Glen Tate: 299 Days: The Preparation

She didn’t know why, but she felt safe around him. He had a flow, an ease. He seemed more mature than the other freshman boys. She felt like there was plenty to learn about him. Interesting things; interesting in a good way. He was simultaneously brilliant and goofy. Not “goofy” in a weird way. Irreverent. But polite at the same time. It was hard to explain.

The main thing that drew her toward him was his sense of humor. He was a blast to be around. During the long conversation, her sides literally got sore from laughing. She’d never been around anyone like him.

Grant was scared to death. This seemed like the most important conversation of his life; he was a loser talking to a pretty girl. That’s scary. He was pulling it off, though, apparently making it look easy.

He had learned from real life scary things—actual threats to his life—to use the fear as a way to focus on the task at hand. To focus on getting away from a knife-wielding maniac, on rappelling off a cliff during a search and rescue, on making a great first impression on an amazing girl. Grant was good at conquering his fear.

“Do you have a major yet?” Lisa asked Grant.

“I think I’ll do history,” Grant said. “American History.” He didn’t go into the Revolutionary War stuff because she probably wouldn’t care. And he didn’t want to seem “weird.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Pickle Lover?” she asked with another one of those beautiful smiles.

Grant was afraid of this question the whole time. He had been trying to steer the conversation away from this topic, but knew all along that there was no way to not mention this. Oh well. Let’s see what happens.

“Forks,” he said. “I have all my teeth and everything.” She laughed.

“I’ve kinda heard of it,” she said. “Where’s that?”

“Out on the Olympic Peninsula,” Grant said. “Clallam County.”

“What does your dad do there in Forks?” she asked. Grant could feel his perfect girlfriend slipping away.

Grant looked her right in the eye and said, “He’s an unemployed, abusive, former logger.”

Silence.

“Just kidding,” Grant said. “My dad’s a photographer.”

She laughed. This guy was so entertaining.

Whew.

“You had me going there with that logger thing,” she said.

The conversation went on. Grant felt a buzz like he was drunk, except that he’d had only one or two beers. He was in love.

Great. A loser had fallen in love with a rich sorority girl. This probably won’t end well. Oh well. He realized that he couldn’t possibly forget about her so he would be stuck with either a broken heart or the best thing to ever happen to him. He mentally shrugged. We’ll see what happens, he thought to himself.

Lisa spotted someone and said, “Hey, I need to say ‘hi ‘to myfriend. I’ll be right back.”

Grant finished the beer he’d been nursing and thought about how lucky he was. Everything seemed to be going really well. This might turn out to be a disaster, but tonight was smooth sailing so far.Lisa hadn’t come back yet. Grant was getting nervous. Then it was ten minutes and still no Lisa. Grant was worried. Then it was fifteen minutes. Grant started looking for her. Panic. She wasn’t anywhere.

Grant had been ditched. Damn it. It seemed to be going so well. Crap. He went back to his dorm and thought about how his whole life was over now. No matter what he tried, he would be a loser. Forever. Not even college was helping him.

The next day he went to class, but couldn’t concentrate. Lisa was all he could think about. While he was walking, he bumped into things right in front of him because he was so focused on her, and feeling like his life was over at age eighteen.

Grant came up with a plan. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless. He couldn’t remember her last name, so he would go to each of the twenty or so sororities and ask for “Lisa” and see what happened.

He went to the first sorority and asked for “Lisa.” The girl at the door asked for a last name. Grant said, “That’s the part I don’t know.” The girl said, “We have several girls here named Lisa, so I really need a last name before I call someone down.” Grant left. This was going to suck.

He went to the second sorority on that street and knocked.

Guess who answered the door? Lisa. What are the odds? Grant thought. This was meant to be.

Lisa seemed very thrilled that he was there. He acted like he meant to be there, instead of the fact that he was on a desperate mission to salvage his life from ruin.

“Oh, hey, hi,” Grant said like he wasn’t alarmed at all. “I was just following up from the party last night. You kinda disappeared.”

Lisa smiled. She assumed he remembered what sorority she was in and had come to see her. “I’m so glad you came by,” she said. “I went to say ‘hi’ to my girlfriend and she grabbed my arm and took me over to the Beta house. I thought I could get back to see you, but I couldn’t.” She seemed to be telling the truth.

“Well, let’s go get something to eat,” Grant said. “Some place with pickles.” Lisa burst out laughing. That was how he asked her out on their first date. Pickles. It actually worked.

Grant and Lisa were pretty much inseparable for the next three and a half years.

Grant joined a fraternity of good guys. The fraternity wasn’t the bunch of dicks he assumed they would be. Several of them came from small towns like he did. Most of them seemed to be like him; they were at the UW to get good jobs and have some fun.

Grant was doing really well in class, especially history. He took an introductory class on the Revolutionary War and after about two weeks, his professor, Professor Estes, asked him to stay after class.

“Where did you learn so much about the Revolutionary War?” He asked Grant.

“The library.” Grant wasn’t trying to be a smart ass. “What is the one question you would ask a Founder?” his professor asked. This was his standard question for seeing if a person was a serious thinker on this period of history or not.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Grant said. “I’d ask Thomas Jefferson why he thought the American Revolution turned out so differently than the French Revolution.”

“What do you think President Jefferson would say?” Professor Estes asked.

They spent the next two hours talking about the differences between the American and French Revolutions. The basic answer was that the American colonies had a tradition of self-rule and diverse religious backgrounds, while France was run top-down and only had one religion. The American revolutionaries were also very conscious of how most revolutions end up—a bloodbath of terror by opportunistic politicians. Also, the American revolutionaries did not try to hunt down and kill all their Loyalist opponents. They hung some of them, of course, but they let most of them either go to Canada or reintegrate into America if they pledged not to cause trouble. Reconciliation was the difference.

Grant shrugged and summed up his point to Professor Estes. “The Founders were practical people,” he said. “They understood that they needed the former Loyalists to be doctors, businessmen, farmers, laborers. The nation wouldn’t last long if it was constantly re-fighting that war among its people. At some point, a country must put all the old vendettas aside and get on with building roads, establishing institutions, growing businesses… living life. The Founders prized the country actually working after the Revolution more than they wanted to hunt down people they hated. That’s where the French went wrong.”

Professor Estes was taking it all in. He just sat there for a while. “Are you in the History Department?” he asked Grant.