Gradually, I started to see what space Chantal occupied in my mind. She was like my dreams- ephemeral, intellectual- at a level that was vastly beyond my abilities. Me chasing her, me following her, lusting for her, hoping for her and wishing for her, was like coveting my ambitions. She was perfect, and I, in definitional imperfection, was no match for the erudite francophile.

And it was all symbolic. After dropping off my test assignement for the Brown Daily Herald, and picking up my first "real" assignment, I was outside of Tealuxe on Thayer waiting to meet with lady destiny.

I burned my tongue on tea that was too hot and had a hard time singing or talking for the rest of the night. I smoked three cigarettes on the stairs of Faunce House and couldn't remember the limitations my body had set for itself. I wandered aroung the upper campus, with beautiful Chantal, and I couldn't find intimacy.

But this was too be expected.

She is my dreams. She exists in a future paradigm that I can neither see nor understand. It was obvious that I couldn't compete- no one could. She was busy giving out her number, teasing other, even more accomplished men, and trading quirps with wise men many years older.

I didn't know how to compete. I had no idea how to summit the insurmountable.

So we walked around the campus, talking and confessing. I was taking photographs, perhaps trying to visualize fully what my dreams looked like. Perhaps trying to sketch the shape of my ambitions more fully.

There was no hope. No hope on Thayer or off it. There was no hope on the Main Green, and no hope near Carrie Tower. I retired with Chantal to her room. It was 1:00 in the morning.

I left with a hug and the knowledge that we were best friends.

Just best friends.