Freshman year of college I took a class in Asian history. I had thought it sounded somewhat interesting, and I was somewhat right. I sat in the fourth row center, on the left. And there was a boy. Isn’t there always? He sat in the row in front of me, to the right. He had amazing hair. I had been spending the previous summer with Sharon, and had adopted her love of boys’ hair. Lots of guys who grow their hair long (his was shoulder length) neglect the imperative rule of longer hair: conditioner. This boy followed that rule. His hair was curly and buoyant and oh-so-clean.
This boy’s hair was so nice that it caused me to do something I wouldn’t normally do. Not distract myself from the lesson, that was common. I thought about kissing him. Just writing the words make me blush. Specifically, I thought that I would then get to put my hands in his hair. I can hear you wondering where this story is going. No normal place.
As soon as I had this thought, it was followed by “what if he can hear what I’m thinking?” Now, it might seem unlikely that he would have an impossible superpower, but once the thought occurred to me I could not focus on anything else. And then I started thinking all the things you would not want to be thinking if someone was reading your mind. I will leave specifics up to your imagination.
As soon as I returned to my dorm room I gathered my group of friends and told them the story. To my surprise, they seemed weirded out. They seemed to find not only the story strange, but find me strange for my starring role. Strangely, I had not expected that reaction. I turned to Sangeetha and said, “Really, something like that would never happen to you?”
She replied, “Well, maybe, but I would never share it with people!”
