Duke, Horizontal

In kindergarten, I was a player. One man’s love simply could not satiate me. I collected boyfriends like commodities and ended up with more beaus than I had American Girl dolls. When one boy toy became distracted during recess and decided to join in an all-male kickball game, I simply meandered over to a more attentive significant other. To avoid acquiring a reputation for coquettishness, I worked hard to obscure the breadth of my affection. On one such occasion, a boyfriend presented me with a fake pearl bead during playtime. Upon receiving the gift, another boyfriend approached us. Fearful that the bead would elicit uncomfortable questions, I popped the present into my mouth as the only available hiding place, and preceded to choke on it. The kindergarten teacher saved me with the Heimlich maneuver and the experience was traumatic enough that I was allowed to go home for the rest of the day. Since then, I’ve been much more appreciative of monogamy.

Things have also become more serious since kindergarten’s innocent romantic encounters. When I first arrived here, I thought undergraduate dating might resemble my pre-grade school escapades. After all, this was the supposed epicenter of the infamous hook-up culture. Everyone with an opinion on Duke and college life constantly reminded me that sober sex had become an antiquated behavior on campus and that commitment was a four-letter word. In this world, inebriated coeds shuffled from quad to quad in an endless game of bedroom musical chairs, pausing only long enough in their hedonism to change a condom or open a fresh Busch Light.

Four years later, instead of casual licentiousness, my fellow students keep asking me when I’m going to get married, assuming it’ll be soon. As the majority of my friends enter into committed relationships, many individuals approach the topic of love, sex, and romance with increased gravity. Following the anxious logic of one friend, if you don’t find a suitable mate in college and eternally pin their fate to yours, you may still be an old maid at the ripe age of twenty-five, certainly well past the apparent suitability of a single lifestyle. As the graduation date looms, the stakes seem to escalate and passion seems more like an obligation than a desire. When did things get so serious?

Sexually, Duke is often a place of extremes. You can sleep around until your genitals fall off and never buy anyone dinner. Or you can coexist in the severest fashion possible, living as individuals engaged to be engaged. Where’s the true fun in either experience? Can’t there be more balance or at least a give and take between the two? Can someone please take me to a movie, compliment my legs, kiss me goodnight and then maybe not call me back? I’m not trying to rehash the hackneyed lament of Duke’s struggling dating culture or belittle those who find satisfaction within the comfort of commitment. I’m also not so cynical as to dismiss the potential of significant college romance. Yet, does everything have to be so serious? Can life sometimes be more unpredictable than the inevitable union between dormcestous hall mates or the drunken sexual regret shared between the last two people to leave Devines? Does everyone really want a ring on the finger or a stranger in his or her bed?

Sometimes, the game seemed so much easier in kindergarten. Minus the plastic beads.

Brooke Hartley is a Trinity senior.