It was a small New England college – one devoid of the traditional raucous party scene that peppers the imagination when one thinks of college…or Girls Gone Wild. On this dreamy little campus, a wild night out consisted of hanging at the campus coffeehouse to hear the “hot” a capella group of the moment. On this particular evening, however, I was hoping for something more …

I was chilling out with a group of outcasts and miscreants – the typical sort that declares “Theatre Arts” as a major. And yes, I was one of them. We inhaled a little inhalant and imbibed an intoxicant or two to mellow out the mood. Then we settled into the dorm room of the femme fatale in question, which we filled with music both acoustic and deep.

As the conversation flowed, I found myself becoming more intrigued with “Emily” with each passing minute. We were both seated on her bed, but were separated by two others. As the evening wore on, one-by-one the group began to dissipate. Finally, I found myself alone with Emily sitting on her bed, just talking the night away. Despite our proximity, despite our privacy, I was not quite sure if we were just talking as friends, or if she was sending me signals. So we just talked some more. 2am, 3am and on….by 6am we had talked ourselves out, and decided it was time to call it a night….or morning. A quick hug at the door was all that I managed, and I left tired and disappointed. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t picking up any signals from Emily, but determined the next time we were alone, I was definitely going to make a move. Sadly, there was no next time.

Years later, I found out that Emily was perplexed I never made a move on her that night. Clearly, she thought being alone with her in her room on her bed throughout the wee hours of the night and morning was a fairly strong signal. In hindsight, that sounds like a pretty strong signal to me too.

Submitted by Jackson Caribou, Age 29, Boston, MA