My body and mind were physically affected.

It was the morning of Sept. 10. A brisk day, the kind that smells like the start of fall and comes with both delight at the idea of Honeycrisp apples and regret at the thought of the summer dresses sitting in my closet that just don’t work with a sweater thrown on top.

I had just left my first Monday class of the year: English 270, American Literature. Prof. Crane was fun; he kept the class light and enjoyable, which was necessary for an 8:30 a.m. seminar. I left class at about 10 a.m., walked up the Angell Hall ground floor ramp and through the Angell Hall auditorium hallway, which was packed with overeager students waiting to enter their 10 a.m. lectures.

“Have none of them discovered the beauty that is Michigan time? It’s called 10 extra minutes of sleep. Take advantage of it, people!” I said in my head.

I wove my way through the crowd of seated people with their legs extended every which way, purposefully designed to trip someone up. The bored ones stared, making me feel slightly self-conscious of the exaggerated click-clack sound my boots made on the tile floor.

As I turned the corner, my eyes were pulled to the right like a south magnet attracting a north magnet. I made eye contact with the good-looking black boy I seemed so inexplicably drawn to, gave a polite half-smile in response to his head nod and “Hey,” and kept on my way.

Then it hit me. It hit me so hard my hands started to shake and my mouth turned into a huge grin despite my efforts to subdue it, which probably made me look like an insane wolf, mid-snarl.

It was Him. Denard. Shoelace. Michigan celebrity. And he had just been standing there, with his backpack on, wearing a maize and blue half-zip pullover.

I couldn’t stand it. Someone had to know how awesome my life was at that moment. I fumbled with my phone in my pocket and flipped it open, staring at the screen and trying to figure out my next move.

The first person who popped into my head was my friend Amelia Bell. She doesn’t think I’m completely crazy, and sometimes she thinks I’m kind of funny. But my interaction with Him was far too important to be expressed via text message, and I didn’t want to call her in case she was in class. Then I thought of Tara Lanigan, my roommate. She has to be happy for me because, well, she’s my roommate. But, same situation as Amelia — might be in class. So I let my fingers do the talking.

...

“Dad! You’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you!”

“Ha. Ha. What, babycakes?”

“I just saw DENARD ROBINSON for the first time EVER in person!! It was amazing! And dad, get this, he wassuped me.”

“Uh, he did what to you?”

“Wassuped me! Said “hey!” We made eye contact, OK?! It was a big deal!”

“Wowww honey, I’m so proud of you!” (clear case of false fatherly enthusiasm, but a valiant effort nonetheless) “Did you introduce yourself?”

“What? Heck! No! It all happened so fast. Next time. Next time I’ll introduce myself. There’ll be a next time. Don’t worry, daddy.”

“Haha, OK honey.”

“K that’s all. Bye!”

I will never forget the first time I saw Denard Robinson. Not on the Jumbotron and not on the cover of the Michigan Daily sports section.

With my own eyes.

Denard, if you’re reading this, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Isabella Achenbach.

Isabella Achenbach is an LSA sophomore and a sports writer for The Michigan Daily.