This is an open letter to all Nicks at the University of Alberta. If that’s not your name, then ignore this. On second thought, don’t, because I never actually got your name. You just struck me as a ‘Nick.’ Something about your eyebrows.
While I was traipsing up the stairs in SUB, in an effort to find a vacant study spot, I saw you passed out on one of the bean bag chairs.
Our eyes met; well, mine open and yours closed. You shifted in your sleep, your mouth falling open, forming a stunned expression.
I know, I thought. I feel it too.
While I struggled to regain my composure and approach you, I wondered at the cause of your Thursday morning siesta, so early in the fall term.
8 am classes? Late night of partying? The empty 5-hour Energy bottle beside you and a mild aroma of vomit suggested the latter, but I was dying to know for sure.
I deduced that you admired Mary Shelley, as made evident by the dog-eared paperback in your hands. Or maybe you were just taking ENGL 101. Maybe your name was written on the inner cover. I had to get that book. I edged closer and gingerly grasped the corner, but your grip was ironclad.
I yanked harder. Suddenly, your eyes flew open and a look of bewilderment crossed your face as you registered what was happening. I panicked — true love can’t be rushed! I snatched the book and fled the scene, regrettably without learning your name.
Your eyes were… blue? Hazel? I didn’t get a very good look in my haste to escape.
So, Nick (can I call you Nick?): if you’re the one and just don’t want to talk to me, why? I’m a nice person. I don’t deserve this. The whole school knows about our love now and will sensationalize us until you find me.
I’m [insert name here], by the way, the girl you caught trying to wrestle Frankenstein out of your sleeping grasp.
P.S. I’m keeping the book.