The new introductions included Jon, whose companionship colored many days of the summer and would later evolve into an extended relationship. Looking at the pages of my diary, the carefree days described therein now seem to possess a dream-like quality; the days were bundles of minutes in which only the present mattered. I did my ch.o.r.es and went out with friends; I threw the frisbee and played miniature golf; there were picnics and movies and light conversation.

The whirlwind had stabilized, but it hadn't slowed... and I did not give myself time to think.

Norm, however, provided me with such time. When we spent several hours together, canoeing, hiking through wooded trails, or lunching near a winding river, I was unconscious of time. An hour was not a h.o.a.rd of 60 minutes crammed sardine-style into the face of a clock.

Conversation was a matter of choice rather than obligation and an aura of humor pervaded the atmosphere in which jokes need not be vocalized to be shared and understood. With Norm, I was able to find the peace which seemed so elusive in other company, and to revel in the silence that, through my lack of a.s.sertiveness, I was otherwise unable to attain. I felt whole in my brother's presence rather than a torn and fragmented person who cringed under hostility, watched silently the destruction which acquaintances wrought upon themselves, and melted beneath the persuasive tactics used to rob me of time I did not wish to give. Norm spoke "to" me and "with" me, but never "at" me, an aspect of togetherness in which other relationships often failed; thus, as my segmented self fell into entirety, it did not take long before I realized his presence was prized beyond all others. At a time in my life when emotional stability was a rare commodity, I felt lucky to have discovered the mutual compatibility which grew rapidly between my brother and me; indeed, I believe we were both lucky. Not often does one encounter an una.s.suming yet caring relationship in which no conditions or specific roles exist to induce friction and jeopardize love itself; it was a gift that I appreciated more as time pa.s.sed, yet without hesitation took for granted, feeling confident that, as I for him, my brother would always "be there" for me, a listener, friend and companion. If only my other friendships were half as dependable, half as refreshing!

Although most of our plans were slated for the weekend, we occasionally took several hours of a week day evening to go for a motorcycle ride or take a long walk. Walks were especially enjoyable because they often included what we labeled "blow-it-out conversations," which were comprised of disturbing thoughts or events that generally remained inaudible plagues. Grievances, observations and complexes tumbled forth to be dissected in a rational means by two brains rather than one, which would hopefully render a more concise view of the idea or problem, or dissolve it completely. We also delved in areas of questions for which there were no answers, posing inquiries for discussion rather than for the solution thereof. After such vigorous conversations, we both felt somewhat exhausted, yet relieved just the same. I was always reminded of a tea kettle filled with boiling water which had to let off steam or explode; had I been unable to "blow-it-out," my emotions would have strained violently against my being, and while a shattered tea-pot could be replaced, sanity was less easily restored.

Norm, too, expressed his grat.i.tude for the ability to release emotional tension through discussion. Living alone had provided ample time for solitude and the perusal of philosophical writings, but that aloneness needed to be buffered by personal interaction. Norm was an individual who required more time alone than did most people, yet he was not an island, entirely self dependent and devoid of the need for others, and though his employment allowed a degree of social interaction, it was only the light-hearted, surface variety in which "closeness" had no part. Our outings were at once social and personal, depending upon the present need; that is, each meeting was not wholly devoted to serious conversation, for that, too, would have become wearisome if depth and meaning were relentlessly sought. Life truthfully has its burdens, but conversation need not be added to the list; all things, I believe, must be tempered, and lacking carefree banter and easy laughter, life gains nothing.

With a full two months of my summer vacation behind me, I was looking forward to a three-week vacation in Syracuse, New York when August arrived. I would be spending time with Sherry, a pen-pal who had evolved into a good friend through the exchange of letters. The previous year she had accepted our invitation to visit Illinois and accompanied us on a week-long trip to the Colorado Rockies. I was now repaying the visit.

Ours was a unique relationship, but one that was understandably comfortable. Beginning as pen-pals, we quickly noted the potential in each other for the development of a lasting closeness and a willingness to listen; these factors, augmented further by our great need to be understood and accepted as we were, provided a st.u.r.dy foundation for friendship. Each letter became a prize, something regarded with zest and antic.i.p.ation, for in it would be heartfelt troubles or elation, and possible advice or consolation in reference to previous correspondence.

Thus, after two years of personal disclosure, we felt compelled to meet each other.

In retrospect, it was amazing that her parents had given her permission to accept our invitation. Having no clear picture of who I was aside from a grocery sack full of my letters, which I might add, they were not allowed to read, Sherry's trip was prefaced by a great deal of antic.i.p.ation; her parents coached her, and a long-necked neighbor preached doom and despair, while friends queried about the need to visit "some hick girl in the corn fields." She carried the antic.i.p.ation with her as she approached our airport terminal; it was inscribed on her face next to the wary smile and suspicious eyes. I, too, had been nervous, but by the end of the day, our misgivings had been washed away by a flood of chatter. When we once again stood in the airport terminal, tears welled up in our eyes; we were parting not as pen-pals, but as friends. The days ahead seemed a little more empty because we could share no more time together. As I prepared to fly to New York, I fostered nervous qualms, yet my anxiety did not reflect upon Sherry or her home; I was hoping wildly that we would still "get along." Letters did not fill the gap that had appeared after meeting Sherry; before we had been pen friends, but now we were friends who wrote to each other. It was somehow quite different, and it was I who felt in need of a shield.

Conversation was slow at first, with each of us uncertain as to which topics would spark the most interest. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake in coming. Her excitable nature sometimes startled me, and when she told of incidents wherein she had screamed her rage at local friends, I cringed in silence, hoping that I never would evoke such fervor.

As the evening crept away, our tongues relaxed and I felt somewhat relieved. I could be no one but myself, and I seemed to feel I was being accepted; within I experienced a mental sigh of relief. Looking at the clock, we discovered the hour was near 4:00 a.m. and thought it would be best to go to sleep. "Before we can do anything tomorrow,"

Sherry said, "I have to pick up the kitchen and pick up the living room. . ." I snickered and exclaimed, "Gee. . . you must be strong!"

Any remaining tension broke under our laughter; humor worked miracles.

The following three weeks pa.s.sed in a flurry of activity, talk and laughter. I fell into the role of second daughter and was pleased that my temporary home proved so hospitable. Whether joking over evening popcorn or sudsy dishwater, it was obvious that I was no guest, but a welcome member of the tribe.

With Sherry and her parents I captured a lush glimpse of the Niagara Falls; I also accompanied them on a company picnic and a family reunion. Most of the time, however, Sherry and I ran our own agenda, comprised of shopping sprees, hikes, drives in the country, movies, and everything else imaginable. We frequented one particular pizza parlor with such predictability that our arrival was greeted with quizzical stares. We also learned the horror of leaving one's car locked in a parking garage after midnight, when, upon returning via bus from the state fair, we discovered we had been misinformed as to the supposed 24 hour status of the garage; though vandals seldom work in another's favor, a sawed-off portion of a railing allowed freedom from an otherwise a.s.sured overnight imprisonment, which, in turn, would have left us few options but to search for a phone in some unlikely business establishment.

Leaving Syracuse was a melancholic affair which generated an inner sense of solitude and reminded me that I had no close friends of my own age and gender at home. Curious though it may sound, I also realized it was largely my fault, having a high intolerance for mind games, play-acting, and senseless chatter. Moreover, there seemed to be no median between the judgmental and the valueless. I could never tolerate the former group, for no one is perfect, and I was slowly drawing away from the undauntable latter group. I had the ideas about life which I would not allow to be tainted through carelessness or indiscretion; certain forms of filth were, I knew, impossible to wash away. I began to wonder if one's character could be defiled by mere a.s.sociation. . . and I drifted further still from former friends.

I became markedly outraged at schoolmates who acted irresponsibly and then decided that my ear was the one upon which they could hurl their misadventurous rot. Initially I listened in silence, disagreeing with promiscuity and the like, yet maintaining a wall of mute disapproval so I would not dampen the various relationships. One's s.e.xuality, I reasoned, was only a portion of the individual and need not pollute the entire character. Little by little, however, my intolerance toward certain propensities grew and eventually led to mutual partings rather than outright broken friendships. Some differences create gaps, and others gulfs.

This change of friends produced a mellowing effect on my lifestyle which I not only needed, but desired, and although I indulged in fewer social activities, I found this new aspect acceptable, and indeed, preferable over my past. After I realized my nervous energy was my mind's plea for help and change, and continual activity for its own sake led only to emptiness, it did not take long for my "rowdiness" to wane. I discovered without parental interference that "the wild side"

of life did not conform to my concept of what life should be; I cared too much for honesty in friendships to enjoy parties wherein play-acting was a primary focus. The mere idea of taking drugs seemed incredibly idiotic and was complicated further by its exorbitant price-tag and illegality; the first element staved my urge to experiment with drugs, while the last two set that feeling in cement.

Toward alcohol I fostered a friendly regard although I despised immoderation; liquor could be enjoyed without partaking to excess. I held little respect for those who required intoxication to have fun and also disliked seeing an individual's personality change under its influence, for in my opinion, such revelations demonstrated a lack of genuineness of character when sober. Although I enjoyed certain alcoholic beverages, it did not matter whether or not I drank; I was crazy enough to enjoy life and have fun without liquor, and it certainly was less expensive.

For the most part, I felt that my emotions had stabilized. I no longer was living "on the edge," squinting at brilliant sunlight and then plunging into gray storm clouds; nor was I tough or immune to pain. Of course, I did not wish to become a robot, devoid of emotional concern, yet in certain instances, a lack of feeling would have been welcome.

Establishing a relationship is, at best, difficult and at worst, impossible. Because relationships are generally of primary significance regarding one's happiness or lack thereof, they are elemental to life. Unfortunately, there is no prescribed formula pertaining to flawless success in relationships, and one is left to mimic the designs wrought by others or resort to one's own intuition.

Without a doubt, life is hard. . . barring any drastic handicaps with which one is born.

There are those who yearn for youth and pine forgotten tatters of memory, yet I would not choose to relive the pangs of childhood and relearn the expectations of society. I recall too well the ill-chosen words which sprang from my tongue, the unintended regrets which stemmed from an unimpeded glance or action, and the troublesome problems whose solutions, though somehow problems in themselves, would have been solved likewise had the identical factors been presented a second time.

With regret I remember instances which haunt my recollections, though long pa.s.sed; there was a boy in church who nervously asked if I would be "his girl"...and through my pitiful degree of shyness, never gave a reply; and the homecoming dance, my first and only formal function, in which I was so utterly nerve-stricken that I was unable to pin the boutonniere on my date, to eat my dinner, to speak cordially on even the most trivial and insignificant subjects. I remember the disappointment which accompanied my first attempt to secure a "date."

Oct. 27, 1977... I want to ask Scott to go on the hayrack ride.

Everyone is really pressuring me.

Oct. 28, 1977... I asked Scott today...I followed him to his locker and asked. He said that he was having one on the same night and he'd let me know. Oh, I sure hope he comes.

Oct. 30, 1977... Hayrack was tonight, but I didn't go. Scott never even called.

Filtering through my memories are also the times in which I was asked on a date and for reasons of my own, chose to refuse the invitation. I tried to say "no" without hurting, for I knew how difficult it was to pose such questions, and the way in which a reply was given could either demean, depress, or simply disappoint. Being asked on a date is a compliment, no matter how distastefully one might view his "suitor."

My dating career was short-lived, as I began to view romance in a highly cynical manner, having found little in the way of true happiness while "playing the field." I had difficulty enough when I dated one person at a time. Moreover, I was unable to bear the pretense which accompanied romance; I had little of the "romantic" in my personality, and if I played a farce, I knew it would reveal itself in time. It would be more appropriate, I resolved, to always be myself and thereby avoid a later explanation of my mistaken ident.i.ty.

With my indifference toward romance came an amplified emphasis on friendship, for it alone seemed real. Platonic relationships had no intrinsic pressures or expectations such as the obligatory kiss after a "date"; a touch, if given at all, was supportive, not demanding.

I loved talking with people and tried to treat everyone in a like manner. Most of my friends were of the male gender. As always, I was better understood and enjoyed for my humor by guys and felt more comfortable in such company. Generally this was no problem, however, I found certain people so delightful that occasionally one of them would mistake my enthusiasm as being more than simply platonic in nature, and not desiring my supposedly romantic inclinations, would begin avoiding me. Eventually I would realize I had indulged in one too many smiles or had been too energetically involved in the conversation, and to solve the misunderstanding without damaging an ego, I would ignore the individual completely for several days. When my staccatoed lack of interest toward him finally obliterated his illusion of my deep feelings, he would resume friendly interaction. It was a rather humorous chain of events, but one that yielded favorable results. As long as misunderstandings are possible, I find it comforting to know that at least some have the potential to be corrected with relative ease.

Since stability was one of my higher prerogatives, I continued dating one guy rather exclusively, especially toward the latter portion of my senior year. However as he bested my age by a year, he was away at college, coming home only once each month. Having to reaquaint ourselves every visit, the resulting relationship was hard to maintain and wrought havoc on my emotions far more than I had ever expected. I see-sawed between that which I desired the relationship to be and what it was. I battled between saving the enjoyable friendship at the expense of an uncertain romance. Although I cared for him, it was not the type or degree of caring which should have been a.s.sociated with our relationship. Therefore, I often asked myself the validity of the entire affair. At times the gulf between us was so great that distance was welcomed because it secured our friendship. I did not have the furt.i.tude to put an end to our psychedelic relationship, for I was easily cornered by his overt persuasiveness and flow of rhetoric, which smothered my ability to think or listen to myself. Moreover, for better or worse, the relationship provided me with a sense of protection and an excuse to refuse other dates. Thus, the relationship continued, despite its flaws, interwoven with other memories and dreams.

Holder Of The Key

Although I love being at your side, There's still that part that has to hide For I'm shielding myself From a feared remorse Which would erupt If your love lost its course...

Shipwrecked and broken On the craggy sh.o.r.e, "Look... accept...

I love you no more!"

Friendship is the only key To loose the me that isn't free!

I hold fast to that sheer control Which forbids emotion to take its toll And tear me to shreds...

Leaving naught but remnants, Nothing but threads To blow in the wind Until one day My spirit would lead me Ever away...

Far from the lair Of self-wrought despair.

I'll build me a fence!

I'll build me a wall!...

A windowless room That's eleven feet tall!

And there shall I dwell, A vacant sh.e.l.l...

The only escape From life's loving h.e.l.l.

An existence blind to reality Is merely my mind's chosen fantasy Of what I would become If I should come undone.

Yet, in a sense, It is real and very true...

In my love for the world...

In my love for you...

Sometimes I wish I loved you more...

But still clench the key To my heart's door.

Lauren Isaacson January 1980