The Field(Anna Bedell) I stumble through the weeds and bramble. I know that it’s cutting up my bare legs and frankly it’s freezing, yet my body feels warm. It’s all the vodka in my system keeping me warm.
I can barely remember how I got out here in the first place. It all started when I went to a party at someone’s house. I don’t remember whose house it was, but my roommate was going so I decided to join in. I also will never say no to free alcohol. Then the night happened and now I’m in this field owned by a farmer that will probably shoot me if he sees me.
“What the hell?” I hear, and it catches me so off guard that I physically jump into the air. I look towards where the sound is coming from and I vaguely see someone sitting about 10 feet from where I’m standing. It’s too dark to see who it is, either that or my vision is blurring.
“What the hell?” I repeat him, not expecting to see someone out here.
“What are you doing?”
“What are YOU doing?”
“I’m sitting here.”
I walk up to him to try and get a closer look. I don’t think he’s blonde because his hair is too dark for that, but I can’t tell what shade of brown it is. He seems like my age and is dressed like it too, a sweatshirt and shorts.

I’m about 3 feet away when I sit down next to him. The weeds and dirt hit my butt immediately and I have to adjust to find a more comfortable position. “I’m sitting here too.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, or maybe it’s a few seconds. I can’t really tell. “Do you go to Polaris College?”
“Yeah, I'm a freshman,” I say.
“Me too.”
“Are you in-state or out-of-state?”
“In-state. I went to Hampton High School.”
“No way, so did I.” I’m only slightly surprised when he says this. My graduating class was about 650 people, of course I didn’t know everyone who went there. Still, it’s a little surreal that this is the person I’m sitting in a field with.
I get out my phone and it takes a few tries to turn on the flashlight. Without notice, I shine it right at his face so I can truly see who I’m talking to. He looks slightly familiar, but my perception is not up to par.
He takes the phone from me and then turns it the other way, shining it at my face. The light is so bright that it hurts my head, and now I feel bad that I did it to him without notice.
After a few seconds, he turns off the flashlight and hands my phone back to me. “I have no idea who you are.”
“You probably don’t,” I concur.
“What’s your name?”
“Harmon.”
“I’m Meyer.”
I thought that he looked familiar, but now I’m starting to think that I’m just too drunk to know any better. I don’t know anyone named Meyer, because my last name is Meyer. I would definitely remember someone that had the same first name as my last.
“My last name is Meyer. Harmon Meyer.”
“Harmon Meyer,” he repeats, like he’s contemplating. “Yeah, I don’t know you. Cool name, though.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Townes.”
“That’s a cool name.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
More silence. If I were sober, I would’ve thought that this whole interaction was incredibly awkward. But we’re just having a conversation, and there’s nothing weird about it.
“What group did you run with? In high school,” I ask now. He chuckles a little at my wording.
“I was a big track athlete. So that group, mostly. I’m actually here at Polaris doing track.”
“Oh okay, big D1 hot shot.” I joke when I say this, but I can immediately feel the air become thicker around us. I guess he doesn’t appreciate being made fun of for something that’s incredibly impressive. “That was a joke. That’s super cool and I bet you worked really hard.”
“I don’t know if I did,” he mutters, and I’m not sure what to say to that.
“What do you mean?”
“I know I’m about to sound like an asshole, but everything that got me here was natural talent. It’s not like I tried harder or worked harder than other people. Hell, I guarantee you I worked the least amount of everyone on the team, yet I’m the one that ended up at this college. And it sucks. I don’t think I deserved this.”
“Then don’t be an ass about it,” I say somewhat forcefully. I know it’s a little rude considering he just said something vulnerable about himself, but it also angered me a little. As someone who’s worked incredibly hard to get into the position they wanted, he should know what it’s like. “If you think that you didn’t deserve it then, then make it so you deserve it now. Work harder than anyone on the team. Show that you’re more than just a natural talent, that you have the ambition and stamina to become better and better.”
He does a little huff, but I can tell it’s because he’s cold rather than huffing specifically at me.
“That’s not what I expected to hear tonight.”
“How did you end up here, anyway? In this field, I mean.”
“I don’t know. How did you?”
“I don’t know.”
Silence again. But it’s much shorter this time. “So what do you do? What group did you run with?” He puts ‘run with’ in air quotations.
“I just had a couple close friends, but they knew people who got us into parties and stuff,” I say. “School wasn’t really my thing.”
“Clearly it had to be if you’re at Polaris,” he mentioned, and I’m dreading when I have to say the thing about myself that surprises everyone.
“I mean, I was good at school, but I tried to be in it as least as possible.”
“Oh yeah? Doing what?”
I turn my head away, feeling myself getting redder than I already am. It’s not that I’m embarrassed by the fact, but I kind of am when I’m drunk. It’s one of those things that people will automatically assume I’m better than them, which is never the case. It’s annoying.
But when the conversation comes naturally to it, I feel obligated to tell them. “I played chess. Competitively.”
“Chess?” he questions slowly, making sure that he heard me right. “Like the game with all the pieces on the checkerboard?”
“Yes, but it’s not checkers.”
“I know that, I’m not that dumb. How… good were you? I feel like you’re pretending that you’re not very good when in reality you’ve won national and international tournaments.”
“You aren’t dumb, I will give you that. You don’t know the terminology, but I was good, if we’re putting it lightly.”
“So like you were out of this world?”
I laugh a little, I can’t help it. No one has called me out of this world ever, even while talking about chess.
“Don’t undersell yourself. You know your worth clearly,” he continues. “I’ve never met a chess player before, at least one that plays well. What got you into it?”
“My parents noticed that I was good at math and strategy-type games when I was younger. They showed me a chessboard when I was around 5 or so and I could not keep my hands off of it. I remember studying chess and reading about it every single day, and they put me in matches and tournaments. Then high school came around, and there was a point where I liked playing of course, but I wanted something more to my life. It had all been chess until that point, and I feel like I was missing out.”
“So you quit to become a partier?” he half jokes.
“No, I decided to go to public school. I had been homeschooled my entire life. I still competed and studied and honestly had incredibly average grades, but I enjoyed everything so much more.”
“Were you recruited to Polaris? What made you want to go here?”
“Both my parents went.”
“Ah, I see. Legacy student.”
“I’m guessing you were recruited.”
“Yeah.”

I can tell even while intoxicated that we feel slightly unworthy to be at such a prestigious school. While I’m smart, there are so many other people that want to go here. And I definitely just got in because of my parents and that I can play chess… like that gets me anywhere in the real world. And Meyer, he can run fast and barely cares about that either.
“What’s your major?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood a little. I can feel the breeze penetrating into my skin, and I’m starting to physically shiver.
Meyer doesn’t answer my question right away. Instead, he takes off his sweatshirt and hands it to me. I try to say that I don’t want it, but he scooches closer to where I am and shoves it in my arms. Feeling its warmth already, I take it hesitantly and put it on. It smells faintly of Old Spice deodorant and another smell that I can’t place.
“I’m undecided right now,” he finally says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about you?”
“Same. I’ll probably do something in math since that’s what I’m good at, but there’s still time to decide.”
“Are you still drunk?” he asks now.
“Yes,” I say, though I think I’m more sober just because of the cold hitting me. And I actually feel it now. “Are you?”
“Oh, very.”
“Thanks for the sweatshirt. I feel bad because you’re cold now.”
“Don’t worry about it, you were physically shivering. I’m just internally shivering.”
“Do you know how close the campus is from here?”
“Not sure, but I know the direction it’s in.” Meyer points to the left of us, and I do see a block of land that’s pretty well lit. It does look somewhat far, however. “What dorm are you in?”
“Undyne.”
“I’m in Jarvis. Do you want to get up and walk back together?” He starts to get up, but I don’t follow. Not yet. I’ve just begun to comprehend where I am and who I’m talking to. I still don’t know exactly how I got here or why, but I am grateful. Grateful that I’m not somewhere else drinking until I blackout or trying to hang myself. Instead, I’m sitting in the cold in the middle of a field in the middle of the night talking to a boy I just met.
After another moment, I start to stand. “Yeah, let’s walk back.”

My legs get cut up again as we’re walking out, and I hold onto his arm to keep my balance. I do think I’m much drunker than he is, since he seems steady and like he knows what he’s doing. Once we’re out of the field, we walk down the dirt road to the paved part and stay on the sidewalk. We don’t talk at all, but just walk.
I’m not sure how long it is before we get back to campus, I have no sense of time, but soon enough I'm in front of my dorm building.
“Can you come in?” I ask, and his eyebrows raise.
“Harmon, you’re beautiful, but you’re too drunk. We’re too drunk. We shouldn’t—” he starts to say, and I realize that he thinks I’ve invited him to more than something friendly.
“No, no, no,” I slur. “I just don’t think I can walk up the stairs on my own. If you could just help me to my room, please.” I know that I can definitely make it up to my room on my own, but I don’t want him to leave my company. I don't want to be alone yet.
“Oh, of course I can.” He grabs my hand once again and places it on his bicep. I wrap my arm around his and we walk into the building together. Luckily there’s no one in the lobby or in the hallways since it’s so late, and we get up the two flights of stairs with no problem.
“This is it,” I say, stopping at room 319. I pull out my key and unlock the door, but I haven't opened it yet. I look back at Meyer, who looks completely sober by this point. Or maybe I just think he does.
“I guess I’ll see you around, Harmon,” he says to me, smiling. I smile back.
“Yeah. I had a good time talking with you.”
“Sleep well, okay?”
“I will, and you too.” I unwrap my arm around his and find my fingers trailing down his hand as I do it. My fingers intertwine with his and I look up at him. He’s already looking at me, and now I don’t think he’s sober. He looks quite drunk, in fact. I want to kiss him, but I can’t. Not with us in this state.
I unlace my fingers and open the door. I walk in and close the door behind me before I make the stupid decision to invite him in.
It’s pitch black and I refuse to find the light switch, so I feel my way over to my bed and throw myself onto it.
The last thought I have before I fall asleep is that I never gave Meyer back his sweatshirt, and that he’ll probably never get it.

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