By Mackenzie Rossero, The Miami Student
"Sara! Where's your paint?"
The girl looked down -- she had just arrived and didn't have any paint yet. Her white t-shirt stood out against the color-splattered basement of the frat house.
"It's a paint party," the boy, David, continued. "Here, I'll help you."
Before Sara could say a word, David hugged her to him. Lifting her body in the air, he spun her in circles and stained her shirt with the neon paint he had streaked across his chest.
While in the air, everything around Sara felt clearer. The music was louder and the paint was more vibrant. The arms around her felt constricting, but in a pleasant way -- like the tight hugs that she loved. Sara was prepared to float through the air as long as David would let her.
She thought David was perfect. He was tall and had a dimpled chin -- never mind the fact that she had only ever spoken to him twice. Something about him just made her feel... good. Like he could solve all of her problems and calm her down when life was stressful.
But, Ben.
Ben, Sara's boyfriend of four years, was beginning his sophomore year at the University of Cincinnati. He was a marketing major, working hard to maintain a 4.0 GPA and get a job with a customer science company after graduation.
Sara loved Ben. One hundred percent, she loved him. He would be the father of her children. He would hold her hand when her beloved 92-year old grandfather passed away and he would listen to her stories about the crazy residents she meets in the nursing home where she works.
They grew up together. She had known him eight years and, in that time, his family became hers and her family became his.
But now Ben lived 47 minutes away instead of just eight. Sara didn't have a car and couldn't randomly visit him just because she wanted to.
Everyone was encouraging. Everyone had believed that, of anyone, she and Ben could do it. They could survive the distance and the different colleges. They had already been together for so long -- their relationship was strong. Yet, each day it grew more difficult to be apart and Sara began to wish that she had someone nearer to miss.
Long distance was hard.
Last fall, Sara could not have imagined going a day without seeing Ben. Now, it was routine.
After all, Ben was far away. David was not.
Sara hadn't cheated on Ben. She couldn't. But a small part of her wondered what it would be like to be with someone else. Someone other than Ben. Someone like David.
Weeks later, Sara returned to that frat house.
She wore a striped cotton dress and braided her hair into a bun. Red solo cup in hand, Sara sought David out.
When she finally found him, when she finally made eye contact, David ignored her. He looked her up and down and turned the other way. He did not wave. He did not say "hi." Instead, he approached a different, more scantily clad girl on the other side of the room. He didn't even offer Sara a second glance.
And, then, almost as quickly as Sara's infatuation had started, it was over.
She had been stupid: stupid to come, and stupid to entertain the thought that this boy was anything other than what he was. David wasn't perfect. Yes, he was cute and had flirted with her that one time. Yes, he was charming and charismatic and somehow simultaneously quiet and confident. But he was not perfect.
He wasn't Ben.
Sara turned to leave. Ben was waiting on her phone call.