Writing From a Desk in the Dark: Chapter 3

His name is Zane, and he’s the reason 19 credit hours, seven classes, and three jobs seemed like a good idea. At the beginning of Spring term, I realized I had too many classes. My Winter term class had gotten extended into Spring term, and there were only two classes I could remove without wrecking my graduation schedule. I planned to go to both my classes, pick my favorite and drop the other one. It was 8 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, but I thought I had my wits about me– then Zane strolled through the door.

He sits diagonal to me in Graphics of Communication. It was his smile I noticed first: warm and inviting with a hint of mischief and the promise of a personality. He caught my eye and winked, suddenly I was awake. As he started telling me jokes, I thought I have to get to know this person better. Whether platonically or romantically this person is hilarious and I need him in my life. As I write this, I would love nothing more than to get rid of him.

I figured I’d just drop Photojournalism then, but he also was in that class, sitting directly in front of me. Like a vitamin D deficient college student, I gravitated toward his sunny smile. Now I’m stuck with seven classes, three jobs and three student organizations.

Zane’s passion is photography. Since 2012, he’s been posting his work online. He’s talented–I’ll give him that–though his writing is subpar for even a beginning journalist. One of his photos ended up in the Uni’s Student Art show a few weeks after we met. As a Studio Art major, I had a plausible excuse to go to the reception, despite not even submitting work for the show. I roamed the art gallery, viewing his work. As I turned the corner, there he was: his wavy, chin length hair perfectly trimmed with a blue suit that illuminated his eyes. It was all I could do not to run up to him, arm out for a hug. Instead, I congratulated him and tried to awkwardly flirt (comparing a guy to Ansel Adams when that’s the only famous photographer you know is not effective).

Zane won the top honors for the show and sold his piece for €370 (about $400). I met his dad and congratulated them both after. Zane seemed to be in a similar life stage to me and we have common interests, and similar career goals despite him being a bit older than my 19 years (I didn’t know how much at the time).

As for the class assignment…in my photography class, we were assigned a random classmate to document their life for three weeks. “It needs to feel like a photo essay,” my professor said. “I don’t want any posed photos or any taken on the same day as others. You have to spend time with them to make good pictures.” Zane got assigned to follow me. I was excited to have an excuse to spend time with things, but this complicated matters. I wasn’t about to ask out a guy who was stuck with me for three weeks! What if I made things awkward and he rejected me?

Needless to say, in hindsight I made the right choice. First, Zane almost never shows up to photograph my actual life, despite me giving him opportunities. He claims swing dancing is irrelevant to his portrayal of me, despite me spending over 13 hours a week at it when I have competitions. He says the same thing about my 12 hour a week library job. He won’t go anywhere after 9 p.m. despite that being my most active time of day (he claims that’s his bedtime, but I know that’s usually when he’s at the bars, thanks to my bartender classmates). So his photo project shows a rather limited image of who he imagines me to be, as opposed to who I actually am.

It’s like he’s fixed on one musician of me in a symphony, deaf to the other musicians' sounds. But those other musicians are what make the one so beautiful. Take away a part of it, a key part of my life and everything else is dull. And this is without me giving him full access, since there are many aspects of my life I don’t want on display to my entire class.

Nearly every other sentence out of his mouth starts with “my ex-girlfriend.” I pull out a guitar, he asks to see it, plays me a love song and says “my ex-girlfriend loved guitar.” By my count we’re up to nine ex-girlfriends in the past four years, not including the ex-fiancé I found out about two days ago. Also, he’s 27, not 20.

The last straw was this past weekend. Zane and some other classmates had invited me and a few others to take photos of their snowboarding rail-riding day. It was about a half hour out of town on this pristine mountain slope. From the top you could see through the cold air for miles, a sea of green and white below. It was an informal event, not at a ski resort, so you had make-shift ski ramps and pvc pipes. The bolder students attempted backflips and triple rotations while coming off a ramp. Someone had brought beer and was grilling sausages, the scent perfuming the frigid air. I got some amazing photos and ran into Jared, who was an intern at a local newspaper the same time I was a few years prior.

Jared is also in my Photojournalism class and was assigned to follow Zane. They’d ridden up together in Zane’s car. After a few hours of taking photos, Jared and I were both ready to leave. That’s when Zane decided to give Jared (who's underage) a beer to chug, complaining that he’s leaving so soon. When Jared insisted on leaving, Zane decided he’s in the perfect condition to drive despite having just finished his fourth beer. As you can imagine, I was a bit more sympathetic to Jared than Zane, so I offered to drive Jared back myself. And that’s how I got stuck with one very talkative, drunk classmate in my car and a budding alcoholic photographer.

Right before I left for spring break, Zane mentioned that he’d be in my hometown for a few days. He seemed to think it was all fine and normal to ask to show up to someone’s childhood home during a school vacation. I made up some awkward excuse about how I’d barely be home. Then a few days later he asks me where I’ll be the next day. I tell him I’m taking a trip to another province, but don’t name the city (my Uni is close to the border between provinces). Then he tried to ask which city I’m going to so he can take photos. He even takes them of me in our other classes when I’m not looking. Lowkey, this is starting to give stalker vibes, so I’m very excited for this assignment to end.

I realize that the last three chapters have been all about boys. While they may be a large part of my thoughts, they aren’t a large part of my life. Next week, I’ll write about something else. Student Council drama or hanging out with friends, perhaps? Maybe I’ll give a small sketch of the town my uni is in after a few more chapters.