Arrival at College

It was a fall day. Cool enough for a sweater 

but not cold enough to numb your fingers.

On the drive up the scenic road to the college

A bridge, a river, and gothic-style buildings

Old Lodge Residence was a turn into the driveway.

Ramie curtains could be seen hanging in

 the coed dorm, and students could be seen hanging out on the veranda porch.

Divinity looked perilous, with a roof and fire escape stairs three stories high

The open-air, open sky, and the open morality of the early 1970’s.

The crazed boys of the student senate unloaded

Our trunks and carried them up the stairs to 

The rooms in Old Lodge. 

We had arrived. Right away, I met an old friend, then a

New one. I went right away to get mail room keys 

And met another new friend.

Teapots wined, and clothes were thrown askew

As we unpacked and settled in the new diggs.

The fresh air blew through the rooms and circulated

Around like a mist of Eden.

The treetops towered and surrounded me in dark forbodment.

Through the campus walkways.

I’d look up, and the trees looked down

The blue sky reached across,

And the universe draped above revealed

The sun, the moon, and the stars

Of a sheltering sky.

I fiddled with the clothes I had brought

For my wardrobe. Midi dresses, maxi skirts

Blue jeans, wool sweaters, and a felt hat.

Bangle bracelets, turquoise pins, and necklaces.

It’s not a lot; it’s just enough to pack, store and wear..

Course catalogs were pulled out and discussed over sipped tea.

Everyone is sure and unsure of what to choose

For the first semester, each conjuring dreads of Milton,

Musicology and the dramaturgy of Shakespeare, business, or politics.

The time was right; I had dreamt of attending college my whole life.

I was caught up in my dream in the Gothic towers, in the sea of green pine and the tousled hair I threw behind my shoulder as I crossed the campus quad, dressed in a plaid coat and my felt hat, eyeing the spires of the gothic towers.

 My assent into the clouds of imagination and wonder of the far-off past of illusion and darkness that books held for my fascination. 

Oblivious to the undercurrent of rock music and rock suicides and cultural upheavals. 

The initial movement of a sovereign state for French culture and declining English dominance. 

And the embarrassing issues of subjugation of the black people portrayed by popular films. 

The outside world kept creeping into my mind, not as a curiosity but as the turbulence of a furnace chugging and refiring. 

I was a leaf spiraling in the wind toward a winter’s deathly snowstorm.

Walking on through the quad, I heard a whistle from a boy.

Feeling self-conscious, I felt the pain and love of being noticed. I walked on, gelling on nature’s heights and arriving at the gym to register for classes.

I sat at a table and waited to talk to an upperclassman about picking classes.

English novel, Shakespeare or Canadian Literature,

Acting definitely, English Language and Literature not a preference, but maybe?

Should I be a writer or an actress? I felt relief and anticipation all at once; I was beginning my journey into the creative realms of the past—the writers who molded the identities of culture and my mixed interpretations of their meanings.

I found my culture a burden in this nook on the Massawippi. I was ashamed of the Vietnam War, the hedonism of cultural trends, and U.S. imperialism, which threatened the Canadian soul. With thoughts of so many differences between countries, I was glum, a little sad, and homesick after a week of being busy with pub parties, tea rooms, and dancing.

I loved dancing and grooving to Jim Morrison and the Doors, but here in the province, this was replaced with dancin’ “rock and roll,” a type of swing dance that floated with swings and sways.

After dancing, the sky abounded with stars on the walk back to Old Lodge.

Late-night pizza parties followed, and late-nighters were already our normal. Classes hadn’t begun yet, and get-togethers occurred throughout the day and evening, with most of us attending bonfires, pub gatherings, and dorm room soirees. I was intensely interested in my new drama friends and spent hours garnering the minds of student actors. It opened my eyes to smoking Canadian cigarettes, talking about somatic practices, and then expressing disappointment in the lack of connection to the vibes of the moment. 

                                                                  Later Romance

The seasons were changing, and November brought rain, slush, and snow storms. Students thought it would be a year without snow but were pleasantly surprised when the snowstorms started. The first flakes sprinkled the bridge, making it harder to crawl over the arches on the way back from the pubs. 

The boy with the neckerchief scarf held secret meetings in his bedroom, leaving the door to his room open so I would stop in after partying with my friends.  

He was a mindbender coexisting in his dorm room as a stoner. A slow drag on a splif swirled about him, enticing me, and I didn’t care much about who was tripping out with my mind.

There were interesting responses to his flirting, usually during the late hours in his room. 

 I lost control of myself once I was with him, mainly as he played there, enveloped by the moonlight and the slow drift of smoke.

An inner voice held me, “Don’t be so foolish.” 

He had a room facing the porch with a low windowsill, and I found it curious that I was drawn to it. His presence was like a cloak. He was an older student. He knew I was fascinated with him, and he fostered my attraction. I wasn’t sure where my attraction to him was going, but it recently turned into a bazaar experience. I stumbled into exploding emotions.

One morning, I tried approaching him about the nightly affairs, and he crumbled his brow.  “Get out of my room,” he yelled. ‘I don’t want you here anymore.” 

 I exploded into tears and ran away from him.  I walked over the bridge to town. Trying to control my crying, I  picked through the sunglasses in a local store to hide my tears.

I sat down at a large table, eating my lunch. As the composer returned to me, thoughts emerged about the insanity of my situation. I would call home and try leaving campus before any feelings for him reappeared.

                 

The two girls made their way to Lisa’s apartment. Lisa grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. I needed that hug; high adrenalin was stirring in my body. After what I had been through that day, the hug was soothing. A cloud of voices swirled around me: Claire and Lisa chatted, mostly Lisa, about her breakup.

“You two had been together so long,” Claire said, grieving Lisa’s loss in her voice. I drank a beer and began to feel the icy fizz coat my throat. I’ll have two more, then stop for the night.

“I always thought you fell for the stoner,” Lisa told me.

“You have to think about yourself as an independent soul.” “When I was first with Brian, it was all about him,” she laughed. “ Glad I’m over that!” she started.

Her voice chilled me, and I sighed, “Yes.” “I think so,” drizzled the last beer bottle down my throat and opened another. Was this the second beer? I was wondering, trying to put an end to him in my mind. The other girls knew that and tried to reinforce his smattering of my senses as a sign. But it was not working. I was mellowing in my feelings, afraid I had injured his pride and mine in the prank. I drank another beer and settled into the conversation.

Feeling sloshed as I left Lisa’s apartment, Claire and I realized we could get one more drink at the Union Pub. The two girls headed up the main street to the campus road. The snow was falling, covering the ground. Squalls were piercing the view of the road. They stomped into the Pub and ordered another beer. By now, the two were laughing, and finding familiar faces in the crowd began mingling. After a while, I found myself in line for another beer when I saw him. I nestled up to him in line.

 Margo whispered, “Hey?”

He whispered back, “Get outta here!” in a culling voice.

The crowd pushed me away. I felt defeated and looked around for Claire.

Claire was gone, and I was on my own. I drank down the beer I had just gotten and stumbled home to my dorm room—two beers too many. The thought swam in my head: I was drunk and dizzy and in love again with the stoner.

  Hey Man, November Rain

When I got back, I didn’t fall asleep. I stared out the window, looking across the drive for him to come home. I could see his room from mine and knew when he was there.

“Hey, are you alright? ” Claire had to check on me. I had been through a lot, and Claire knew it.

“I’m still awake here,” I said.

“Well, I’m going to bed.” “Glad you made it back,” and then shut the door.

I stared out the window again and saw the light in his room. I dressed and headed for his room without restraint but felt guilty about what I had done. When I got there, he was on his bed, the door was open, and when I walked in, he whispered to me to shut the door.

I sat cross-legged on the side of his bed, kicked off my shoes, and let my head fall lazily next to him.

I started to cry. ” I’m so sorry for what I did.” “Are you alright?”

“It’s alright. I didn’t feel a thing.” “Really.”

“I thought I might have hurt you.”  I nestled my head close to him on the mattress and sighed then begged. “Can I … with you?” “ I can’t sleep anymore,” I tried to crawl beside him.

“Not like that,” he said, and I took it as a signal to undress. I stripped to my underwear and got in bed with him. 

I moved in a rhythm with his body. I felt his heat, and then suddenly, I was on top of him. Intense, I fell bent over to his lips. He fell cold. I thought I had done something wrong. Feeling no surrender to the moment, I needed to say something.

“I would have balled you if I was on the pill.”  I lay silent until he told me to get dressed and go.

“But I can’t find my shoes.” I simpered.

“Walk home barefoot,” He coaxed.  

“But I’ll wreck my stockings,” I simpered again.

“No, you won’t.” “Just do it,” he coaxed again.

 I was in a drunken fog and didn’t want to leave. I stood up and made my way to the door.  I turned to look at him.

 It hit me, so I opened his door and left.

I left and walked barefoot back to my dorm room. The snow that had been falling turned to rain, so the snow I walked in was all slush. I was frazzled as I tiptoed across the parking lot between the dorms. 

“What had I just done?” I said to myself as judgment set in. I didn’t cry but fell into a dazed fog, partly from no sleep and partly from the beers the night before.  The one-two many I knew I’d regret.

I climbed the stairs to my room and saw my dorm room door open. Inside was Claire, waiting for me. “What did you do?” “ Did you sleep with him?”  She pried as my heart opened.

“I did,” 

“What happened? When I checked, were you in bed?” 

I fell into a confession of events. “He tossed me.” I blurted out. Claire looked at me, stunned.

 She said nothing.

I turned away, embarrassed and at a loss for this turn of events. Claire walked out of the room. “I’m going to sleep,” I said. “Me too,” Claire agreed.

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