University was one of the most beautiful times of my life. Though I developed an unhealthy addiction to Chick-fil-a’s breakfast biscuits — which have just the right amount of butter, coupled with delicious breaded chicken — I experienced unbridled freedom to pursue a social calendar completely of my own making. And since I was a good student, that also meant roping in study time, too.
This was one of the most joyous parts of my life. There were new, fascinating people all around (the Birkenstock-sporting frat boys, for instance), and my classes were challenging me to think in new ways. I saw the depths of political science — that it was indeed a science but also that it required a certain level of charisma. I think that’s why I gravitated toward it — I possessed political savvy, but I could also build coalitions through the power of my words.
As I entered classes my second year — having achieved a successful first year— I began to change. A rift had begun to form between my girlfriend and me, so that September, we broke up. I wasn’t heartbroken, though I had shed a few tears before the breakup was official. With it came an air of relief, knowing that my opportunities were more plentiful than before, as I no longer had to factor in another person’s view on major decisions. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to experience the second-most impactful year of my life — the first being the year I came out. (Don’t worry. We’ll get to that eventually.)
That fall, I would commit to studying abroad in Spain, something I had never considered until a conversation with a friend. I remember him being so nonchalant about it, as if flying 6,000 miles away was such an easy choice. It went something like this:
“You should study in Spain,” he said as we ate dinner one night.
I looked up from my plate of grilled chicken. “Why?”
“Because I’m going, and I need a roommate.”
“But I’m leaning toward French.”
“I wouldn’t. Spanish is easier.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, and I would know. It’s my major.”
That was that. Although, I did think on it for a few days before actually committing. To this day, it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
I know, I know. You’re probably thinking, “Okay, Clay. When are you going to talk about boys?” Don’t worry. It’s coming.
I regard this time as precious, not just because it was a new experience but because of everything I felt: The giddiness of leaving the country for the first time, the promise of seeing how other people live, and the excitement of meeting students with whom I would cohabitate for an entire semester. Until then, I didn’t know it was possible to feel all of that at once.
The first time I met my fellow study abroad greenhorns — at a coffeeshop that smelled of fresh espresso and dairy — everyone was so beside themselves. We performed the same practice undergraduates often find themselves forced into throughout their scholarship — the dreaded “What’s your name, major, and what do you hope to do with your degree?” game. But this time, it was fun.
After I indicated I studied political science, someone perked up. “Are you a Republican or a Democrat?”
“A Republican, of course,” I replied. “And you?”
Absolute silence.
It was always a surprise when I professed to being a Republican, but up to that point, I had been a lifelong devotee to the party, having watched Fox News whenever I could get a free moment. Almost everyone wanted me to be a Democrat, but I didn’t care.
On that night, I met people who are integral to my life. They know who they are, and I doubt I would be the person I am today without them.
I know, I know. I still haven’t talked about boys. Unfortunately, I can’t talk about them because they weren’t there. In fact, they don’t even show up until our airport meeting a couple months later. It is at that meeting I would unknowingly begin a flirtation with one of them. And though it isn’t reciprocated, the flirtation leads to other realizations about myself.
This particular study abroad trip would be a sexual awakening, and it would all occur 6,000 miles away from everything I had ever known. Sounds like the perfect recipe, don’t you think?
