The End
May 15, 1986
Unlike most stories, mine begins with an ending.
Her name was Kristie. She was a petite 19 year old student majoring in Interior Design at the University of Texas in Austin. I was a 19 year old freshman working on a Biology degree. We were standing in front of the large window looking at the planes taxiing down the runway, standing apart. My hands were in my pockets. I was trying my best not to look at her for fear of saying something I had been wanting to say for months. Neither one of us had said much on our drive from her Apartment. The ambient noise of the airport from children screaming to people laughing and ticket agents barking out commands coalesced into background static.
I was about to lose her and never see her again. What could I do to stop it, I thought.
It had been chilly that morning, Kristie was wearing a leather jacket I had told people was European but was really purchased at a thrift store in downtown Austin. She moved her blonde hair over her right ear and looked down at the carpeted floor and exhaled; her arms crossed with three suitcases at her side. Did her exhale mean she wanted me to say something? It was then that I saw her plane taxi in. I looked away.
It had been a year since I had moved to Austin from a small South Texas town of about 1,000 people, mostly Hispanic to go to college. It had been a jarring experience for me. I had never even seen a white person before. I had never even seen traffic jams.
My dorm roommate Daniel had warned me not to take an 8:00 am class. “You don’t want to get up that early bro.” But the only freshman English 1301 class available was at 8:00am so I took it anyway.
Daniel was Hispanic and, like me, from the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. I remember he had a crush on a coed named Denise who he would always run into in the elevator dorm. But I can’t remember if they ever went out.
I walked into that freshman English class that morning, scanned the room and sat in the row closest to the door. It turns out Daniel was right. I was already sleepy and had begun wondering how I could drop the class.
Our instructor walked in with a white cup of coffee and introduced herself. She was a young looking redhead wearing torn blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt; her noise interrupted the quiet space of sleepy students. She went on to tell us the rules of the class and began handing out her syllabus. At that moment, a young blonde wearing a burnt orange sweatshirt and sweatpants with white Reeboks came in and sat behind me. This prompted our teacher to give us a mini lecture on the importance of being on time.
Her name was Kristie. She tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to hand her my syllabus. I did. The teacher was saying something about being a student herself and how busy she was. I was too busy trying to think of a way to look back at Kristie without being obvious.
The following week Kristie and I we were paired up to present a paper on the impact of Media on Society. For the next two weeks we would meet everyday at the Student Union. The topic had been her idea. We were going to discuss the impact of Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ performance on MTV the year before.
On the last day before our presentation, I asked her something I had been rehearsing for days in front of my bathroom mirror, at times annoying my roommate who always needed to piss.
“Kristie, would you like to go to a movie with me to celebrate after the presentation?” I asked.
She looked at me and smiled. “Yes,” she said. She paused, glanced down for a moment outside the Undergraduate Library and returned her eyes to mine. “Yes, I would.” I could feel the breeze of students walking around us; her words comforting amid the chaos of students worried about projects passing us by.
We walked in the direction of her car. I thought about reaching out to hold her hand. I did not know what else to say that could add to her approval of me. She chuckled about something I had said and slowed her pace. “You know, there’s something about being away from everyone you know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean, College, you know, not having to worry about what people are going to say. Not having to worry about the people you have known your whole life watching over you. There’s a freedom to it, don’t you think?”
“I think so,” I said, still confused.
“It’s like being on vacation in a foreign land where no one knows you. You can be whatever you want to be. You can make mistakes and it’s ok. Not be afraid.” She said her emerald eyes trying to find out if I understood.
I looked up from the airport floor and wondered if I could stop the plane somehow like call in a bomb threat or something. I needed more time. I glanced to my right and saw her with her arms still crossed. I walked over to her, removed my hands from my pockets and placed them on her hips. She sank into my chest as if it were a pillow and adjusted her body; her arms embraced me. I heard her sniffle. I wondered if it was due to the chilly weather.
