Chapter 30 Autumn at Augustana

"School was not a "given" in my life. . . I had no other alternative but to uphold a charade of normalcy. . .that gave my parents the right to hope. . . "

CHAPTER THIRTY

Autumn At Augustana

With summer drawing to a close, my friends slowly drifted their separate ways as the fall semester of 1982 beckoned and bid them to cast away the carefree mood of days gone by. I, too, readied myself for the new semester with apprehension; the purpose of continuing school in my state of health eluded me, yet I felt too weak to contest the arrangement. Drained from months of activity which depleted my energy and abused my emotional stability, I knew also that I had developed further symptoms of liver malfunction during the summer.

Even the mildest days, with temperatures reaching no higher than 70 degrees, would cause my body to overheat; if I did not remedy the situation by chewing ice or removing myself from the location, I would sweat profusely, and eventually obtain a relentless headache and nausea. This symptom was altogether annoying and seemed to me a huge inconvenience, as I could not sit comfortably in an atmosphere which most people heartily enjoyed. In addition, I would tire easily and found it increasingly more difficult to perform the least taxing of functions such as rapidly ascending multiple flights of steps, without reaching my destination quite breathless, my heart pounding at an alarming rate.

Knowing these effects would not subside, I dreaded the coming months.

September and school seemed to fit together like pieces in a jigsaw.

I could not help but wonder where, in the world, I would possibly find a niche.

I initially enrolled in four cla.s.ses at Augustana, feeling obliged to retain full-time status if I intended to obtain an education within a reasonable period of time. From the outset, I elected to study German as well as two other "staples," those being a Geography course and a course in English literature. I still entertained the romantic notion of traveling to Germany one day, utilizing with fluency and grace my haphazard rendezvous with the native language. After two weeks in the cla.s.s, however, I deemed it too much of an emotional strain to attempt a new tongue under the pressure of the teacher who radiated the likeness and temperament of Adolph Hitler. Quickly moved to a decision, I dropped the course to add another in English which tackled the various plays of Shakespeare. This, I thought, would be more apt to lie within my realm of understanding.

The first cla.s.s of the day was Early English Literature, which was taught on the lower floor of "Old Main," a stately edifice which, to me, seemed to possess the ability to gather and retain heat within its confines. Each morning I would mount the cement steps which led to Old Main, hoping that "this time" some windows would be open to allow cool air to cleanse the room of its persistent stuffiness. Sometimes before cla.s.s, one window would be breathing fresh air into the room, exhaling through the open doorway the stale air which otherwise choked the room.

Upon the teacher's arrival, however, the door would automatically close to "keep noise to a minimum," and I cringed with dismay as the circulating air stopped dead in its tracks.

As the instructor spoke of the early legends of the Nors.e.m.e.n and the icy gales in which men battled, even my wistful images of the frozen climate could not impede my body's growing internal heat. I would begin to feel as if an oven had been opened in front of my face, followed by an unrestrained flow of sweat. I fought to retain my sense of humor and enjoy the cla.s.s, but as my hair began to plaster itself closely to my scalp from the heat, concentration gradually lessened until I could think of nothing else but fleeing from the cla.s.sroom to the fresh air outside. At the end of the hour, I dashed through the door to the nearest restroom in an attempt to restore, to a reasonable degree, my appearance. On many days, I actually looked as if I'd just been swimming and had not allowed my hair to dry.

Depending on the amount of time I had to spend between cla.s.ses, I was sometimes able to sit outside and let the breeze dry my hair and cool my body. A shortage of time or inclement weather forced me to simply walk to my following cla.s.s, where the cooler room eventually afforded a more comfortable situation for me, allowing me to slowly dry off.

Throughout the hours between my second and third cla.s.ses, I would purchase and eat lunch and then situate myself in the least obtrusive spot I could find to study or write. On several occasions, I was able to visit with an old friend, with whom I'd initially become acquainted at church, and who, I might add, was virtually the only person I felt comfortable addressing. When she appeared, time pa.s.sed rapidly and easily. She also dispelled some of my fears about the campus (among these, the library) by ushering me through the quiet corridors of the rather intimidating building.

To my friend I also expressed my feeling that the school had a more impenetrable barrier than any other I had experienced, giving one the impression that the circles of friends which existed could not afford any new members. Repeatedly, I had offered triflings of conversation to cla.s.smates, only to be answered with blunted replies or silence. Since the bulk of the students were not daily commuters, she had experienced the same treatment her first semester and therefore concluded that the best way to feel a part of Augie was to reside in one of the dormatories until she had developed several friends and acquaintances, and then return home to live.

I knew, of course, that the next best way to meet people was to join organizations, and as the old saying goes, "get involved!" My mom used to suggest that I sit down with a group at lunch, introduce myself, and start talking. I suppose there are those who would have success with this type of salesmanship, yet I could never barge through closed doors into a conversation of which I had no knowledge. This would seem more an invasion of privacy than an extension of friendship. My general health was also an inhibitive factor; apart from my appearance, I was tired and weak, and did not desire to explain my situation to others for fear of adverse reactions. Fatigued from attending school and studying my lessons, I felt I could ask no more of myself; I extended my friendship and smile to those who would accept them, but attended no extracurricular functions, desiring instead to use up any reserve energy in doing those things at home which I most enjoyed. It helped to understand the general flavor of Augie as being intrinsically different from my former school; I did not react to its indifference as a personal affliction, nor did I seek out various social groups to forge a place for myself in the hearts of others.

Through my weary and knowing eyes, I observed the turmoil of which I was not a part, feeling worlds away from the carefree and jubilant frolic which bespoke the presence of health. I felt suspended in time, as if all else moved about me, each following his desired route, while I stood rooted before a dead end. Never before had I encountered such desolate helplessness, yet I did not wish to change places with anyone ... even with cancer quietly closing in. Though health could have endured some improvement, with my mind, my values, I was content.

While certain individuals under my gaze possessed what seemed to be genuine character, I saw also those who chatted constantly about petty concerns and displayed no depth or true emotion; their lives were a farce. If this was the trade-off for being part of the social whirlwind, I was content, as always, to watch un.o.bserved from my stationary corner...

The Observer

I am the satellite, The worldly observer Of a spinning ma.s.s of confusion.

I am equidistant Between humanity And the heavens, Between star-strewn galaxies And streets besmeared With innovations....

I see and compute And attempt to make sense Of this confused world....

Though the heavens Are complex, I believe they are not Half so much as are The roads of human life.

September 10, 1982 Lauren Isaacson

Negative Aspects

In my world Time pa.s.ses slowly, Allowing moments to reflect upon the aspects of life I coldly rejected:

I see meaningless lives, Bereft of all worry, Flaunt worthless smiles, And empty laughter.

Pessimists carry frowns Behind trudging feet Upon leashes......

Forever dragging their burden Of discontent to the world.

Souls haunted by loneliness Hang their heads in despair, Their eyes searching desperately For the shred of compa.s.sion Which will never come, Until loneliness surrounds And follows their every step, Heralding irreversible regression: Chronically depressed Cling to sadness As their sole purpose in life, While their troubled minds Create wistful images of suicide.

September 12-15, 1982

Lauren Isaacson

Masks

One may choose Countless masks To portray his image Unto the world, And yet it seems That ultimately Masks are shattered; Revealing that which Resides within.

It is wise to discern Between one's mask And self Before life exposes Untainted features to humanity, The one body Which is utterly ruthless In its judgment.

September 15, 1982 Lauren Isaacson

Perhaps my most enjoyable hours were spent outside on a hill overlooking the campus. On the hill, I felt serene; every other place on campus I felt my life slipping away, as if I was carrying death within me. Here I would sit in idle reflection and muse on the autumn leaves falling lazily to the ground. The squirrels, with their crazy antics, were desperately h.o.a.rding all the acorns they found, burying and reburying until I'm sure even they didn't know where the acorns were. And I mustn't forget the restless breeze, ever blowing and hinting of winter. I shared a bond with autumn that was, at once, beautiful and sad. In life nothing truly ends, although there are countless births and as many deaths. With or without my own existence, life itself would go on, virtually heedless of one heartbeat lost to forever. In this reflective and tranquil mood I would transfer my thoughts to paper to better clarify for myself and for others the way in which I viewed my existence.