The boy spent all of his childhood days waiting impatiently and dreaming of that Day. The day when he would, at long long long last, be all grown-up and ready to get on with his life. No more summers of boredom or nights full of television and discontent. He was going to be a fighter pilot. And then an astronaut. He would pilot a ship to Mars. And then become a professional football player. All the while he dreamt of glory and romance. Adventures and poignant moments with a woman with no face and yet as many faces as he could picture every night when he closed his eyes.
As he grew into an older boy, he fancied himself a writer. Full of feelings and fears and frightful images that no one had ever felt or imagined before. Or if they had, never as intensely as he. And girls! Oh the Girls were the subject of many of his musings. Those queens, those untouchable ladies seen from afar. How he longed for one and then another to know the contents of his heart! But those Girls lived only on the page. The boy felt unworthy and ill-prepared for the real girls.
This boy is now a bitter boy, full of bile and self-hatred. Discontent, still. That Day was still coming. Now his dream was less well-defined. Only to leave the confines of his father's house, to be his own man! He would travel far away for his College Experience. He sent off for information to many esteemed institutions, determined to put his mark on his life and on this world. He would experience everything he was supposed to and have the time of his life. Yet, when the time came, he settled in at the nearest school where all (or most) of his familiar friends attended.
"What to do now?" He wondered. Perhaps he would see where this place would take him.
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