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The Dream Circle

Open then close my eyes was the distraction this early grey Saturday Morning.

I forced myself to finally stir in pain as my alarm was chirping. Duty Calls, must Educate.

But, first, I have to lie here and recollect everything I just dreamt.


The one that “Got Away.”

M. Suleymanov.

One of the most beautiful men I have ever met/wrote/kissed//danced with.

We met January 15, 2002, ENG. 285 Creative Writing/Fiction.

The first day of the 2002 Spring Semester was especially bright in my Anorexic Darkness when I saw him.

The Class was in our English Building (Circa 1939). The Professor arranged the deskchairs in a half circle.

He was to the left from me five seats down.

As weeks past and January ended into an unknown February, I knew I was not his “type.”

I saw him four times a week (Tues & Thurs ENG 285), and I was on-fire everytime I saw his brown eyes, dark hair, leather bomber jacket, and backwards cap.

Two Words: James Dean.

And that name, Suleymanov.

I usually date/dated Latinos,

But someone from my Arena?

Come to find out

He is First-Generation American.

His Father, Bulgarian.

His Mother, Italian.

He definitely had Bulgarian attributes.

Those eyes.

By March, not a single word was passed between us.

*(We Also had another Class together, ENG. 199: Introduction to Studies of English).

But, all that would change with one phone call.

ENG. 285. Our Manuscripts were being evaluated by our peers (apart of being a Writer).

And this was a particular Manuscript, written by the President of the Soriety, Delta Zeta aka DZs.

Her Manuscript was Non-fiction (only her and I got permission from the Professor to Write Non-fiction).

She wrote about having Type I Diabetes and being so sick as a kid.

The undertone was “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Here’s this skinny, Blonde, Bubbly, Soriety Chic who in fact has to take Insulin to survive, stay alive.

I called her after that Class and wanted to thank her for sharing her Story and we ended up just talking. Her gratitude towards my Phone Call was pleasant, so I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask about Him.

Me: So, is he dating your friend? *(Blonde chic that sat next to her, also Vice Present of Delta Zeta).

Her: omg…..Nooooo. Just Friends. Why do you ask?

Me: I think he’s beautiful.

Her: omg, he talks about you everyday.

Ok. I’m thinking she’s using a Soriety tatic to make me feel better about myself.

No sweetheart, I’m a Pimp.

Me: Really? Why?

Her: omg he’s in love with you. He says everyday how beautiful you are.

At this point, I’m ready to hang up on Miss Pretty in Pink.

Me: Seriously? I don’t believe it. *(He was only surrounded by Blondes).

Her: Yes. Do you like him?

Me: Yes.

Her: omg I’m going to talk to him tonight!!!

And she did.

After we hung up, I heard the first 15 seconds of “Waiting for a Girl Like You” loop in my head. *(It’s that 15 second fantastical mixture of keyboards and synthesizers).

I lied on my College Dorm Twin Bed, Tie Dyed Comforter with matching Sheets *(and the infamous Purple Blanket) neatly folded at the foot of the elongated bed.

I couldn’t believe it.

This guy, likes Me?


I’m not his type. Not even a runner-up.

He must have been listening to 4 too *(The Album with the track “Waiting for a Girl Like You” on it) because the very next day he spoke to me.

He spoke to me as if he had been waiting his entire life to meet someone like me.

This is no Ego monologue.

The intensity between us was felt by others around/in-between our beings.

We walked together after Class that day, just sharing pieces of what was to become.

He told me about his Heritage, where he grew up, why he was an English Major with a Marketing Minor, a former Frat Guy. *(By the way, he was a brilliant Poet).

He then goes on to tell me that he couldn’t believe when Tiffany (Miss Pretty in Pink) told him I liked him.

After our ENG. 285 and ENG. 199 Classes, we would walk together, just talking.

We definitely didn’t run in the same circles, do we decided when we should spend time together.

That wouldn’t happen for another year.

But, one of our defining moments as two people so infatuated with eachother, but too damn stubborn to do anything about it happened in ENG. 199.

We had to give Group Presentations on the Film:

Bram Stoker’s Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola.

His Group was preparing their Presentation *(God, he was wearing this collared white dress shirt, jeans, and black shoes) and he said:

“Don’t look at me, you make me nervous.”

He was dead serious.

There were three others in his Group, a Girl I had be-friended (still to this day) and she noticed his nerves, his behavior change.

Here is this gorgeous, smart, extrovert, who is crumbling in-front of the Class.

He barely made it through his Group’s entire Presentation.

As he walked by to take his deskchair, he grabbed my hand.

Everyone saw, starring and it’s as if the room shook with passion. People were moved.

Christine (the girl in his Group/my friend), grabbed me after Class and said “What was that? Are you two together?!” (That’s how good looking he was).

I just smiled. Then to her surprise

Me: No.

This dance him and I did lasted until I Graduated.

Seeing him out with his friends (me with mine) and him and I are just staring at eachother with so much emotion, it killed me.

If he is attracted to me, likes me, what the hell is the Problem.

I would come to find out

He’s afraid of me.

“I date these Blondes. They’re dumb, easy. With you, you scare me. With your мвд Patch and what you talk about in Class.”

As each Semester ran out of time, I had to distance myself. If he doesn’t have the courage, what it takes to ask me out, then fuck it.

Our last encounter was at my favorite Club in College (I was surprised to see him there, not his “scene”).

He was drunk, but functioning.

We went to the dance floor after my best-friend at the time said Who the fuck is that?!

Me: That’s him.

Her(Natasha): omg. Girl, you’re right, he’s so fine.

He had on a white short sleeve cashmere sweater (fitted) and great jeans.

We were sort-of dancing together as he kept saying “Let’s talk about me”

It didn’t bother me. I knew he was blasted.

Then he kissed me.

Time stopped. Those 15 seconds of that song played (in my head), we both weren’t moving. As if we were together in a previous life, and this was our single moment in this one.

I know he felt it too.

He called me and asked me to go to California with him.

I said no.

We argued about it.

I Graduated. Never to see him again.

Now, he just enters my dreams.

And this dream emulated every fragment between him and I.

*He is working in Finance *(to why the Minor in Marketing). He is married (to a Blonde) and has a child.

I wonder if his dreams cross paths with me.

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