My biggest regrets are the things I neglected to do, or more accurately neglected to act upon. On the edge of desire and fear, of rejection and paradise is a dicey spot for a sensitive and slightly fey boy from an all boys Jesuit high school without deep reserves of self-confidence when it came to girls.

There was a “Perspective” my freshman year from Princeton, NJ. Her Dad taught at the University. She was half African-American and half white kid from hyper-privileged suburban America, but really, she was all white kid from Princeton. She grew up there her entire life after being adopted by a liberal, well-meaning and well-off white family there. So my college, Wittenberg University in Springfield OH, bastion of Ivy League rejects, boarding school leap-froggers and hard working midwestern kids moving up from a state school, sees the multi-racial tag and starts drooling. They just loved “ethnic” kids to help round out their liberal image and recruiting strategy, but what they mostly got were ne’er-do-well rich kids with minor family fortunes who wanted to stash their kids in a respectable bastion of academia without the ostentation of “good grades”; meaning, they never got great grades in high school, but were very intelligent kids who didn’t “fully apply” themslves. So, due to the quirk of a  mixed race background the admissions office hooks her up with the President of Delta Sigma Theta the all Black sorority on campus. Now for a rich kid from suburban Cincinnati she was fairly militant, (for the life of me I cannot remember her name, but I think it was something like Lewell…) but whatever, we were all discovering and reinventing ourselves away from home for the first time. But Lewell starts screaming at this poor little rich girl brought up in rarified American academia for not knowing her roots, which of course she didn’t being a poor little rich girl brought up in rarified American academia. But Lewell and her sorority sister Afiong Ekong (rumored to be an African Princess!) just wailed on this little, cute kid wearing a sundress who looked closer to 14 than to 17.

That night (as I would a few more times until they eventually blew them out), I had lent my speakers (massive BSRs with 15” woofers!) to the Kappa Psis (the all Black Frat) for a dance to showcase themselves for the “prospectives” during the visitation weekend. There was a “step” show and a DJ competition. For this largesse – I got in free. Now I do not think Sean Lajeaur ever expected me to actually show up. But I did. Dressed as a New Wave prep with Duran Duran haircut, yellow corduroys tucked into grey boots, a hugely oversized pale yellow tennis sweater over a grey button up buttoned all the way up. I was looking solid for 1986, and anyway, they were my fucking speakers! They did play a lot of my music – mostly Kraftwerk and Art of Noise mixes I had done…anyway hidden in a corner talking to my friend from Tower dorms and art classes, Monica Anderson, was this poor scared kid who was just lost in the all black world of Witt U. which was a weird little world all its own as it stood outside of most of the middle class white kid’s main world of drinking and spending their parents’ checks.

There I was. The only white guy within shouting distance. And I was pretty boy New Waver with model tendencies, and straight - appearances to the contrary. So we got on pretty well right off the bat. She had never dated a black guy in her life just fey white boys from upper middle class families who all belonged to one of the local Country Clubs. Add some eyeliner and a swoopy haircut and that’s me to a ‘T’. And she was so cute/hot/exotic/adorable especially to anyone from Akron OH. It was all happening according to the “Sensitive Boy’s Playbook”; shy looks, common bands, indulgent talk about electronic music, common books and authors, both of us were adopted, both isolated outsiders prone to sad Sundays and reading all day. Then we danced. Kraftwerk’s “Trans Europe Express” and M.A.R.R.S.’ “M.A.R.R.S Needs Women”. Picture perfect right from one of the lesser John Hughes’ movies like Some Kind of Wonderful.

But then my friend, Monica Anderson, decided to follow us around. To be fair, she had done the initial rescue and was shielding her from further attacks on her knowledge of Black History. Monica was a large girl (200+ lbs large) and also from among the black Witt minority, and, unbeknownst to me, she had had a big crush on me for some time. She was from the cultural hub of Canton OH. We left the dance practically holding hands. Me, to the high fiving of well meaning Kappa Psi’s and Monica and my paramour with heads down and no eye contact with Lewell, Afiong or the rest of the Delta Sigma Thetas who had been giving her the “Evil Eye” ever since we got on the dance floor. (I think mostly cuz i was killin’ it Breakfast Club style!) We went to Coy’s drive thru (genius idea - drive through liquor stores!) on foot to get some wine coolers. They would sell to anyone which was good because I was the eldest at 18 but looked like I still needed a driver’s permit.

I was in a cracked dorm chair with torn and grubby sky blue vinyl backing, staring at this lovely girl who I knew liked me, but who frightened me all the more because of it. Trying my best to lounge languidly in Monica’s room working on my second Mathilda Bay “Australian Punch” flavored malt liquor at like 1am desperately wracking my brain for a tactful way to get this willing 17 year old to my room (a super single due to my “townie” roommate, Vince, dropping out after first trimester). Instead of being direct and asking her the obvious, I left to avail myself of the facilities and quickly run upstairs to pick up my room. In my absence Monica let it casually slip that she and I were already dating! That we had done it many times, and that I had a “thing” for black girls! First of all I was a virgin! Sad but true, an 18 year old virgin. Second, I never even liked Monica as a person very much irregardless of her looks. Quickly sizing her up as the kind of person who lie to put on the super cock-block and thwart destiny! And anyway, I was a 156 lb 6’2” super skinny white guy, none whiter. Monica would have broken all my ribs in one manic thrust, and besides all that, I have never really liked girls that can beat me up - which shortens the list of hopefuls dramatically. I didn’t find this out for nearly 3 months when Monica’s roommate told me after they had some stupid fight about an ex-boyfriend or some shit… But I knew when I returned that something was very different. Now, according to “The Sensitive Boy’s Playbook” if any one minor things goes even slightly awry, the whole night must fall apart and be replaced by longing, self-doubt, ennui and melancholy. It didn’t take much at that point for Monica to shoo me away. I was defeated by a questioning look and a nasty girl in little more than a few lost moments. I skulked upstairs and lay on my newly made bed and listened to O.M.D.’s Architecture and Morality until 6 in the morning. The bitch! I am still angry at her. That is one of my most acute regrets of college. That girl, whose name I cannot even recall, was so pitch perfect sweet, hot, cute, smart and beautiful. And she liked me. At least as much as I did her. Damn I still miss her.