Listaire at Usc: Reconnections

A number of you seem to be wondering where I am going with this, the longest of the Alistaire Cycles. A few entries have been and are just me wanting to riff on college memories or tropes, and how Alistaire would, um, handle them. But every cycle of Al's tale has a purpose, both of its own and for the overall tale, and almost everything serves that purpose. Unless I'm just having fun... Just relax and enjoy this hopefully plausible and certainly ridiculous ride!

If you don't get the joke of the introductory scene here, great. It means you have lots of other stories of mine to read! If you want to know what I am having fun with in the 'cold open' here, check out

WIWAW -- Chekov's Babes

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Like every other person who comes to LA, I briefly dreamed of being in The Business, and by The Business, I do mean The Industry. But I sure as hell, no matter what Britney said about my body's suitability for on-screen work, was not going to act, so my daydreams leant toward being a writer.

Alas, bad fan-fiction is not really in demand in Hollywood, no matter what the current recycled IP offerings might imply.

Yes, bad. You would think a word nerd like me would be able to write a good script. You would be wrong.

Here's a sample of a Star Trek reboot I doodled out:

Camera zooms down and into the bridge from out in space. Red Alert sirens blare and the bridge seems bathed in blood from the lights. Captain Kirk leans forward in his chair, but then turns toward Lt. Uhura.

Kirk: End transmission!

He bangs his fist on the arm of his chair.

Kirk: Damn it! If that's what they want, that is what they will get. Mr. Chekov, you may fire when ready!

Chekov: Vit pleasure, Keptin!

Phaser fire pours forth from the belly of the majestic Enterprise disk.

See? Terrible, right?

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The One With Reconnections

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As my third fall semester at USC began, I was technically a Senior, between AP credits and summer classes, but I still thought of myself as a Junior like the majority of my friends. Four years was the plan. Four years was the budget. I was disinclined to rush my exit from USC.

I was still living in my off-campus phone booth of an apartment, but once school began again, I found myself spending a lot of time on campus. That's where classes were, that's where most of my friends were. That is where the resources were.

That was where most of the sex was...

I mean, other than Britney, I had yet to make one friend that I could hang out with, sexually or otherwise, who was not a part of the USC community. I was neither proud of this, nor happy about it. But it was what it was.

That said, I still had a rich, full social life, sexual and otherwise, on campus, so I was seldom lonely. And I honestly had little motivation to seek elsewhere... I wanted to meet people, both new strangers and my existing friends, and campus was where that was most likely to happen. I still had not found the same depth of friendship that I continued to feel for many of my older friends back east, though I felt several relationships growing and maturing. I hoped.

USC, like most campuses, is a web of crisscrossing pathways outdoors, making foot traffic a tangle during class changes. I usually pay close attention to where I am going at such times, for my own safety.

As a freshman, I had once been run over by a tight end who was as late for class as I was. It was an instructive experience. Look, I have sort of come to grips with the fact that I am large. At least, I'm tall and in pretty good shape, not the tiny string bean I was up through most of high school. But there is a difference between normal people large, and USC football tight end large. Carl had been really nice as he peeled me off the pavement, but I resolved to pay attention to where I was going from then on.

Yeah.

Three weeks into my third fall at college, there I was, walking across campus, not paying attention.

Confession: My face was buried in my phone.

In my defense, I had just come up with a great meme that I was sure would go viral worldwide and was uploading it to everywhere I could think of. (Spoiler: The rest of the world had a different opinion about the transmissibility of my 'viral' meme...)

Further confession: I had already uploaded my doomed meme everywhere and was perusing baseball posts on Instagram, still not paying attention.

Look, Nolan Ryan facts are always mind-blowing.

Suddenly I felt a collision from my right. Fortunately, my fellow collider was nowhere near the size of former USC, now Minnesota Viking, tight ends. I was the one to knock her down this time.

Yes, it was a girl. I could tell instantly.

I was about to apologize when my mind registered the sound of her phone clattering to the sidewalk as she fell away to the grass. Instantly, I pocketed my phone for plausible deniability while exclaiming, "Oh, my God! Are you okay?" and leaning down to help her back up.

I was so flustered, the platinum blonde hair didn't register at first. It was not until I was staring into brilliant, cornflower blue eyes that I recognized Liz.

Wow.

Um.

"Alistaire!" she said, recognizing at the same time who it was that had crashed into her.

"Are you okay?" I asked again, because, wordy bastard though I am, I can get thrown into a repetitive loop when I'm panicking.

Yes, I was panicking. I had not actually talked to Liz since we had broken up. Since she had broken up with me. True, USC is not a huge campus, and we had both seen the other at a distance many times in the intervening almost two years. But I had always somehow avoided actually getting within talking range. She must have also avoided it, and the fact that she had been doing so had made me even more determined to stay away. I was vaguely aware that this was stupid, childish, and not how other adults handled running into exes, but Liz was my only ex ever, and I vapor-locked whenever I saw her.

But now, we had spoken to each other. I couldn't run away and avoid her right at this point. It would be rude. Also, Liz was, as ever, a totally gorgeous eyeful, and my eyes were enjoying being filled.

"So, Liz, where are you off to?" I asked as she straightened her icy pink polo shirt over juicy breasts.

"Um, nowhere, actually," she replied. "I was just wandering and reading TMZ on my phone instead of watching where I was going," she admitted sheepishly.

"Me too," I confessed, shaking my head just as ruefully.

"I understand my stupidity," Liz said, actually smiling. "But I thought you had learned your lesson after you got creamed by Carl Greene, back when we..." she cut herself off before she could finish with, 'were dating.'

"I guess I'm learning disabled," I shrugged, tapping my temple. I looked at her awkwardly. I hated being awkward with a nice girl.

Sometimes, the only way to get past awkward is to lean into it and make it worse, until things resolve.

"Listen," I said hesitantly, "it's been a while. If you aren't busy, want to hit Annenberg's, grab a drink, and catch up a little?"

"Yeah," Liz said, seeming to surprise herself. "Sounds good!"

I grabbed a chai tea latte and Liz bought some kind of mocha cream whatsit. We grabbed a table and fell into a nice conversation about whatever. As was the problem to begin with, we did not have a lot of academic or even casual interests in common, but we did have a lot of time to catch up on, and people we knew in common. Most importantly, I was remembering that I just flat

liked

Liz.

"Still running much?" I asked, turning to the one public activity we genuinely had in common.

Liz shrugged. "Sure. I'm doing about sixteen miles a week, all told."

"Yeah, about the same for me," I agreed. "Gotta keep in shape!"

Liz snorted at that involuntarily, then covered her mouth in embarrassment.

"Huh?" I asked.

Her eyes widened at being caught in some internal joke, and then she grinned. She had always been irrepressible. She blurted sheepishly, "I was just remembering that it was a good thing I was so in shape back when we were together!"

My eyes widened a bit at that.

"I had to be," she grinned. Then she teased me, "You are keeping, what, four girls satisfied full-time right now, with two more as regularly recurring guest stars?"

I was a little taken aback. I mean, her numbers were right, but none of it was public knowledge. "How do you think that?" I asked incoherently.

"You hadn't heard? I was invited to pledge back in the spring."

"There is a sorority out there that talks about me?"

That was disturbing. But it could also have some potential...

"Not just some sorority, I mean The Sisterhood, Alistaire."

I face-palmed. Gina had been serious last year about Liz! But then why had it taken Gina eight months to drag Liz into the mayhem? "They got you, huh?"

"Yup. Seriously, dude, it was an eye-opener. You had sort of let me know there had been others, but holy fuck!"

I looked at her hesitantly. "I'm glad they asked you to join," I said, finding that I meant it.

"I am kind of an oddball outsider in the group though," she admitted.

"What? Why?" I objected. Mean Girl Behavior was not on brand for any of my... friends.

Liz caught my concern. "There was some tension at first, but mostly, they were all amazed that I could keep up with you all by myself. Petra once suggested that I must secretly wear a cape."

"Tension?" I bore on, never one to be distracted from concerns.

"Whatever made you say you treated me badly in any way, Alistaire?" Liz asked plaintively by way of reply. "Look, it was a little tense with a lot of them at first, and I understand they deliberated for a while before adding me to the list. Half were a little bit jealous that I'd hoarded you all to myself for a while. The other half were a little suspicious at what I had done that could make you claim you'd been anything other than sweet to any girl you liked."

"You didn't do anything," I protested.

Well, she'd dumped me with my dick still inside her, but we both believed that had been for the best...

"Other than just assume us into a relationship?" Liz asked, both in challenge and apology. The gang must have been open with her about what I had said at the time. I wasn't sure whether that was going to be good for me or not, but I also appreciated the way all of them in that chat were so honest with each other.

"I did consciously agree to the relationship," I replied firmly. "That's why I was the bad one. I never saw it as even potentially meaning anything."

Liz just rolled her eyes. "How can you, the world's most experienced twenty year-old, be so clueless about how guys operate?"

I shook my head. I didn't care how other guys operated. "Relationships should matter," I said almost sullenly. I did not bring up my father's stories. It had been almost impossible for me to wrap my brain around the idea that my idol had ever behaved anything other than wonderfully. I had finally settled the cognitive dissonance by simply taking his words about that time to heart.

"Sometimes relationships do matter," Liz replied quietly. "I've had three since we were together, Alistaire. All ended with either me or them bailing. There was one that was pretty good for a while, until I found out it wasn't."

I pondered asking for details about what had happened there, in case corrective action was needed. Now was not the time, but I filed it away for future investigation.

"Your and my problem was simple," Liz shrugged. "The only thing we really had in common to make us friends instead of just friendly, was running."

"True," I admitted. "I really don't run with anybody anymore. No one wants to hit the road with anyone out here. Hell, most of them want to get in their strides on treadmills...

indoors

!"

"Seriously, right?" Liz agreed. "What a bunch of losers."

We basked in the warmth of agreement about treadmill posers.

"Look," I said, taking an opportunity to maybe put our past completely behind us. "I live off-campus now, but I have a noonish class on Fridays. I've been thinking of getting in my run on campus that day. Want to pace each other?"

Liz cocked her head at me. "I think I'd like that. I'll put Taylor on my earbuds instead of my collar speakers, if you promise not to yammer on about baseball and homers and RPIs or whatever while we run."

R

B

Is, dammit...

"Liz?"

"Hmm?"

"You, um... you have been pretty much avoiding me since... right?"

She shrugged sheepishly.

"I have too," I said in agreement. "Not actively, but if I saw you across a room or hall, I'd always find a reason to change direction."

"Yeah, that's pretty much been my MO as well," Liz admitted.

"Well, I'm not doing that anymore," I said firmly. "Yes, neither of us needs a steady diet of each other like we had. You aren't the One for me, just as I sure as hell am not the One for you. But you are cool, and I do like you."

She looked at me. "Me too. Even when you are trying to bore me to tears, you are still always funny... whether you are meaning to or not!"

"Thanks," I said drily at her intentionally left-handed compliment. "And you are the best gossip I've ever known. I've missed getting the scoop on all those people I don't know!"

From then on, it was good to have someone to run beside again--someone I felt like hanging out with for a bit after. I tried not to fall behind very much, but the temptation of the improved view from back there did win out every once in a while...

*

I like sports other than baseball (he said defensively). I had picked up a fondness for watching volleyball the previous Fall, and this year it became a very regular thing. Dave and I went to around a game a week.

Yes, it was mostly girls' volleyball games.

Fuck you.

We went to some guys' games too. If there was a really good opponent. But we preferred the women's game. It was more elegant. At least that's the story Dave came up with, and I'm sticking to it.

And for the record, both of us really had gotten into the sport itself, not just the, um, spectacle. We were the only two guys I knew who meant volleyball when we nerded out about The US National Team.

In early October, Dave and I arrived early for a match against Arizona State's women's team. We were eager because ASU had about as much talent as our team. They played volleyball well, too.

The stands in the arena were not crowded, which was surprising, given it was early on a Friday night, and Dave and I spied some open seats on our favorite row, right near the center of the court. We slid down the row, and as we sat it was clear there was some kind of stir going on. The players were not even out on court yet, but there were some laughs and jeers in the air, mostly right around us.

I was looking around the arena, especially on the mostly empty court, in confusion, when Dave laughed. "Holy shit, Alistaire! Cheerleaders?"

Two rows toward the court, and right in front of us, Dave pointed at four girls, sitting in the stands, wearing cheerleader uniforms.

It was immediately apparent that these were not USC cheerleaders, nor part of the ASU squad. Not because they were in the stands, but because they were wearing the sky blue and yellow of UCLA uniforms.

"What the actual fuck?" I mused.

"Think they are really cheerleaders?" Dave asked me.

"Nah," I scoffed. "Why would they be at this game?"

We both examined the girls, just like everyone else. They were uncomfortably keeping to themselves, and staring resolutely at the empty court, so we had a limited view. "Hard to tell," Dave mused, "but they might be cute enough to be cheerleaders; definitely the two on the ends."

I mostly agreed with him, especially the one on the left who was clearly of Asian extraction, what with the skin tone I could see on her enticingly bare shoulders and the long, straight, jet-black hair. Seriously, her shoulders alone were sexy enough to almost give me a boner. The blonde on the right... Probably. Very probably. Not stellar enough to be among

our

cheerleaders, of course, but certainly other schools' best.

Then the crowd around us, and, more to the point, around them, just kind of turned all of a sudden. As I said, there had been laughs, and snide comments made a little too audibly, and a lot of pointing. But all of a sudden, one douchebag somewhere around us went and called out to them directly. That gave apparent permission to other people who should have had more class, to also start hooting derisively and otherwise giving these girls shit. My dad had to prosecute some people after a riot, and he'd gone on at length about mob mentality.

The girls in front of us just huddled a little toward each other and kept their heads down. Why had they chosen to pull such an embarrassing stunt? They were not in physical danger, I hoped, but things were careening toward it becoming just awful for them.

I just looked at Dave. "Nope," I said. "Not happening."

He nodded back firmly.

We both stood up. I get joked at about my white knight impulses, but they were needed here. Giving in to the instinct was a lot easier, knowing that Dave 100% had my back.

"Hey! Trojans!" I shouted, making sure the crowd knew I was yelling at them, and not these poor girls. "What the heck is wrong with you people? Get a life!"

"Exactly," Dave added. His voice is actually a little deeper than mine, so that helped. "Shut up and quit acting like you are from Oakland or something!"

It quieted almost immediately. No one wanted to be thought of as from Oakland. Even my friend Franklin Walsh, who is from Oakland, doesn't spread it around much.

A couple of guys who were in the stands with girls or girlfriends, and who had been among the offenders, were summarily poked. The other male offenders backed off unpunished. There were plenty of girls who had been part of the sudden surge of nastiness too. A few looked huffy, but most looked like they had woken up.

The four girls turned around and looked at me and Dave. One of the two plainer-looking ones in the middle said a quiet, "Um, thank you." She had pretty eyes. My eyes went to the other girl in the middle who was waving shyly at us. But then she nudged her friend and they looked around at the stands, as if still worried in a different way about someone behind us. "And, uh, Go Bruins?" the first girl said tentatively.

"Alistaire? Is that you?"

My eyes shot to the dark-haired girl on the end. She had stood up and was smiling at me in surprise.

Heather Quong?

"Heather?" I said incredulously.

"Al Taylor is my hero," she said to herself, shaking her head in amusement. "And who is your friend, our other hero?"

"My buddy Dave," I said automatically. "What are you doing here? And why are you guys dressed like

that

?"

"It's a thing," said the girl next to Heather skittishly.

"Yeah," Heather said, much more amused. She looked at her row. "Hey, no one wants to sit next to us because we have BruinCooties or something. Will you guys come down and sit with us? You can keep on being our knights in shining armor!"

I looked at Dave.

Dave looked at me. From his look, he was thinking, of course you know the hottest of these girls, Alistaire. Do they even go to USC?

"Move," I said, and we slipped back along our row to the aisle, then stepped swiftly down to theirs.

"Of

course

you know the hottest of these girls. Do they even go here?" Dave hissed at me.

"I went to high school with Hannah," I said. "She was in the class after mine. I guess she chose UCLA over someplace like Stanford for some reason."

"She's that smart?"

"Pretty smart, but that rich."