New experiences, old connections

Let's talk about going long distance. It sucks.

I thought it would be easy when I boarded the plane. There were five other rows of American students. We drank wine from Virgin Atlantic and played Dr. Mario together on the little plane screens. We shared blankets and traded food. We talked about sex as we sat in the upright position. Friendships form fast on a jet. In the six hours to Scotland, my new best friends and I covered everything: movies, schools, clothes, music and friends. Then the girl from California asked if I had a boyfriend. Looking through the little plane portal, I saw the ocean stretch out beneath me. I slammed closed the window, scared, and admitted it. I did have a boyfriend. And he was getting farther away with every passing stewardess.

I always swore I'd never be one of those girls. You know who I'm talking about, the ones who go away to college but keep their boy back home. I never thought I could do it. It took too much effort, too much time; and besides, there was that lip-smacking West Campus combo of boys and Bacardi every night. Being single was fun, and besides, isn't dating at Duke an urban legend? I didn't think it was real, especially for me.

Some people think they're invincible. They walk alone at night, do six shots at once, streak through the rain and smoke more than a basketball bonfire. I'm a paranoid girl, but the one thing I thought would never nab me was love. And now I'm one of those girls. I have a boyfriend, and he is on the other side of my world.

Yesterday, a friend caught me crying in a glass of Guiness and suggested I didn't want back my boy at all. "Listen," she whispered while staring at a rugby guy, "it's hard being away. But this boyfriend isn't your problem. You only miss the idea of him. You don't want a boyfriend; they're boring. You want something to hold on to. You're in a new place, and it's hard." I finished my pint and started laughing. That's the advice I used to give people, before I knew how it felt to miss someone. And now, as I walk down the cobblestone streets of a new place, I wonder, was she right?

I live with five Scots in a house on the North Sea. We eat Nutella for breakfast and pop Mint Skittles for snacks. The radio blares Robbie Williams, and the BBC is obsessed with everything Big Brother. Things are definitely different, but I don't think I miss home. Here's what I do miss--Easy-Mac parties, late-night Disney movies, early-morning fights for the bathtub, being next to somebody special. Maybe I am in a new place. Maybe I do need to meet more people. But regardless of the whole "adjustment," I can't help it. I miss him.

This morning I took a walk by the ocean. The sun was rising and the wind kept spraying me with mist. Waves broke on rock walls that were older than our country. My sneakers stuck into wet red sands as a spotted cat slinked into my footprints. The water spread out until it met the sea in a big white seam, marking the horizon that seemed forever away. It was huge and glinting and beautiful. And I had never felt more alone. I ran home. I called the boy. He wasn't there.

I'm checking my messages. This morning, I got one from a Welsh guy. He wants to go out this weekend. This afternoon, I got another one from my airplane friends. They want to go out tonight. A few minutes ago, I ran back to my house along the ocean. My feet were covered in sea slime, but I ran to my bedroom anyway and checked again. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. He has not called back.