The forgotten

After three and a half years of college, I transferred from a Big Ten university to a Big Ten college, which greeted me by renaming itself a university in what seemed like mere moments after my arrival. (Actually, it must have been in the works for some time, and the change was just coincidental.)

After two or three weeks of pure torture in a dorm room with two annoying jocks, I wrangled new digs with a quiet young man who had probably hoped he would have the room to himself for the rest of the year. As a drama major, most of my work was in performance, but I respected his need to hit the books more than I did. I did entice him to play cards with those of us who hung out in the rec room more often than he thought he should. We went to the movies from time to time, and we must have eaten together many times in the dining hall.

He arranged a date for me with Peggy, a friend from his home town, and we even doubled with a friend of hers. I saw Peggy several times after that, and marveled why he didn't.

I finished the school year, and I believe we lived together the following school year, during which we created a rude song, "Semper Penis Erectus" (lyrics available on request), and, among other things, we once hid all the resident assistant's furniture while he was in the shower. (Apparently, I was far more energetic in my youth.)

I hoped that my presence had heightened his sense of humor and I had been a good influence, but when I rediscovered him recently, I learned HE HAD FORGOTTEN ME. The only upside to this revelation is that possibly some of the young ladies who were subjected to my youthful callowness have also forgotten.