Meeting guys in college would play an important role in my life because growing up, boys were not nice to me. They made fun of me because of my weight. I didn't grow up with my father, my stepdad was a bum, and I never felt like my uncles particularly liked me. Any attention that I got from a male was negative. I always felt that since guys didn't want to be with me, they felt comfortable being themselves, and those selves were mean. The them that bought girls flowers and opened car doors was an act. The them that made me feel like sh*t was the real thing. It was in college that I would fall in love with amazing guys that didn't love me back, but somehow found a way not to treat me like crap either. Introducing Workman.
I originally saw Workman at a club meeting for people from Atlanta at the beginning of my freshman year. He was handsome and tall and dark and walked around with some type of lizard on his shoulder. The lizard didn't last long, but I would find out through the grapevine that he had a love of animals, which is crazy, because to the untrained eye, he looked like a "thug". He wasn't. He was super smart, sped through campus in his truck, and got high with his friend group of merry potheads. He also spent a lot of time at my dorm because he dated a girl who lived there and was friendly with the dorm mother.
I would not get to know him myself until I had a class with him in my junior or senior year. I literally would follow him around by pulling his shirt like an annoying kid sister. I was surprised at how nice he was to me. He used to give me rides places when I needed them, even though he was super busy with his new girlfriend (who he would marry) and the many jobs he had. Unlike a lot of the rich boys I went to college with, Workman had to work his way through school. He was also handy, and girls would often ask him for help with really anything when they needed it. Never underestimate the importance of knowing a guy who can fix stuff.
When I think of college, I think of freedom, but the freest I ever felt was riding shotgun at night in his truck, listening to Outkast, while he sped through the streets of New Orleans. Oddly enough, I never felt scared even though he was driving REALLY fast. Workman wouldn't let anything happen to me. Sometimes he would talk to me about his family. I liked when he did that. I love hearing about people's home lives. Still waters run deep. This is an expression that I feel would apply to him. I found myself staring at him often, wondering what he was thinking.
Workman has an amazing family and has traveled the world for his job. My friend ran into him not too long ago and he looked responsible and older, like we all look older. But even older, I see him in my mind's eye as 20 behind the wheel of his car with a wife beater on. There are just some people you are happy you got to know, even if you only knew them a little bit for a little while, you know? That's Workman for me.
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