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 classes 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 class, 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 class 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 class, 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 Norsemen 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 class, 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 classroom 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 classes, 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 class, 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 classes, 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 passed 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 classmates, 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 unobserved from my stationary corner…
The Observer