Through these Eyes Part 32

Finally, the ideal called for "steadfast friends," created through mutual interests and communication. In reality, I had acquaintances, and I had what I called "friends" for lack of a more appropriate word.

With these cla.s.smates, I often felt like a mother, a psychiatrist, or an impartial listener, entirely detached from the situation at hand.

As the "impartial listener" I lapsed into a role such as I described earlier; if I faced unpalatable situations or discussions while on "automatic," I could then tolerate them without feeling undue frustration. I voiced no unsolicited opinions, utilizing silence as a manner of maintaining peace in my world. Thereby I lost nothing...

nor did I gain.

As high school drew to a close, I no longer felt obliged to a.n.a.lyze each moment. Soon all would be different. The hallways would echo no sound and store no memory of those who had pa.s.sed. Friends would be lost to each other and acquaintances would fade like early morning dreams. Achievements would pave the way toward further education, jobs, or merely attract dust on a chest of drawers, remembering that which no longer existed.

I had enjoyed my time in high school as best I could considering the topsy-turvy state of my emotions. I had met some fine people and experienced some genuine "fun." My achievements were satisfactory and I felt content that graduation was near. I did not wish to relive or prolong high school. Maybe my ideal demanded too much of life, or perhaps I was more fully accepting that one's ideal vision of life had little in common with reality. I knew only that I wished to pursue a life unfettered by those wistful images. It was time for me to begin closing one door.

After final exams, school was recreational rather than educational.

The yearbooks were distributed and I made a point to sign the annuals of those with whom I had shared memorable occasions or developed worthwhile relationships. For many, the message in the yearbook was a last farewell. Some I would truly miss and remember always, even though they were not persons who had spent time with me outside of cla.s.s.

Impressions were a curious phenomena. I wondered why certain moments captured my attention. . . the carnation I received on "flower day"

from a junior who had taken notice of me. . . the penny retrieved from the hallway which my Spanish teacher handed to me. . . an inside joke which survived two years. . . smiles and humor and craziness. These were the ingredients of my foremost impressions, and the forerunners of memories; these fragmented images would survive outside the confines of the yearbook, and generate fleeting smiles for years to come.

Graduation was no longer the solemn promenade of grace and grandeur it had once been. The cla.s.ses were large and impersonal, and it seemed that everyone graduated whether they earned the honor or not; a cla.s.sic example testifying that, where there is plenty, there is often little grat.i.tude. We wore disposable gowns and caps, with the latter being so cheaply constructed that all four corners hung down about our heads in a mockery of pomp and circ.u.mstance, creating a group which looked like berobed court jesters.

Due to the behavior of the previous graduating cla.s.s, teachers patrolled the group to a.s.sure no items such as frizbees, squirt guns and bubble blowers made it into the field house. I was relieved; while graduation had lost its magnificence, I still did not desire to take part in a circus. Aside from our appearance, the ceremony was fairly respectable. The various speakers neither rushed nor belabored their material.

Row by row we stood to file toward the stage. I felt my stomach pinch.

It was an orderly system; a name was called, the diploma was presented, then a hand-shake completed the scenario. My name was called. I accepted my diploma, smiling, and proceeded to the princ.i.p.al to receive a handshake. It was my moment. Then another name was called as I paced down the center aisle to my seat. For me, all was done.

Another name echoed through the field house. . . a moment belonging to someone else.

In the din and confusion following the ceremony, I found none of my closer acquaintances. The swarming mob whooped joyously, rallying about and shouting their intended destinations. I suddenly felt the aloneness I had antic.i.p.ated, crashing down and separating me from the flock. What, for others, would come more gradually but perhaps more painfully as well, I experienced in an instant. Such a large crowd, and yet I knew no one! Indeed a door had closed.

I gazed at the crowd, dejected and disappointed, then resignedly found Jon. We had planned to go out for pizza and "hit a party," but since I had learned of no parties, the latter would have to be replaced by a different option.

"So you've grage-ee-ated, kid," he smiled over at me from the driver's seat.

"Yeh. . ." I replied, trying to hide my depression. "You are supposed to be having fun," the remnants of my ideal entoned. I smiled and spoke light-heartedly, almost in a reflex action, deriving solace from the fact that the night was still young.

We drove to the shopping center which housed the pizza parlor, noting that a traveling carnival shared the parking lot with the cars. My eyes brightened; I loved those things.

Jon looked at me. "Let's go on a few rides before eating," he suggested.

"Well . . . are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeh!! Come on... it's your big night."

I looked at the vast array of neon lights which blinked invitingly, trying to decide what to ride first. None of the rides were particularly ferocious in my opinion, but I settled for the tilt-a-whirl, a ride which afforded a small thrill. We seated ourselves inside the semi-circular capsule and the fun began, flailing us clockwise, then counter-clockwise, as the capsule raged up and down on its track. It was no generous ride; such carnivals rarely endow its patrons with their money's worth. The machine grated and clanked to a halt.

After exiting I glanced at Jon, who appeared rather stricken by the gla.s.sy gaze in his eyes. He also burped repeatedly, suggesting his stomach had protested to the ride.

I almost hated to ask, "You OK?"

"I'll be all right. . . let's just sit down for awhile."

We walked to his car and leaned on the hatchback. Several minutes pa.s.sed and Jon returned to normal.

"Let's go and eat..." I urged, having no desire to witness a repeat of nausea.

"No, no... it's your night. I want you to have fun. I'm OK, really."

"I don't know... let's just eat," I replied.

More persuasion. It was inevitable.

We went on another ride.

It was similar to the first, throwing us up and down in unison with the squall of hydraulics and blaring loony tunes. I ventured a look at Jon and swallowed hard. His greenish appearance had little to do with the neon lights. He began to burp once again as we made our final madcap spins and slowed to a stop. "This is not good," my thoughts roared; I felt rather frantic; I honestly did not wish to think at all, but my mind would not oblige.

While thoughts such as "Oh, please, no!" raced through my mind, Jon's stomach began venting its frustration on the parking lot. Not about to just stand and watch, I walked a few paces behind him as he made his way toward the pizza parlor restroom where he could finish the job.

He disappeared into the restaurant and I remained outside, leaning against the building while various emotions seared my thoughts.

Embarra.s.sment, guilt due to my embarra.s.sment, pity... perhaps a swig of self-pity... and anger.

"It's your big night, kid." Yeh. Sure.

PAGE 167

Chapter 22 Summer 1980

"The Colorado Rocky Mountains were my vision of paradise. . .I felt no spiritual rift with the universe and no emotional rift with myself. "

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Summer 1980

Summertime was no longer the carefree season of my childhood years. In addition to employment, I broke a once-solemn vow, taken in early youth, that forbade me to enlist in summer school. Since I planned to attend the local junior college in the fall and Speech 101 was one of it's graduation requirements, I rationalized that I should take the cla.s.s before all else lest I died of fright during a presentation; I then would not have taken all of the other college courses in vain.

Breaking my oath for the sake of my life did not seem to be a frivolous decision and, in my mind, undeniably justified the cla.s.s.