Through these Eyes Part 39

I came home feeling revitalized and cleansed. Nature's splendor, Norm's companionship and time to enjoy for its own sake; these were the aspects of life which, for me, made it uncomplicated and full.

With my decision firmly planted I was a changed individual, and it was obvious to my boyfriend that the summer would not bring us closer together. Confidence helped me to overcome his heartiest attempts to reroute my intentions or confuse my thoughts and within days after returning from Colorado, I did what we both knew was inevitable. As we parted, I was drowned in sorrow. . . for myself and for him. . . and although confidence helped to dispatch a prompt conclusion to a floundering relationship, it did nothing to absorb the pain which accompanied such an end.

Breaking up hurt. It had to hurt. I knew I had done the right thing; like a canker, my resentment festered when in his company. I finally cared enough to let go.

I remember that night so well. We had stopped at a playground to rest on the swings after a bike ride. I was feeling quite detached and spoke very little. When the summer sun drifted from view, I stood to mount my bike, and he rose to receive the customary good-night kiss. I offered my hand as he approached, leaving no doubt that the romance was over, but he would not accept a platonic relationship. He was not ready for that; I could understand, but I would still miss him.

"Well, I guess you'll never see my black pants," he stated, reminding me that he and his mother had gone shopping earlier that day. Why did he have to say that? "Never" was so permanent. I felt tears well up in my eyes and cloud my vision, and pushing off into the gathering darkness, I realized that I may never see him again. For years he had demanded much of my time; now he was rejecting all of it. No, there was no compromise.

I pedaled home, half-blinded by tears, then rushed upstairs to my room to hurl my frustrations onto paper. Writing was the release that I needed; I had to ask myself whether or not I had done the right thing.

Three pages later I was satisfied that I had, concluding my written rampage with, "I think I'll make some bran m.u.f.fins."

The rest of the summer was spent as I wished, and admittedly took a degree of adjustment on my behalf. Such a wealth of time was alien to me.

As always, freedom had its price. Mine was lost companionship, and I did experience lonely moments, for he had been my princ.i.p.al friend as well as my boy-friend. Generally, however, I remained content with my decision. Not only had my ability to follow through with an important decision multiplied my confidence, but I was no longer haunted by the knowledge that I was hurting another individual or trying to ply him into something he was not. Moreover, as a loner, free time was most often a luxury; the rare occasions of actual loneliness were remedied through the former, positive facets of my ultimate decision.

I excitedly enrolled in the charm school's other cla.s.s, which taught the skills necessary for one to become a model. Regardless of my eventual aspirations, I a.s.sumed that the cla.s.s would prove enjoyable and fulfill the educational side of a glamorous dream. My intuition was accurate and I loved every minute, from performing turns and poses to working with a photographer for my own photo session.

When the cla.s.s came to an end, the proprietor invited me to her office and offered me a cup of coffee. Saying that I showed promising qualities, she bid me sign a contract with her firm for local modeling opportunities. I was stunned. My portfolio had turned out quite well and I had fostered little anxiety in the cla.s.s, yet such a display of high regard was a powerful and pleasant shock. Her offer bridged my loftiest hopes and without hesitation, I accepted the contract.

If humans could fly, I surely would have soared home that day. I felt so good, so whole. There was nothing that could impede my sense of freedom; no one would make my decisions or steal my time.

Owning a healthy sense of self-worth was not immodesty, but protection against vulnerability. I knew I could bestow kindness and still be shunned, or honestly state my opinion and draw hateful criticism. The difference was confidence. In many ways, life seemed too good to be true... too good, at least, for me. I could not stop suspicion from seeping into my mind; even Norm and Mom professed to be rather leary toward harboring too much optimism. Unadulterated happiness and good luck appeared in fleeting glimpses for our family, and to feel differently now was too risky. I therefore enjoyed my newly acquired good fortune with humility and wary disbelief.

All good things come to an end, and summer's end paralleled the beginning of my second year of college. I felt different that year, quite ready to welcome new opportunities. Looking back, last year's memories recalled a vision of myself trying to breathe through a plastic bag while striving to function like a normal human being. Now, constrained neither by the depression sp.a.w.ned of unfaced problems or subdued emotions, the world appeared as it should; I had drawn out all of the hob-goblins that my mind repressed, and scourged them.

Several weeks into the fall semester I received a letter from my ex-boyfriend. Briefly informative and somewhat impersonal, I considered it a peace offering and a suggestion that mild relations could resume between us. I was pleased. We knew each other's likes and dislikes, and had spent many recreational hours together; his casual friendship would be a pleasant addition to my good luck.

Deciding that enough time had elapsed since the rending of our emotional ties, I wrote back to him, honestly defining the hurt I had experienced and how hopeful I had been that we could one day be friends. After posting my letter, I heard from him again, almost immediately; his exuberance toward restoring a relationship was overwhelming, and it was plain that the direction he wished to take was unlike that which I had mapped. A definite knot swelled in my stomach; I did not want to relive that which had transpired between us when we were last together, and I nervously asked myself, "what have I done?"

In typical style, I suffered for awhile, drenching myself with worry until I sought my notebook to disentangle the h.o.a.rd of thoughts that had just constricted my rationality.

Aug. 5, 1981... Is it wrong to have a friendship wherein one of the involved parties is highly romantically bound to the other, who is not? . . . Is it wrong to relish each other's company, ruled by the standards set by the individual who is not involved whole-heartedly?

All of a sudden I feel I have greatly wronged him by writing back...

Is it right to call someone to be your friend, and date him, but constantly keep him at bay? I somehow feel that I am the bait and the holder of the pole, while my "friend" is kept running in pursuit.

It always helped to see my problems in the black and white form of ink strokes on paper. Perhaps I was unrealistic to believe that two people having such different intentions could maintain a healthy relationship.

I would not fret about it, I decided with determination, nor would I tolerate a reenactment of last year's folly. As long as I remembered that days were made up of individual minutes, I had no reason to burden myself with worry over that which had not yet come to pa.s.s. If I controlled the minutes, the hours, days and months would surely take care of themselves and cause no pain, for as I had written in a journal, "I can't stand to hurt anyone any more."

Beginnings and endings, life changed continually under their influence.

Autumn 1981 seemed rich and alluring, a virtual invitation to walk in the sun. In a diary entry dated over one year later, my memories of that time were sweet.

Nov. 3, 1982... My life was beginning to come alive... From an experience with cancer five years before, I was given a sharp taste of the harsh brutality which is an innate, but sometimes overlooked, characteristic of life. I viewed life as highly impermanent, and believed that it was too short to spend one's precious time playing games of popularity and prestige. What mattered was feeling...

experiencing... life to its fullest without marring in any way the rest of society. Modeling I saw as a potentially exhilarating encounter, which, like all facets of one's life, would inevitably come to an end.

Carrying this baggage of values upon my shoulders, I felt entirely prepared for success or failure, and intended to propel myself toward modeling at full throttle. I had no idea that the end would so soon be upon me...

PAGE 195

Chapter 25 Return of Cancer

"To reverse the feeling that I was the query in an unfair hunt, I had to establish for myself that I had complete control over the situation."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Return of Cancer

It was October and my cla.s.ses were well under way. Seated at my favorite table with books and papers sprawled casually about, I was studying for an exam between frequent sips of coffee and sight-saving glances around the room. I looked down at myself and tried not to think; the striped sweater I wore readily acknowledged my asymmetrical stomach, even if I did not. Whatever it was had not gone away.

Several days earlier I had noticed a certain lopsidedness to my stomach region, but not desiring to worry, a.s.sured myself that it was "indigestion complicated by gas" and would, therefore, "pa.s.s." The odd part was that it did not pa.s.s, and staring down at my stomach it was still readily apparent. "Maybe I've always been like that," I told myself. "After all I did lose three-fourths of my stomach."

I must not have convinced myself, however, because when Norm and Dad rumbled down the stairs, I asked them for their opinions. As each took his turn interpreting the portents revealed by my striped sweater, the other would say, "Call the doctor if you're so worried."

I had to agree that it was better than speculation, so I picked up the phone and dialed the doctor's office. His nurse, a brusque, dominant figure, answered. I had always been rather overwhelmed by her, and in my currently agitated frame of mind, sputtered out my name and request as would an army private to his platoon drill sergeant.

"Dr. is on vacation," she stated.

"Uh, could I see the other doctor?" I asked as my emotional ball of string unraveled a bit further. I only wanted to see a doctor; it did not matter who I saw. I just had to know that I had no physical problem.

"Lauren, Mayo Clinic is where you should go."

"But I just wanted someone to take a look. . ."

"If you have a problem, you should go to Mayo..."

"But... can't you?..."

She would not even schedule an appointment.

I had been mildly concerned about myself; now I was in a state of mental pandemonium. I hung up the phone as tears singed my eyes and the lump in my throat multiplied to twice its original size. The nurse's staunch refusal to see me was like receiving an impromptu death sentence, and implied that mine was most certainly a problem too great for a family doctor to handle.