Complete Opposites

Complete Opposites

Shane:

It's late August, the Sunday before classes start, and I'm wheeling my lonely suitcase down the third floor hall of the boys second year dormitory. I am about to begin my sophomore year at North Central College but in some ways I feel a little like I did a year ago - like a scared freshman. I just don't know what to expect. I am a planner. I thrive in an environment rooted in neatness and order. Predictability. My class schedule is exactly what I signed up for. My on campus job is all lined up and waiting for me. Everything I can control is in perfect order. That leaves just one unknown. One not so minor aspect of the next nine months of my life. Who did the school decide to room me with?

Last year, my freshman year, they roomed me with Riley. We were the ideal match. He was as neat, clean, quiet and private as I was. We were respectful, if not friendly with each other and within just a couple of weeks, we had learned how to coexist in our tight quarters with little to no disruption to each other. He was the perfect roommate because rooming with him was the closest thing to rooming alone.

If only rooming alone was an option. Solo dorm rooms are more expensive than doubles, and being the youngest of six kids, my parents are pretty tapped out. My presidential scholarship is the only reason we could afford this school in the first place. It's a good school and I'm glad to be here. My first year was a success that was made easier by the unspoken agreement Riley and I had to give each other privacy and space. I had been looking forward to rooming with Riley for three more years. No such luck.

A month ago, Riley texted me. He said that he had accepted an opportunity to study abroad for a semester and he wanted to let me know that he wouldn't be back until January. Great. Now I have to start from scratch. Again. There is no way the school will let me be solo in a double room for a whole semester. No. I'll get stuck with some transfer student or someone else whose roommate bailed on him, probably because he was the worst roommate in the history of roommates. Last year I had won the roommate lottery with Riley. There is no way lightning could strike twice.

As I continue down the hall, I hear loud voices. It's quite the ruckus; almost like a party. My heart sinks as I realize the noise is coming from my assigned room. The door is open and there are five giant, oversized guys filling the small space. I don't even know which bed is mine, but since both beds are being used as couches, I already feel violated.

I stand in the doorway not knowing what to say, so I say nothing. At least the background music isn't blasting. The five giant jocks continue to talk and laugh in an easy dumb jock way that a small part of me is jealous of. A really small part. It's a full minute before one of them finally notices my presence.

The one with chubby ruddy cheeks points and laughs, "It's Alex P. Keaton!"

It's only now that I remember I'm wearing a tie and a suit jacket. I came here straight from a brunch to celebrate my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary. Suddenly my own cheeks are as red as the ruddy guy's cheeks. Now they all laugh.

It's obvious that these dudes are all on the football team. North Central is a small liberal arts school, but inconceivably, we have an amazing football team that is the number one ranking team in NCAA Division III. Last season, they had a perfect 14-0 record and won the national final. I know all of this not because I play football, but I am a fan. I attended all of the home games and even a few of the nearby away games. I actually recognize some of the guys standing in my room right now. But I still don't know which of them is my roommate. Presumably it is not either of the two who continue to sit on my bed. My bed, because it is on the side of the room that does not have sports posters plastered all over the walls and piles of clothes strewn about the desk. Too many pairs of massive sized sneakers are haphazardly toppled right in front of the door just waiting to trip me with my regular sized feet.

I know that football practices started a few weeks ago, but the room feels like it's been lived in for months, not weeks. I haven't even completely cleared the threshold yet and I already feel like an unwelcome visitor in my own room. Shit. I think I'll be spending a lot of time in the library this year.

One of the other three guys presses a button on a Bluetooth speaker and the music stops. He says to his teammates, "Okay, guys. Time to clear out."

With surprisingly little argument, they do just that. The ruddy dude says to me, "See you around, Keaton." Two others pat the top of my head while the fourth straightens my tie. Am I like a toy to them? Fuck me. Did I have to be in this damn suit today? On the bright side, with those other four guys gone, the scattered sneakers are gone too. The remaining guy, my apparent roommate, stands before me in socked feet. His side of the room is a disaster. His bed, his desk, his dresser are completely littered with clothes and trash, but he has a shoe rack against his wall with twelve pairs of well-cared for, neatly aligned and very large sneakers.

I move to fully enter our room but he stops me with his palm in my chest. "I have one house rule," he says. Like the room is his and not ours. "No shoes in the room." He looks down at my pristine, shiny, black leather dress shoes expectantly.

Seriously? This slob of a human won't allow me into my own room until I take my immaculate shoes off?

I scoff. Why is this happening? I know who this guy is. He is the star running back of the football team - which is the pride of the school. I wish I didn't care. I wish I didn't know who he was. I wish my roommate didn't have a bright spotlight shining down on him. And I really wish that Cam Smiley wasn't so damn gorgeous.

Cam:

My new roommate scoffs at me as he slips out of his dress shoes. He points at the mess that is my side of our room and says, "You have house rules? Seriously?"

I shrug, "Just the one. What can I say? I like a clean floor and I take care of my shoes. I guess I'm a sneakerhead."

He picks up his shoes and I notice a small hole at the big toe of the sock on his right foot. He notices me noticing and for the second time in the five minutes since he appeared in the doorway, he blushes.

I pretend like I saw nothing. I point to the wall on his side of the room, "I brought a shoe rack for you too." I take his dress shoes out of his hand and set them on the top shelf. "I take the shoe thing seriously."

He shakes his head, but I think I notice the slightest curl of a smile playing at his lips.

I stick out my hand, "I'm Cam."

He scoffs for a third time, "No duh." We shake. "I'm Shane."

He has a firm shake for someone who is not on the football team. I look him up and down. He's at least five inches shorter than the shortest guy on my team. I tell him, "My teammates really aren't bad guys. I'm sorry they... Look, I'll make sure they know not to touch you. That wasn't cool and it won't happen again."

Last year, he was in my Psychology 101 class. I already knew his name is Shane, but right now, this is the first time we've ever spoken. He never wore a suit to class before. I'm assuming he has a reason.

He sees the question on my face, "I just came from a family thing."

"Got it."

He rolls his bag all the way in and lays it on his bed. I try to not be obvious about watching him. I need to have a roommate and I need that roommate to be someone different from me and different from the other people in my life. That certainly seems to be the case with Shane. Is he too different? Nah. It might take a little time, but I can be charming as fuck. I'll win him over.

I say, "Here's what we're gonna do. I am going to step out for an hour. That should give you time to unpack, settle in and change your clothes. When I come back, I'm taking you out for a get-to-know-our-new-roommate dinner. Just you and me."

Shane:

I guess I don't get a say. I guess I'm going out with my new roommate tonight. My new roommate who is the complete and total opposite of me in every way. He is messy, loud, bossy, popular, athletic... Riley was like my twin. Well, twins with a cold, distant relationship. And even though Cam and I have less than nothing in common, Cam being Cam will try to pull me into his orbit. I will do my best to resist, but sharing a room with him, I am bound to be sucked in at least a little.

My therapist would be happy about these unfortunate circumstances. I've always craved privacy. I've never had many friends. It probably stems from growing up with five siblings. Quiet, privacy and personal space were all foreign concepts to my family.

I'm in jeans, a green polo shirt and holding a pair of tan VANS when Cam walks in after exactly one hour.

I ask, "Do shoes have to be carried into the hall and put on outside of the room?"

He laughs, "I will allow a 'shoe zone' of five feet from the door."

I shake my head again. I want to be mad at him, but instead, I find that I'm smiling.

North Central College is on the edge of downtown Naperville. We walk the few blocks to Potter's Place and Cam, without asking my preference, requests outdoor seating. It actually is a lovely night, but still. He could have asked.

Cam:

I only allow the uncomfortable silence between us to go on until we place our orders. Then, I proclaim, "Time to get to know each other!"

He stares at me blankly. Like I just spoke in Greek.

I clear my throat, "Tell me all about Shane."

It doesn't come easy. I have to probe and prod...it's like pulling teeth. I learn that he is the youngest of six. That he is majoring in Biology and ultimately wants to work in veterinarian services. He has always preferred relating to animals over people and wants to help animals to help people. He doesn't have a family pet at the moment; they lost their fourteen year old dog a little more than a year ago, before he started his freshman year. With all of his brothers and sisters being older and gone or leaving, his parents have not decided on a next pet situation yet. He was economical with his words when discussing his family and completely absent of words when I asked about friends and significant others.

As we both eat our fajitas, he says, "What about you? You have to have a girlfriend, right?" His eyes roll up and down the length of me that he can see sitting at this table.

His scrutinization makes me blush a little. I shake my head. "I had a girlfriend in high school a few years back, but she ghosted me when I was going through some stuff that was too real for her. I haven't dated anyone since."

We both realize that I'm being vague, but I'm not just going to blurt everything all out at once. Some stuff, I'll share and some stuff, I won't.

"Why do you even have a roommate? You are the young phenom of the best football team in your division. Shouldn't you have your own private dorm room, if not your own off-campus house?"

I grin at him, "Phenom?"

"I watched the games last season. You might have been a freshman, but you quickly replaced the starting running back because you're amazing. You are why the team was undefeated. Why don't you have everything you want?"

But therein lies the rub. Everything I want. I had that last year and it didn't work out so well for me. I had my own housing, I had friends who weren't really friends. I had freedom and privacy and everything I thought I wanted. I ended up drunk from power and from alcohol. I was only eighteen and I was screwed up big time.

I tell Shane, "I'm messed up last year and because of that, this year, I am not allowed to room on my own. I had to agree to that to maintain my scholarship."

The look on his face tells me he knows of at least some of the trouble I got into during my rookie year. He also looks suddenly concerned. "Don't worry," I say. "You will not be held responsible for me. I see a therapist and I have been clean and sober for seven months."

He looks relieved, "Is football your focus? Is it your goal to play in the NFL?"

"Dude, our school might be the best, but we're a Division III team. There's like a thousand guys out there way better than me. The NFL is not out there waiting for my arrival."

He looks surprised. Maybe even a little disappointed. "So, what do you want to do after college?"

"I want to go into sports psychology."

"Like building a winning mindset?"

"That's part of it. It's a lot of things. Mostly mental health for athletes. Helping athletes through whatever they are going through. Grieving, sexual identity, gender identity, stress, pressure, fame, success, failure, fatigue, self-worth. Athletes go through the same mental challenges everyone else does, but are often presumed to be tough and stuff can go unaddressed. A sports psychologist is many different things to many different athletes."

Shane:

Wow. I knew about his troubles from last year, but I didn't (and still don't) know what caused them. Cam isn't just a jock. He is self-aware. He knows his talents and he knows his limits. It's awesome that he wants to help other athletes with their mental health struggles in his post-college life.

I ask him about him. He tells me that he is an only child. He says, "My mom died in a car accident three years ago. She had always been my number one fan. My dad is great, but I miss my mom every day. I guess I haven't coped with that loss very well. It's part of why I derailed last year and almost lost everything. It's also why I see a therapist every week and cannot live alone. But it also gave me perspective on what I really want to do with my life."

"I'm so sorry about your mom."

"Thanks."

I look him in the eyes. "I see a therapist too." He looks at me expectantly, so I continue. "I have social anxiety. It makes no sense. I came from a large, loving family. I have suffered no tragedies in my life. I just prefer being alone. I know it's not a healthy or fulfilling way to live, so by choice, I'm working on it. But still, it's how I'm hardwired."

"Shane, it's not weird or wrong. You are who you are. I am who I am. I kind of think we compliment each other. We're complete opposites, and because of that, maybe we can help each other."

"How?" I ask.

"You can help to keep me grounded and I can gently nudge you outside of your comfort zone a little." He dips a chip in some guacamole. "I meant it when I said that you're not responsible for me, but I'd like to be able to talk to you. You know, about things I won't say to my teammates. No pressure, but maybe we can be friends at some point. I don't have any real friends."

He surely has lots of unreal friends. Fans. Hero worshipers. But not friends. Neither do I.

He continues, "And you can talk to me too."

I've already talked to him more in one night that I talked to Riley in a whole semester. I look at my new roommate and I nod.

Cam:

So, that's what we do over the course of the next few weeks. We talk to each other. I know there are things we haven't told each other yet. There are certainly things I haven't told him and I suspect that goes both ways, but we're slowly building a friendship.

I think.

We're still total opposites. We still drive each other a little crazy. He continues to be exasperated by how messy my side of our room is. And I'm irritated by how neat and tidy his side is. I feel like messing things up sometimes just to rock his world a little. We also like very different books, movies and music. And when it comes to video games, we're not even in the same universe.

Yeah, we drive each other a little crazy, but we also confide in each other. We established a vulnerability that first night and have a bond that we're both still figuring out. But still, I think he misses last year's arrangement. I know sometimes he wishes I was more like Riley.

The good news is that between his classes, my classes, his labs and his job and my football practices and games, we don't have too much time to get on each other's nerves. But if that's such a good thing, then why do I kind of miss him when he's not around?

Shane:

He knows I went to most of his home games last year. I play that down though and I never talk about his games or his performance when we're together. I hold onto that for just me. And I don't just go to the home games either. About half of the away games are close enough for me to drive to. So I do. But still, I don't tell him. It's not that he's arrogant - he's really not - but he just doesn't need to know that I kind of think he's a halfway decent guy. The truth is, he's probably the best friend I've ever had. How sad is that? This jock dude who is six inches taller than me, seventy pounds (all muscle) heavier than me, and shares no similar interests with me at all, is becoming a real friend.

Yeah, I need to slow that shit way down.

It's Saturday afternoon and I am in the stands at Elmhurst College watching Cam's Cardinals as they manhandle the competition. Being an away game, there are very few of us Cardinals fans in the stands. And since I don't flamboyantly cheer and I wear nondescript clothing, I am not presumed to be one of them.

There are four guys behind me that do not seem to be rooting for the home team either. They actually don't seem to be rooting for either team. Because they are right behind me, I can hear almost everything they say. Over the course of the game, I begin to understand that they are Wheaton College kids. Not actually on the football team, but superfans. It's like their scouting other teams. I pull out my phone and discretely check the Cardinals' schedule. Sure enough, next Saturday, we play Wheaton College at home.

I'm not trying to eavesdrop, but it's hard to not hear them. I learn more about them than I would ever want to know... One of them just broke up with Stacey and another is thinking about dumping Debbie. These four guys know a lot about each other. They live together, sharing one off-campus house. They begin to comment on Cam's performance. How could they not? He's dominating the game yet again.

The apparent leader of the four seems to be named Justin. He says, "There's no way we can beat them. Not with that running back they have."

The others have agreed with everything Justin has said all afternoon and they agree with this too. One of them suggests, "Maybe he'll get injured between now and next week and won't play."

Juston grunts, "We're in the fourth quarter. This game's almost over."

"Maybe he'll get called away on a family emergency," another suggests.

"Didn't this guy have some problems last year? Some self-medication issues?"

"That was a long time ago. He's clean now."

I can hear the shrug behind me.

"People fall off the wagon. It happens. Maybe he just doesn't make it to the game next week. If Cam Smiley plays, we don't win."

They are certainly right about that.

Cam:

Another week goes by. Shane doesn't know that I know he goes to my games. Even some of the away games. Does he go because I'm his roommate or because he's that big of a fan? Or does he go because he's beginning to reluctantly consider me to be a friend? I'm spending less and less time with my teammates outside of practice and more and more time with Shane.

We seem to be helping each other. Most of our talks happen at the end of the day, before going to sleep. It's easier to open up and be vulnerable in a dark room without having to see the other person. Although, my mind always seems to conjure up a perfect image of Shane while we talk. His dark blonde hair, his blue-green eyes. A few leftover freckles from the summer sun. He just pops into my head and then I struggle to shake him free.