Roboprom Part 1: Lunch in Portland

I've told the story of my experience surrounding the 2012 St. Louis Roboprom a number of times. I've told it in an art room, at a lake, over Facebook, at a party, in a laundry room, and most famously, on a stage in front of a crowd of strangers. Each retelling has been just a little different, adding a detail here, forgetting one there, but none of them have been entirely complete.

Being such a recent series of actual events, I've never known how to tie the bow properly when the unsatisfying ending bleeds into my present reality. Without being able to tell a proper ending, I still carry the narrative's weight with me. The girl, even in her absence has kept one of my eyes looking over my shoulder at the past instead of the now.

In the past, I've defeated hangups like this by writing them out in words, and so, naturally, I should also be able to defeat this story with words. I haven't yet wrestled with which details should be told, and which can be forgotten because there have been so many, and I've made no time for them all. Telling a satisfying ending always seemed so impossible because of the fizzled nature of the story's actual ending. I believe that I am capable of writing an actual ending. I'm taking this Sunday afternoon to walk towards an end.

It begins on a Thursday afternoon in Portland, Oregon, at lunchtime.

As a third-year member (at the time) of FIRST Team 2557, a competitive high school robotics team, 2012 was not my first year eating lunch in this courtyard.  I remember the small ache of my eye adjusting to the day's strong sunlight when I came outside. My team's color was the bright yellow meant to attract the eye for safety reasons on the road. Finding my team was no chore.

This year, however, a rookie team had chosen the same color, and was eating lunch ten feet away from my team. In the middle of both brightly-clad collections of aspiring engineers stood a solitary figure. What caught my eye first was the yellow plaid shirt and matching yellow flower clip in her messy brown hair. The way I've described how I felt in that moment involves slow motion, golden light, and a slight breeze from an on-screen love story. I was stricken, and there wasn't much more to say on the subject. I needed to know this girl.

Thursday was over before I could even attempt to grab at her attention, and so I steeled myself to talk to her on Friday. I only had time to wave hello before my weak knees, frustrated hesitance and upside-down tongue fell into Saturday without making any progress. While Saturday afternoon was busy laughing at me, I noticed the girl in a crowd from afar. It was all I could do to descend the bleachers into the communal shaking of movement to sound so I could ask her name.

I was in the dance pit, about 20 feet away from her, initiating a circle of movements produced in a very small, simple, repetitive rotation. Feeling strangely confident, I collected about 15 people into the group. The moment she joined in, the security of feigned confidence gave way into the awkward shuffle that broke my geometry into a scatter plot.

The music stopped, as best I can remember, the announcer cleared the field and called all of the seniors on for a picture. Pulling my eyes from her, I looked to my fellow teammates to take to our stage. I walked tall over the field barriers for the first and last time ever as a student of the engineering program.

On the way to my spot, I glanced to the side, and like a bell in winter, she rung out to my eyes, and I knew then this was also her last year. Mouth set just ajar with the words I had for her, I walked towards the girl, but was defeated by some nervous gravitation into a spot 10 feet away.

The Senior picture where she and I stood.

I wound up with some of my teammates, eyes glued to the back of her head, longing for and afraid of finally talking to her while the picture was taken. My disheartened self left the pit and found a seat on the bleachers, soberly investigating the structural integrity of the floor. As much of a miserable wall as I could build, she still pierced through my periphery, rising the panic of losing the chance to know her name. Each of those glances, then, forced the moment to its crisis.