What if...?
The geniuses behind the Marvel Cinematic Universe (or the "MCU”, as those of us without any shred of coolness refer to it) debuted their slate of television shows this year, expanding the scope and breadth of the stories they've been telling on the silver screen. WandaVision, The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, Loki... I've soaked up every episode with nerdy gusto.
The latest series, What If...?, is another winner. Based on a comic book series that started in the 1970s and has been retooled several times since, the premise of each episode is to take a look at a pivotal moment from one of the movies, and imagine that things turned out differently. For instance, what if Sharon Carter got the Super-Soldier serum instead of Steve Rogers? Or what if the Black Panther became Star-Lord instead of Peter Quill? Presented in a unique style that mixes computer graphics with the look of airbrushed hand-drawn animation, the show so far has been a fun examination of an alternate MCU.
After the last episode, I found myself thinking about real life "what ifs". You know what I'm talking about... that moment when you had a choice to make, a choice that would have changed your life immeasurably. A personal choice, a career choice... one moment where choosing "A" over "B" started you on the path that led to where you are now.
My biggest "what if" involved a business decision I made back in the summer of 1998. I had a chance to follow my then-boss to her new gig, working at a new technology company that was attempting to take over their market space. But at the same time, a work friend, who'd also changed jobs, was teasing me with tales of how big the startup he'd joined could become. After chewing on my options for a while, I chose to go work with my friend. And as a result, I missed out on the explosive success of my boss' company. In less than a year, I could have earned an eight-figure payday that would have changed my life in ways I can't even comprehend. I chose friendship over finances.
My "what ifs" aren't just relegated to career decisions, however. There were several personal decisions I made over the years that affected the course of my life. The college I applied to. The dorm I chose to live in. The car I drove. So many "this or that" moments that defined the direction of my life.
And that goes for my relationships, too. Amongst all the meeting and dating and marrying and divorcing, there's one “what if” moment that stands out in particular. A moment where I could have stood up for myself, gotten out of a bad situation, and spent time with someone who I was really clicking with. A moment where I had to make a difficult decision. A moment where I had a chance to wade through a sea of unpleasantness in order to forge a new romance.
A moment that was filled with attraction. Nervousness. Anticipation. And the icy New Wave synth pop of...
VISAGE.
Thank God I met Fritz.
Fritz (he's not an extra from Hogan's Heroes, it's his childhood nickname) was randomly assigned to be my roommate during freshman orientation in June of 1984. I was apprehensive about sharing a tiny dorm room for the first time, but luckily he and I clicked right away. I can't nail down any one comment or pop culture thing or life philosophy that made me realize we were simpatico. But over the two days we spent attending programs and hanging our during the social activities, it became clear that this guy was more like me than almost all my high school friends. Accidentally, randomly, unexpectedly, and happily, I made my first college friend before the school year even started.
Having Fritz as a friend was a great way to start my freshman year. The first day of our first computer science class, we staked out a spot waaaay in the upper left corner of the Reinard Harkema Auditorium in Bostian Hall, where we held court with our fellow keyboard jockey misfits. When he and I weren't listening to boring lectures, we spent countless hours in Fritz's dorm room figuring out Tears For Fears keyboard parts and writing our own songs.
Fritz was the first person I'd hung out with years with whom I didn't have an elementary-through-high-school history. No longer restrained by my childhood environment, I was out of the house, on my own, and making an entirely new batch of friends.
Above and beyond all that fun stuff, though, there will always be immense love and respect in my heart for Fritz, because he saved my clueless ass from academic ruin. See, although I had chosen computer science over design school because, A) it was cheaper, and, B) it sounded cool, I hadn't given a lick of thought to what would be required of me once I started the curriculum. So when we were handed our first programming assignment, I realized I was in way over my head. Not only did I not understand the language we were supposed to code in, I had no idea how to break down a word problem into a series of logical steps. And, to make matters worse, I didn't even know how to type!
Typical clueless teenage me, just stumbling forward in life with no thought of the consequences. No coding skills, no critical thought skills, no typing skills... There has been no freshman in the history of higher education less qualified to be in their major than me! One week into what was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of my life... and it felt like I was already doomed.
Again, like I said earlier, thank God I met Fritz. Not only was he a great guitar player, he'd been tooling around on personal computers for years. He stepped in and walked me through that first assignment, patiently correcting and instructing me as I made mistake after mistake. But by the end of that first night in the lab, I walked out with a working program. The next week, I only had to ask his help with one confusing part of the problem. The week after that, I completed an entire module all on my lonesome. Fritz opened up my "third computer eye", and helped me see the light.
It's not hyperbole to say that I wouldn't be sitting here writing this article had it not been for Fritz's unconditional friendship. He'll always be enshrined in the pantheon of friends who've helped me grow.
The view from Row M of my first computer science classroom, where Fritz and I hung out three times a week.
The other great thing about Fritz was that, being in a different dorm and taking different classes than me, he brought an entirely different social circle to the table. After that first semester, Fritz and I didn't have any classes together. But we still saw each other on a fairly regular basis, sometimes to work on our songs, sometimes to just hang out.
And that's how I came to meet Design Girl.
Design Girl (obviously, I'm giving her a nickname to protect her anonymity) wasn't Fritz's girlfriend, she was just someone he'd met in the course of navigating campus life. Let me tell you, she made a big impression right off the bat. She was short, about five foot three-or-four inches of dynamite. Under a classic 80s-style cloud of curly brown hair she flashed ice blue eyes and a big bright smile. She was energetic. And funny. And creative. And frigging cute. I remember walking away from that first encounter more than impressed. And although I'm the worst at picking up on signals, I really felt like she dug me too. I don't know why Fritz never made a play for Design Girl, because she was awesome.
Now, here's where I have to admit that, for the first time since I started writing this column, I'm venturing into storytelling territory where my memory of the timeline is fuzzy. I have no idea when Fritz introduced me to Design Girl. According to Fritz, it was more than likely that spring semester of 1985, which sounds right. But I really have no concrete idea.
What I do remember is that, in this same time period, things between me and Pizza Girl had taken an odd turn. That first summer we were together, in 1985, had been flat-out awesome. In the fall, she went to college at the western end of the state, which was challenging. But as of Christmas break we were still going strong.
It wasn't until the spring of 1986 that something happened. She became distant. Cold, even. I tried talking to her about it, but she wasn't giving me any insight. And this weird aloofness continued into the summer. It came to a head when she uninvited me to a big party she and her siblings were having while their parents were out of town. She didn't want me with her at all. And a few weeks later, when I left for the fall semester, it was no big deal to her.
I was really confused. Being a hopeless romantic, I couldn't comprehend the the fact that things weren't perfect. She was my first real girlfriend. We were going to be madly in love forever! ...Weren't we?
Me in 1986. How could any woman resist such untrammeled manliness? Quite easily, apparently.
So there I was, back at school, in what I'm almost sure was the fall of 1986, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with the person who was supposed to be the Love Of My Life... when I ran into Design Girl again. It turns out, that spark between us was still there. After months of being treated like a smelly shoe, I found myself in the presence of an attractive young woman who was enjoying being with me.
And in no time flat, l found myself hanging out with her in her dorm room. Her space was just as cool as you'd think a design student's space would be. Lots of pictures and posters. Lots of colors. Art supplies on her desk. As I lolled on her bed among all the pillows, she flipped through her record collection, asking me what I thought of various bands and songs. She had all sorts of cool stuff. She even had Wham's "Wham Rap!" single! (Screw you. I can see that look on your face. Wham was great!)
She came to one record that made her light up. She whipped it out and asked me if I'd ever heard of them. On the cover was what looked like a French clown. Or maybe a guy with buttercream frosting all over his face. The band name was Visage, pronounced "vih-ZAHJ", the French way. The song was "Fade To Grey". None of it looked or sounded familiar.
Design Girl was delighted to be introducing me to something she liked so much. She put the record on the turntable, dropped the needle, and climbed onto the bed. She started showing me pictures in one of her books... maybe one of her design books, I don't recall. As we flipped the pages, I found myself really digging the music. It had this buzzing, pulsing, almost hypnotic beat. Layered over the rhythm were breathy vocals and cool synthesizer lines. The song was very New Wave. Very 80s. Very me. It was really something.
And so was Design Girl. We were nestled up against each other, her head almost on my shoulder as she pointed out things in her book. She was so happy to be sharing her music and her space with me. And I was happy to be receiving. Every time we locked eyes, it was clear that we were both grooving on each other. In fact, we were getting so comfortable, I was finding myself wrestling with whether or not to embrace an event I felt was barreling towards both of us like a runaway train: that perfect John Hughes movie moment when you both lean in and kiss.
My mind was racing. You should kiss her! But you're involved with Pizza Girl! But I really like Design Girl! But you should break up with Pizza Girl! But then you'll get into a big fight! But you deserve to be happy! But...! But...!! But...!!! All my axons and neurons were working double-time to facilitate the energetic discussion I was having with my inner self.
Eventually, though, taking care of myself won out over any potential conflicts that might arise from breaking up. I could feel myself smiling as our eyes met one last time, "Fade To Grey" reaching a crescendo in the background. I told myself, "Here we go..."
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Our little virtual bubble of music and color and burgeoning attraction was burst by an insistent pounding on her door.
Apologetically, Design Girl detached herself from our comfy nest and answered. It turns out a few of her friends were passing by the dorm, and stopped in to say hi. She took a moment to introduce me, the gangly computer nerd splayed all over her comforter. The bummed-out wannabe Casanova who felt completely embarrassed and exposed, as her friends kept flicking their eyes past her and in the direction of the 80s-mulletted nobody who obviously had designs on their precocious friend. All I could do was lay there like a possum paralyzed by a bright light, trying to act like nothing was going on.
They all chatted for quite a while, before the intruders decided to move on. And at that point, I felt like I needed to go too. I made my excuses, threw on my coat and shoes, and said goodnight. No kiss goodbye. Not even a handshake! Just a "See you later" and I was gone.
As I recall, I didn't head back to my dorm. Instead, I wandered around campus for hours, just thinking. (There's not a pathway on campus I didn't tread on at some point, usually in the wee hours of the morning.) I was pondering if was in the right to pursue Design Girl. Pondering if I should go back to her room. Pondering if I should just accept what I had with Pizza Girl. Pondering if I had it in me to break things off with Pizza Girl regardless. It was a night of deep pondering.
In the end, the mechanics of everyday college life took charge and made my decision for me. For a couple of weeks I got wrapped up in lots of computer lab work. Not long after there was a school break, and while I was home, things warmed up between me and Pizza Girl again. We were back on semi-solid footing. So that was that. Life, such as it was, went on.
Over the following weeks and months and semesters, thanks to a busy schedule, and a semi-repaired relationship, that one small - but oh so immense - moment with Design Girl faded into the background. Whatever could have happened, didn't happen. Sadly, we never saw each other again.
Suzie made this for an inspiration board. The ultimate “what if”! (Thanks to George Clooney for the body.)
Some physicists think there are an infinite number of universes parallel to this one. So maybe, just like in the show What If...?, there's a reality we could title "What If... Don Kissed Design Girl"?
What if I'd gone through with that kiss? Based on the vibes at the time, it probably would have gone over well. Very well. And then I would have been on the road to starting a new relationship with a kick-ass young woman.
But... then what? Who knows how things would have turned out had we stayed together. Would we have lasted? Or would we have driven each other crazy-eight bonkers? Would we have had kids? Would we have stayed on the East Coast? Would some awful accident have happened to either of us? Would we have won the lottery?
At this point, it's all moot, because in this reality, nothing happened. She went her way, and I went mine. To be honest, she's better off. I probably would have ruined everything. I'm not the easiest person to live with. I mean, the only reason Suzie's still with me is because I've been blackmailing her since that day I caught her at the church bake sale strangling that young... You know what? That's Suzie's story. I'll let her tell it one day.
Over the years, every time "Fade To Grey", or any song from their self-titled first album Visage, appeared on MTV, or shuffled its way to the top of my playlists, that ephemeral moment with Design Girl would pop into my head. I was always curious how things turned out for her. But not in some heartbroken, long-lost love way. She was just a cool and fun person from back in the day, and I was hopeful that the world had been most excellent for her.
A few years into Facebook's stranglehold on the Internet, we stumbled across each other. It turns out that Design Girl (you know what, it's been three decades... I think she's earned the promotion to Design WOMAN) nailed a Simone Biles-worthy dismount when she spun away from the uneven Don bars. She graduated. Met a great guy. Married that great guy. Had kids. Used her creativity to build a fulfilling career. She's forged her own path, and she forged it steel-strong. Design Woman is the kind of human being that the world needs more of. I'm sure her kids will go forth and be good people, too. How can they not? They've got her for a mom.
And I did the same thing, in my own haphazard and twisted way. My path was a tad more Silly Putty than steel, but it led me to where I am today. With a fantastic partner who cheers me on. A budding career that allows me to be artistic. Good friends who still love me despite my many flaws. A menagerie of silly critters that never fail to brighten my day. A collection of movies and books and music that any pop culture maven would die for. Home cooked food in my belly and a newly installed roof over my head. The means and the luck to be able enjoy a comfortable life.
I don't regret my choices. Even the ones that look like mistakes were just stepping stones on the path that led me to right now. Like not breaking up with Pizza Girl when she was treating me like garbage. Or not buying Marvel stock when it was twenty-five cents a share. Or not trading in my last car a week early, before the transmission died and halved the value. Or not moving Mom to California when Dad died.
Or missing out on that multi-million dollar jackpot I mentioned earlier. I mean, sure, the money would be insanely amazing. But then everything - everything! - about my life would be different than it is now. I can guarantee you the sudden convenience of having all that cash would have led to me marrying the woman with whom I moved to California. And as a result, right now I'd probably be twice divorced, saddled with kids that hate me, and half as wealthy. More importantly, though, I would have missed out on the last twenty-plus years of friends and fun and love that made me the lovable goofball I am.
At this point in my life, all those decisions aren't regrets. They're just "what ifs". Junctions in my journey, forks in the road where I made a choice and didn't look back. There's been no time to dwell on the past, because the future was constantly beckoning.
"What if... ?" More like "What's next?" Am I right, folks?
(Thanks to my old pal Fritz for helping guide me through the thicket of my memories!)
BIO
Don Stroud is not the famous actor and world-class surfer of the same name. He is the non-famous California transplant who became an award-winning film editor and - finally - an award-winning screenwriter. He loves cats, sushi, comic books, movies, music, and Cherry Coke. What's that, dear? Oh yes: and his long-suffering wife. You can follow him on Twitter, where he pops up sporadically, at @DonStroud2.