This morning 5:33am.
I awoke this morning thinking about Stephen Dudley. I haven't thought about Stephen in years, yet this morning, perhaps reminiscent from a dream, Stephen is on my mind.
I love Stephen. I only regret not being "in love" with him, but that was not to be, so we resigned ourselves to being 'very cool' with one another.
We met the summer before our freshmen year during a new student orientation at the University of Illinois. I shared a room with Toya, and he Forrest. Somehow we all found each other and had a blast, and Stephen was imprinted on my mind. The unstated pairing, however, was Stephen-Toya, Me-Forrest. And that was fine.
A good time was had every moment I'd spent with Stephen. Whether we were ditching the orientation and instead driving around the campus in his convertible (and he always had a convertible...even though we were in Illinois where you can only take advantage of the top being down three months out of the year, tops (pun intended). Somehow, knowing Stephen, he squeezed at least two more weeks out of the calendar to drive around and be seen),or once actual students, driving around the campus honking at people and waving. One of Stephens theories was that you could make some stranger's day by honking and waving at them from his hot car. They would wave back, and their friends would be left wondering if they were as cool as their friend. And yes, they always waved back. There was the time we ran from a party where a fight had broken out between the Kappas and the football players, and we "have to leave because I [Stephen] look too much like them [the Kappas] and can't fathom getting my ass kicked over bullshit." Or simply hanging out in his dorm and allowing him to entertain me with one of his self-glorifying stories.
Yes, I loved him, but more than anything, he fascinated me. I was always trying to anticipate what he would do next.
Achingly cute, Stephen wasn't much taller than me. His curly black hair was always immaculate and with product. His attire, straight from a magazine and coordinated perfectly (for one semester only...thankfully) with his eyes, which alternated between green (his favorite), blue and hazel. I preferred brown and told him so many times.
He was very built, perhaps compensating for his height. He was very proud of his physique and never let an opportunity pass to display his arms and back-- which really were quite nice. He was Prince-like (the musician), in that he really didn't care about what others thought about his sexuality, he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to do, and I admired the freedom that allowed him.
He entered college as I did, a virgin, and left, not so much. He called me the day he lost his virginity. I believe he called me at my boyfriend's apartment. It was some girl 'without her daddy' as he categorized her. It was his little theory; girls who 'grew up with daddy', like me, had a certain common sense or healthier sense of self. The other girls were searching for daddy, and thus easier. And thus a prerequisite for him as he seemed to be a magnet for them. I trired to explain that it was all an individual thing and maybe had more to do with him than them, but he wouldn't listen.
Most people didn't know what to make of Stephen and me-- myself included. At times I thought, "we can make this work!" He kept me laughing, I enjoyed his company and he complimented me nicely. I just didn't have that heart pounding, sweaty tingling anticipation when I knew we were going to hang out. Instead, I simply looked forward to it, knowing that I would have a good time.
I remember the day he met my boyfriend our sophomore year (he'd named him Mister Perfect or MP). We'd spent the day together running about, having lunch with one of his friends, Jason as I recall. He'd complained that he never saw me anymore since meeting Mr. Perfect. As I was his captive that day, he announced that he wanted to meet him.
Now ladies/gents, I know now, and I knew then, that that wasn't a good idea-- only bad things would come of it, and I was right, but Stephen was persuasive. He convinced me that it would be fun. It wasn't fun, although Stephen would catch my eye and laugh when MP wasn't watching us like a hawk. Satisfied, Stephen left, having sated something unbeknownst to me at the time, and I paid the price. MP was more than irritated with me for:
A. Spending the day with Stephen
B. Refusing to stop seeing him
C. Bringing him to his apartment and
D. Wearing Stephen's jacket, which he promptly balled up and stomped.
See the evils of jealousy? But I laughed at Stephen's little ploy.
We laughed about it later. And then the inevitable happened.
"Why not me? Why aren't we dating?"
I knew it would happen eventually, and seeing similar characteristics in Mr. Perfect only confirmed that he was indeed my type, as Stephen was just Mr. Perfect on steroids: taller, bigger, cuter. I remember he asked this of me lightly, in the dark not so much combative or suggestive as he was simply curious. We were at his apartment after some party and about to fall asleep.
"Because I wouldn't want to lose this," I motioned between us in the cramped bed, careful to avoid his eyes in case there was an emotion there I didn't want to deal with, and wasn't prepared to deal with. He was one of the only guys on campus that I could just be with. And the fun! We had a certain amount of awe for one another I think. Both of us unsure what to make of the other, but comfortable enough to just be ourselves, laugh at ourselves, sleep comfortably in one another's bed and just accept one another at face value. To date would be to lose the mystery that we were to one another. Stephen left soon after, transferring schools, and we were still very cool.
I miss Stephen. I think I'm going to Google him right now.
