Again (Part II of III)

Read this first: Again (Part I of III)

I was almost certain I wouldn’t finish the semester, so I barely went to class. I also had restrictions on exercising. And the one time I partied I was terrified the alcohol would cause internal bleeding because of my low platelets. That left my days as unproductive as you can imagine. My roommate and I used to leave our door open, but I began closing it because I felt like such a loser when people passed by several times and I was still playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2003 and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. My most productive activity was burning a CD of the best Vice City songs and copying it for my hall mates. There was some kickass 80’s music on that game.

My bone marrow was dying so fast it was scary. Within weeks of finding out there was a problem I was already getting blood and platelet transfusions regularly. If I wasn’t in my dorm room playing PlayStation 2, I was probably hooked up to an IV at the UVA hematology/oncology clinic.

At the end of February I realized that by being at school instead of at home, I was simply wasting my parents’ money. Fortunately, they could still get a refund on my tuition and other expenses. So, when everyone else was leaving for spring break, I packed my things and went home for good.

It was embarrassing how I handled my departure. My friend, PingPongGirl, said, “I would’ve made my hall mates throw a huge party for me.” Instead, I sent this email:

What up fellas,
I'm sorry to say this, but I will not be coming back here after spring break. I'm leaving Friday and I'm leaving for good. I will be back next year, I'm living in a house near the Subway at the end of JPA. If any of you have any of my stuff, I'd appreciate it if you gave it back. The only thing I know I'm missing is the Friends Volume 2 DVD. I’ll still have my screen name if you want to keep in touch. Also, I don't give a fuck if you ask me what the problem is, you just won't hear me bring it up much. Peace out fuckers.
Ben
Projected Wes reaction: Naw man, naw.

After some of my hall mates helped load my possessions into my dad’s van, I went back to my room one more time. It was like I was never there to begin with. The room looked so empty, mostly because Dirty-D barely owned anything except a 13-inch TV that could’ve been confused for a 7-inch. Other than one decent academic semester and some new friends, there wasn’t much proof I was ever a Wahoo.

Keep reading: Again (Part III of III)