiffen. <html>[["You do what now?" he asks.]]</html>

<html>Your brain is a short-circuiting spitfire of bad ideas. <html>"I - uh - you're very pretty." <html>(**Shut up. Shut the fuck up.**) <html>"And sometimes I - okay, I sort of wandered Doherty a lot, looking for you, but I was already here and it was more out of boredom, right, and that's technically light stalking." <html>(//Rachel told you to stop saying that. you should have listened//) <html>He pushes you away, and it's not even a shove but you can see an entire lifetime of romance and flowers and shit disappear out of your reach. <html>"You've stalked me?" his voice echoes down the barren hall, and he's looking at you like he wants you to disappear, too. "Dude, that's really fucking creepy." <html>"I know!" <html>[[(you should have calmed down)]]</html>

<html>"I worded that badly," you say, reaching for him. <html>He backs away. "You need to go." <html>"I - " <html>"I'm calling Campus Police right now." <html>(**This isn't worth expulsion.**) <html>(//you know that that's a lie//) <html>"Please understand," you mutter, pitiful tears stinging your eyes as your throat tightens. "I don't know how - you're really beautiful, okay? I don't know how to cope." <html>His eyes widen, and he makes a choked sound while he reaches for his phone. "Get the hell away from me." <html>(//ow//) <html>(**Ow.**) <html>(**//OW.//**) <html>You don't leave. You fucking run, so hard that the soles of your feet ache long after Doherty has disappeared behind your back. You wind up on the floor in your room in Donner. You can't remember how you got there. <html>[[(you can still feel his beard tickling your forehead)]]</html>

<html>The world, of course, doesn't end. Even though you sort of wish it did. <html>The Homecoming game comes and goes, with you in the exact same position you've been in for two months: in the stands, watching him. <html>(//maybe he can feel his eyes on your back//) <html>(//maybe he'll turn around//) <html>The Tartans lose, their overtime useless, and the air so cold it leeches the warmth from your bones. You commit the sight of the post-game huddle to memory as you cross the field. It's the last bit of him you'll have. <html>(//it's not//) <html>(**Of course it's not.**) <html>(**When have you ever been so lucky.**) <html>And when you're dragging yourself out of Interp, eyes barely open from 5 hours of sleep, the last thing you want is to see him walking into Wean. <html>(//but he is//) <html>(//and you do//) <html>(//and a part of you still wants that, too//) <html>For a second, you lock eyes. <html>(//they're still so fucking blue//) <html>And you know he's seeing you, too, because his lips twist in disgust. <html>[[(maggot. freak. beggar. you fucking thought)]]</html>

<html>Eventually, you're going to remember how you ended up in this bathroom stall. <html>The minutes between having him see you, again, and throwing up your guts into an overbleached toilet will piece themselves back together. <html>(//but maybe they won't//) <html>(//maybe you'll never know exactly when you started to cry//) <html>And until then, here you are. Stomach acid burns your throat like a liquid sun. <html>Work doesn't start for another hour. <html>For now, you can stay. <html>(**At least you tried, honey.**) <html>(**At least you tried.**)</html>

<html>You knew damn well you had Clay in 10 minutes! You hurry down the UC steps, the project sketch you should have completed days ago clenched in your hand. Idiot. Stupid, stupid - <html>The man in front of you has massive calves. <html>[[You register this as you pass the black chairs.]]</html>

<html>You register his hair color as you pass through the revolving doors. That shade of brown is lighter when it isn't soaked with sweat. <html>[[The man is huge. Broad. Massive. It couldn't be anyone else.]]</html>

<html>It's Him. <html>It has to be. <html>[[How bad are your decisions going to be today?]] <html>[[(well, since you asked...)]]</html>

<html>Your knees are starting to give out. <html>He's within arm's reach and suddenly you're throwing yourself at him, with all of your might, his ribs encased in an awkward hug while he lets out an 'Oof' of surprise. <html>(//he dwarfs you//) <html>(//you knew he would//) <html>His beard itches against your cheek and you are going to coin the term 'affection-tackling'. <html>[[(you can see the cringe on Rachel's face)]]</html>

<html>"Hi." You choke it out. It feels like you're about to burst out of your skin. <html>"You looking for someone?" <html>Yes. And I found him. <html>(//straight to hell//) <html>"No, um, I'm just wandering. I'm an art freshman." <html>"...Okay." <html>"Are you on the football team?" <html>(**DON'T GIVE YOURSELF AWAY.**) <html>"Yeah." <html>"I live in Donner, so I know most of the freshmen on your team." <html>"Okay?" He's still confused by your presence. His eyes are so damn blue. <html>"And you're very recognizable." <html>"It's the hair, isn't it?" <html>(//damn right it is//) <html>"Actually, it's the calves. Only you people have calves that big." <html>(//what the fuck just came out of my mouth//) <html>"They are impressive calves, aren't they?" he snorts, jutting his leg out like a hitchhiker. <html>[[(FUCK YEAH THEY ARE)]]</html>

<html>And you laugh, with only a touch of hysteria. "Yes, they are. It was nice meeting you!" <html>"You, too. Have a nice life." <html>"You, too!" <html>You walk out of the classroom and do not - absolutely do not - leap in the air. You do praise the universe for shorts, though, and men who insist on wearing them in 60 degree weather. <html>[[You feel warm for the rest of the night.]]</html>