If you missed the first segment of “My Story” read this post first.
College. Oh, wonderful, amazing, exhilarating college. I counted down my high school days on the cover of a three-ring binder for almost a year vying to make it to that first day of college. All three siblings and my parents drove me to Spokane, Washington for the drop-off. My stomach knotted with excitement almost all seven hours of the trip. Fresh off of the forty-acre farm, Spokane appeared to be a metropolis. Whitworth College, a relatively small liberal arts campus tucked into the wooded north end of the city, seemed huge to me. I spent my first few days on campus gaping at everything I saw, looming pine trees, stately brick buildings, people… so many people.
I remember it all happening so fast. I piled my stuff into a cinder-block dorm room, met my fantastic freshman roommate, and toured the campus in almost a single breath. Before I knew it, I was hugging my brothers and sister and waving to my parents as they headed back home. I’ll admit my confidence vanished watching their maroon-striped suburban leave the parking lot. My eyes flooded with tears and I barely made it back to my new room before breaking down. Why was I so determined to get out of Idaho and leave small-town life behind? I blotted my puffy cheeks reminding myself that at least my boyfriend settled in the building. Mr. Hometown lived three floors up in the same dorm.
Freshman initiation began as I pushed the homesickness aside and humiliated myself wearing pigtails and a men’s necktie around campus, a Whitworth tradition. Mr. Hometown and I saw little of each other as we prepared for classes and met new friends. I had almost forgotten about my Army scholarship in the initiation chaos and, a week after settling in, made my first drive down to Gonzaga University for uniforms and inprocessing. Although I attended Whitworth, their ROTC students fulfill scholarships by attending classes on the main Gonzaga campus. Little did I know how many times I would soon make that fifteen minute drive south to the impressive College Hall, one of Gonzaga’s oldest buildings.
After my uniform fitting, I rushed back to the dorm to model the camo outfit for my new dorm girlfriends. “You have to show your boyfriend!” they exclaimed as I clumsily attached every Army gadget I’d recently acquired onto my body. Striding up the three stories, I knocked firmly at Mr. Hometown’s room. “SURPRISE!” I yelled as he swung open the door. Then it happened. He looked at me and I searched his face as my smile slowly faded. ”Wow” he said, trying to appear enthusiastic. ”Yeah,” I stuttered softly, “I, uh, just got the uniforms and wanted to show you. Gotta start going to physical training early in the morning too.” He avoided eye contact as I muttered a few things before drifted back down to my room. ”Well?” the girls asked expectantly in the hall when I returned. I smiled shyly and headed for my door, “He likes it I think, but, uh… I better change.”
It only took a week or two before Mr. Hometown and I were through. He said that he wanted to be with me and that we could make it work, but it was in that moment, his first glance at my camouflaged fatigues, that I knew otherwise. We had discussed my Army commitment and talked about the possibilities, but I don’t think it was real for either of us until I stood before him in uniform. I broke-up with my first love and realized then that being in the Army might not be as easy for me as I thought it would be.
To be continued…
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