Once upon a time, I was a college student. Being a female college student, I learned quickly the reputation of student athletes. They were players. I mean, like the lying kind.
No no no. I did not form this opinion after hearing about the culture of jersey chasers or getting warned by the upper classmen’s horror stories. I heard things, but didn’t listen. You see, I’ve always thought people deserve a chance to show who they really are before getting judged. They deserve my full trust until they do something to lose it. With that mindset and method, I experienced first hand the disrespect of boys who thought they were men that ruled campus and the positive attention they were given by their teammates when they’d crossed a line or reached a checkpoint with a girl.
Nevertheless, I chalked it up to bad parenting and a societal pedestal on which athletes lounge all day, and I stayed away from them. I actually learned over the years that this universal disrespect of women isn’t really unique to student athletes. I picked up signs that people were trash, and I tried to do better. I tried to make better choices. Of course, we all know what adaptation is, and smart people have learned how to trick even the most cautious of us into thinking they’re genuine and trustworthy.
Anyway, on to my story. By my senior year in college, I had built a sturdy set of walls around my heart and a solid set of rules to help guard my body. Out one night at a Latin night charity party hosted by one of my best friend’s sororities, I came across a football player. I really wish I was savage enough to name him here, but I’ll just give the most objective facts about this night to share one of the most heartbreaking experiences I’ve ever been a part of.
A football player enters the bar with other players. Football players’ status is obvious by the adornment of matching blue and grey sweats and the confidence to wear sweats out to a bar in the first place. The biggest football player of them all asks me to dance. I should note, he was very polite and not pushy. I decline.
An hour or so passes when I am dancing with my best friend and her friends. Football player approaches again and asks to dance. I agree this time, realize he can actually dance, and enjoy one bachata number with him.
A couple more hours pass. My best friend is excitedly telling me about a guy she likes and also that the football player dude has been asking about me. Sure, I blushed. I’ll admit it.
Football player finds me again and we dance for a couple more songs. He asks for my number, and we both exchange 7 digits each. Man, I wish I could share that too. I am a good person. I am a good person. I am a good person. I won’t share his number.
The clock strikes 2am, so the bestie and I exit the building with the flood of everyone else who’s getting sent home. She leaves in a car and I start the quick walk home since I live so so close to Franklin and (maybe you crazy critics out there might want to know) I’m not drunk.
I settle into bed and start to drift off when I get a text.
Football Player : Where ru?
At home. : Me
Football Player : Whatchu doin?
About to go to sleep. : Me
Football Player : You should come over here.
Where? : Me
Football Player : My house. Come over.
No, I’m going to sleep. : Me
Ok, I’m going to stop here. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe it’s my past experiences painting a completely accurate picture of this guy in my brain, but I’m just taking a guess and saying HE’S INVITING ME OVER TO HIS HOUSE.
I just wanted to make that clear. I’m sure devils advocates eveywhere will want to say “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with that.” “What, are you assuming he wants sex? You’re awful for assuming.” “You need to chill out. You take things so seriously.”
In the moment, yes. Yes, I thought there was something wrong with a person I just met to invite me over to his house after 2am. Yes, I was assuming that he wanted sex. Yes, I’m taking this seriously. And no, I do not need to chill out.
I actually made my decision the way I always make decisions. Based not on what I think or assume or anticipate happening, but based on what I want. I do what I want. And I wanted to sleep. So…
Good night : Me
Next day, evening shift at the front desk, browsing Facebook, guess what I see? Said football player just proposed to his girlfriend earlier that day.
Say what you want about him. Say what you want about people. This guy was wrong. And you know it.