Through these Eyes Part 24

Divorce, while lacking the ultimate permanence of death, is based on the heart-rending fact that one's love is no longer enough, and that he has been left by his mate's choice rather than nature's will and circ.u.mstances. Though her love for Norm had vanished with the disappearance of heart palpitations and romantic excitement, I thought I deserved at least a letter of farewell for all of the good times we had shared. I wondered if she had merely upheld a charade of good humor and enjoyment through our excursions; yet, I thought, she would not have invited me to share her free time if she resented my presence.

It takes many hours to develop a friendship, and even so, one's knowledge of the other can never be complete. While compatibility opens friendship's door, love and it's by-products, understanding and honesty, must co-exist as its sustaining force; lacking love, growth stagnates and generally heralds a hurtful parting of the two individuals. If love truly exists in one's mind, however, the love itself cannot cease abruptly even though the other's actions or beliefs are radically contrary to his own; the beloved part of the individual still remains, residing side by side with his formerly concealed, unsavory propensities.

My acceptance of Tracy's entire personality paralleled extreme disappointment. With no prompting from my parents, I looked upon her new lifestyle and final interaction with the family and Norm as disagreeable and despaired that the circ.u.mstances would not have been different. Her image, though tainted, never shattered in my mind, and for a time, I kept loving... and mourning... the person who I had believed her to be. Disappointment alone could not eradicate the lovely memories spanning three years.

After suffering a substantial loss, it sometimes seems impossible that a replacement of equal or greater value could ever be found, and attempts to compare the incomparable often end in frustration. If emotional pain is not allowed to stagnate within the inner being and clog the mind, a person can be open to others without radiating vulnerability. No one forgets a past hurt; after a wound heals, scar tissue remains as a subtle reminder and effectively warns the individual against potential threats of similar nature. Only a person lacking the will to overcome and grow beyond past anguish is truly mortally wounded, for his wound is not only self-inflicted, but also infested with litter long decayed.

I had to direct my thoughts and energy toward positive elements in life, accepting the past and adapting to the present. The future was no longer the shining star it had been in my childhood, for it was uncertain and impenetrable. Short-term goals were more easily realized. The future had a nasty habit of rearranging one's plans; life changed so fast that it left one groping for stability as if spun furiously on the head of a top. Disliking such emotional turbulence, I tried to buffer life's hurtful potential by dealing with each day as the unique parcel of hours and events it proved to be. Adaptability was definitely one of my more useful characteristics.

With Tracy's departure, I had not consciously determined to find a replacement for my severed emotional attachment. I knew such behavior on my behalf would not only have been uncharacteristic of me but futile as well; people were not like spark plugs. However, as the months progressed, the hole wherein Tracy's memory resided slowly filled and was replenished, just as a mined crater will be reclaimed by nature and gradually become a thing of beauty rather than an eternally gaping hole of waste. I was filled with strength and confidence from budding health and vitality; I was filled with the undying love of my family, but more than all else, I discovered that, with Norm, I had in reality, lost virtually nothing.

Mar. 15, 1977... I went to Norm's house and we made blueberry pancakes for supper. We talked about a lot of things.

It was a joy to be invited to Norm's house. We did not chafe each other's nerves; conversation came effortlessly, yet silence was no menace. I took pleasure in his neatly arranged house and applauded his various purchases which adorned the walls or were placed about the rooms. With his mind bent on improvement, the house mirrored a flare for design and decoration as well as Norm's character. The living room was a retreat of perpetual autumn, of golden, rust and wood, of tranquility and restiveness. To be at my brother's house was to be at ease, and I readily welcomed his invitations to visit as they became more frequent.

As my life took on the complications which seemed interwoven with the stage of adolescence, I became increasingly aware of the necessity for peace in existence, and felt myself to be extremely fortunate to have Norm as a valued companion. My frustrations needed verbal release and an understanding listener who was sufficiently detached from my daily routine (home, school, etc.) to reply in an entirely objective fashion. It became evident that Norm and I shared a bond which reached deeper than an ordinary brother/sister relationship, for understanding and compatibility was the foundation from which our relationship grew.

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Chapter 17 Ninth Grade

"It was a note scribbled on an intentionally crumpled piece of paper.

No purchased card could have captured the essence of that note, or of the crumpled course my life must take."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ninth Grade

Through the years I began to observe the mannerisms and personalities around me with fascination, watching conflicts with casual objectivity as rivals floundered in their own short-sightedness. I watched also, as people mocked the less fortunate, who unknowingly attracted such treatment like a magnet through their own erring behavior or ungainly actions. Some people were simply difficult to abide; often those individuals did not even realize their high "avoidance factor" despite continual, and sometimes abrasive, repulsion. I observed the tensions between parents and children as the latter reached the restless age of rebellion and need for individual freedom. I could understand both sides of many arguments or confrontations, and often empathized with each opinion.

Through surveying the world from a distance, I learned invaluable lessons. I h.o.a.rded reactions to various personalities and situations and studied them intently in retrospect. In gathering such information as human responses, I began to realize why I disliked certain people and ways of life, whereas previously, I had merely felt inexplainable disgust or anger. More than anything, I learned that people generally did what they wished to do, barring few exceptions, and true kindness was a rare commodity. That which I saw was real; it was not an impressionistic ideal of life, for personal interaction could bring dejection as well as elation. Far from being cynical, I came to believe one was his own best friend. I remember that I began to feel sorry for Todd. He seemed lonely, separated by a societal barrier which was invisible to him. Unaware of the reason for this unseen yet impenetrable wall, Todd sought to find suitable ways around it, which consequently resulted in forming my most pungent memory of my oldest brother through its emotional impact on me. Although I was yet in grade school, the incident was unforgettable, and forever marked my heart.

It was a bl.u.s.tery winter evening when Norm and his friend were preparing to depart for his house. With an air of determination, Todd informed them, "You're not getting away from me this time," and set about dressing himself to meet the harsh winter chill. Meanwhile, tired of waiting, the two dismissed the scene for their destination as Todd continued to dress.

Once fitted for the elements, clad in his orange snow-suit and boots, he trudged up the silent, snow-blanketed avenue as I watched through the kitchen window. Before reaching the house, he stopped and resolutely turned toward home, not desiring to undergo further pursuit.

I felt my heart break for him as my eyes welled up with tears. How lonely the world could be! I decided in an instant to meet him at the door, clothed in my winter coat.

Together we took a long walk in the snow, heading down a wooded path to the quiet street below. We spoke of many things, gently laying the foundation for a night that I would never forget. I believe our stroll, although spurred through loneliness, was the most relaxing interlude I have ever shared with Todd.

As time progressed, the gap between our personalities widened. When engaged in a serious conversation, I found the time thus spent to be exhilarating, for Todd's intelligence was of great merit; it was increasingly difficult, however, for me to accompany him to various functions as I failed to understand the reasoning which prompted some of his actions and behavior. Desiring to blend with the crowd rather than direct its attention, I was flushed with embarra.s.sment at any mannerism which was apart from the ordinary spectrum of social conduct as I saw it to be.

Everyone views life through his own eyes, and although the ideas of individuals coincide at various points, it is virtually impossible to a.s.sume that which is "right" for someone else at a given point in time.

This was another area in which Todd and I differed considerably, yet here I was able to comprehend the motive behind his good intentions.

Because Todd declined invitations to attend outings early in life, he later found he was no longer asked to join in a group's activities. As a result, he eventually forced himself to become involved in multiple organizations thereby making up for those he had missed; he evidently enjoyed the bustle of activity which the groups provided, and was soon absent from the house nearly every night.

When Todd saw I was declining offers to attend parties or dances, he thought I was following similar actions which had introduced alienation into his life, and I would one day discover that I was not only alone, but lonely.

Mar. 23, 1977... (A boy) called and asked if I could go to the dance at his school. When I called him back, he was really discouraged and mad that I didn't want to go. But, man, he's so gross! Never ever combs his hair. How sick. Todd really lectured me on how I should go 'cuz he didn't when he was my age, but I can't relive his life! He makes me mad sometimes.

He pressured me to accept these invitations despite my reasons for desiring to stay at home. Consequently, it made me become leary to divulge any plans to him for fear I would find myself in a situation that I detested; his arguments were fierce and unyielding, and I sought to avoid them whenever I could. Moreover, I wanted to form my own decisions and began to resent such stubborn, relentless interference.

I believe it is better to "let be" than to stray beyond one's bounds into the gray and scarred battle ground where individual decisions are waged and won; it is prudent to counsel, but never so to force.

Todd was unbelievably innovative. He could construct posters and cards having multiple moving parts without losing any degree of his meticulous patience. The quality of perseverance was a further boon to his imaginative efforts, and he created countless fascinating objects dating back to my earliest memories. I received a greeting from Todd during my long stay at Mayo. It was a note scribbled on an intentionally crumpled piece of paper. No purchased card could have captured the essence of that note, or of the crumpled course my life must take. Todd always had time to take a walk or to play a game. He never forgot a birthday... with gifts he was equally creative. One birthday I received a huge balloon (a factory reject) which was a source of awe and amazement for us all. We filled it with the exhaust end of the vacuum cleaner since no one had lungs with the capacity for inflating that monstrous thing. Another year, short of funds but long on loving thoughts, he collected a wide sampling of floral and tree seed pods. For me, that meant endless possibilities in creating.

Toward the end of 9th grade, I had gained a fair amount of confidence.

I was amazed to note the way in which the improvements in my health and appearance affected my self-worth; I no longer felt like a helpless child clinging to my mother's skirt or father's pants leg for protective solace. I was less reserved, feeling that my opinions were just as valuable as those of others, and decisions, though sometimes tempered by my parents, belonged to me. Life was not merely pa.s.sing by; I possessed both the ability and the will to actively pursue the means toward a hopeful end. The variables along the way would affect the resulting success or failure, but that, I knew, was simply a part of life's uncertainty.

Academically I improved as my physical strength increased. In reflection, it was obvious that my tutor had not over-taxed my capabilities during the previous year; I was grateful that she had not, for the nature of my illness was such that I was forever unsure of the state of my health. Upon my reappearance at school the extra effort required for 9th grade curriculum initially demanded more of my time and mental exertion; when I finally redeveloped my listening, comprehension and study techniques, however, I felt less hampered by the work load.

In addition to the basics, I was able to take a course in woodworking.

Happily, I was not the only girl to have fostered such a "s.e.xually uncharacteristic" whim, and the two of us felt less ridiculous seated among our masculine counterparts, knowing our endeavor was not entirely foreign to the minds of other females. My apprehension was unfounded, I discovered, for in time I saw that my work exceeded that of many of my cla.s.smates; I was more particular, concerned with the appearance of the finished product and willing to direct effort toward the perfect, rather than haphazard, completion of a project. Moreover, I had a natural love of wood and wished to acquire certain skills therewith, reasoning that one day I would rebuild or at least refinish antique pieces for my own home. I was no advocate of women's liberation; I simply found interest in many activities and subjects. I had to prove nothing to anyone but myself.

After finishing a cla.s.s project to my satisfaction, I began earnestly on a project of my own design. That which I determined to make was a cedar chest, and looked on excitedly as the instructor pulled a stack of cedar boards from the storage closet and placed them on one of the work tables. The first course of action, he said, was to glue the smaller boards together, after which the uneven width would be surgically altered in the planer. I noticed several imperfections (worm-eaten tunnels) in certain boards, but the teacher was unmoved.

"Those can be filled with wood filler," he replied, walking off. I gazed after him doubtfully wondering how I could trust a man who, in one hour, had to coach his 25 students through their 25 different projects. Nevertheless, I started my work, trying to envision a lidded box in the stack of wood which had probably been intended for a bonfire.

Meanwhile, other school-related activities gathered momentum as the academic year drew ever closer to its end. As one of the art editors for the yearbook, I was instructed to design several covers for possible use. My effort resulted in developing four options ranging, in my opinion, from "nearly philosophical" to "cute"; I placed my endeavors on the desk of the teacher whose spare time was choked with yearbook duties. My designs would not necessarily appear on the yearbook cover, but I was satisfied that I had succeeded in creating original ideas.

Mar. 31, 1977... We had a band concert in the aud. and during the middle, Mr. C. got up and read off the nominee for HALL OF FAME and I was one of 'em! (A friend of mine) wasn't tho, and she didn't even congratulate me.

April 20, 1977... I was nominated for American Legion! I didn't really know 'til homeroom, when we were to vote on it!! (I voted for me!!) There were 5 boys and 5 girls altogether.

Mr. c.o.x took a photograph of me for the special American Legion section of the yearbook so that my grotesque photo, taken when I still had no hair, would not, at least, appear in the separate section. I was relieved and quite thankful to my understanding instructor.

April 21, 1977... Mr. C. said my design would be used for the cover of the yearbook!!