Junior Year - Part 2, Dump Two, Gain One

At some point I received a letter from Evan in Athens, Georgia. I was with Sam and when I opened it a fat joint rolled out. Sam couldn’t wait to light it up. So he did and we smoked it.

“Wow! That is some good shit!”, said Sam.

“Yup. See that’s why I can’t get off on the Mexican shit you guys smoke up here. We had the good stuff down there.”

Anyhow, I read the letter and it said stuff like how he missed me and how his dog should have her big old head in my lap.

I sure I wished I could explain how I dumped him because he was a drug dealer and all, but there was no percentage in doing that. So, I didn’t write back at all.

Eventually, my body builder boyfriend Zach, from Cornell, called me and asked me to come over for a visit too. I had told Sam about him. I just wouldn’t feel right about breaking up with him over the phone as he had been very good about writing to me while I was in Georgia, so I asked Sam to drive me to Cornell and he agreed. The very same weekend, Sam drove me to Cornell and dropped me off at Zach’s Fraternity.

Of course there was a party and Zach looked just a delicious as I remembered. He was tan and must have worked out over the summer because he was all bulked up and huge. I couldn’t wait to paw him. He gave me a big kiss and we danced. We helped ourselves to drinks. Some how he had arranged to have his room all to himself this that evening.

When we got there we were all over each other. I wanted to tear his clothes off of his body he was so hot. But I fussed with the fucking buttons on his shirt and he helped; damn there were too many. Finally I could see his pecs and abs. He was a god! I nearly fainted. His arms were a prize too. But he wanted to see me, and I just couldn’t understand that, but whatever. My clothes came off really quickly. I was so hot for him and when he mounted me I realized that if he didn’t lift me up and fuck me hard, literally pound me with his body strength, his penis just wasn’t big enough to get me off the way that Sam’s was.

This was kind of a disappointing realization. But I knew I had to dump him anyway because it wasn’t fair to Sam to date Zach, at least in my mind. I just wasn’t cool enough to date more than one guy at a time. I sure would miss my body builder boyfriend. But, I was still underneath Zach, and he was pounding away, trying to get me off while I was thinking these thoughts. I held him tighter and lifted my pelvis a bit to urge him on. He grabbed my ass and lifted it a bit. Then suddenly he grunted and came. He kissed me and said that he was tired. I let it go.

The next day Sam picked me up as planned. Later that week I wrote a “Dear John”, letter to Zach, saying that I didn’t understand the nature of our relationship and that I thought we should end it. I never heard from him again. Now that Sam had me all to himself, he decided to take me home to meet his father, Hershel and step-mother Wallis, who lived in Amityville on Long Island.

Sam drove us down there one weekend in his Audi 90 at about 80 miles per hour which gets you there pretty fast, let me tell you.

My first impression was that Sam looked nothing like Hershel, but later when I met Sam’s mother, I saw where his looks came from. However, Sam’s father was just the nicest guy you could ever meet. Their house was a cape cod, just like the one I grew up in so I felt at home right away. In the living room there were two large recliners in front of the television set. It was obvious that plenty of tv was watched in this home.

Hershel and Wallis owned the cutest shorthair dachshunds named Oscar and Mayer. Each dog was exactly lap size. The favorite story was how one day they were eating Szechwan food and dropped a piece and of course, Oscar got to it before it could hit the floor, only to realize it was hotter than he bargained for. He was at his water dish the rest of the night.

That night, Sam confided to me that he was falling in love with me. I did not handle it well at all. I just didn’t feel the same way yet, and when I balked in replying by trying lamely to make a joke about it he got very upset. Then I had to spend the rest of the evening soothing his injured feelings. It was not a pretty sight. Basically, I fucked up.

Junior Year - Part 1, Billy Joel Concert

Now that all of you have finished reading Bookfield, my fictionalized (names changed to protect the innocent) autobiographical telling of the time that I sold bible related books door-to-door in Athens, Georgia, we are ready to move on to my return to college in my Junior year. The tale begins below.

I had packed all of my winter stuff in my green duffle bag and got back on the Greyhound bus to Cayuga College. I sure was glad to leave my mom behind. I was staying on the tenth floor of the twin towers dorm in a six person suite with my new roommate, a tall thin back stroker named Mary, plus Jan and Amy from last year and two other girls that I did not know.

When I got back it didn’t take long for Sam, the freshman guy I met on the bus on the way home, to get in touch with me. He called up and asked me out to a Billy Joel concert. Of course I said “Yes!” Who didn’t love Billy Joel?

The concert was in a town about an hour away, but Sam drove his 1972 2-door Audi Super 90 which was Hunter Green with a tan buckskin leather interior. The car was a classic.

He brought his home town high school buddies Ian and Tony. Ian was a very light blond and looked sort of Scandinavian and Tony was really short and looked exactly like a miniature bodybuilder at 5 foot 5 inches. His body was well muscled and perfectly proportioned but tinier all over. He would have been a god if only he were taller. He made the esteemed Cayuga Varsity Gymnastics Team as a freshman and that was no small feat. These two were part of Sam’s posse and followed him everywhere.

On the way to the concert we stopped at a MacDonald’s and when asked what I wanted I ordered what I was accustomed to getting in Athens, five hamburgers. Sam’s eyes widened and he stared at me. Suddenly I realized that it was not normal for a petite coed to order five hamburgers. So, I quickly lowered the order to three. I would just get by on three.

Sam said “I was wondering where you were going to put those five hamburgers.” He looked up and down at my trim figure.

I smiled innocently and said sweetly “A girl has to eat. That was how I was eating when I was riding 40 miles a day in Athens on my bike to sell books door-to-door.”, in my best Southern accent. He melted. Men could not resist the accent. I think he kissed me for the first time then.

We had great seats at the concert; they were on the floor not far from Billy Joel. I felt like he was just about in my lap, when in reality he was maybe 40 or 50 feet away. He was so young, energetic and vital and the way they staged it, his whole band was in darkness and the piano was lit in the foreground so you could only see him playing it. When he played fast songs on the piano, like the prelude to The Angry Young Man, his hands blurred because they were moving so fast. What a thrill I had being there! What a super concert!

On the way home, Ian decided to spark up a doobie and share it with Tony. They offered to pass it to me, but I deferred. Sam refused because he was driving. Next thing we know, we got cops behind us. We opened all the windows to air out the car and Ian stomped out the roach on the floor. He had a small baggie of weed between his legs that he was ready to toss out the window at a moments notice. Sam pulled over and we waited for the nice officer to come and tell us what the problem was.

While he was on his way over, Sam glanced in his rear view mirror and saw the second officer creeping up the passenger side of the car. He quickly said “Ian don’t.” Ian froze and did not throw the bag out the window where it would have landed at the officer’s feet or at least flown right by him. The other officer came to the window and said “License and registration please.” Sam already had these out and provided them to the officer. “Where are you going this late at night Sam?”

“We are going back to college after a concert Sir.”, replied Sam clearly and respectfully.

After a short period of inspecting Sam’s records with the help of his flashlight he said “Well, watch your speed Sam and drive carefully. Go on now.”

We drove away as quickly as the law allowed. We rolled up our windows and Ian and Tony regaled me with stories of great police getaways that Sam had under his belt and how great he was talking to the police. Apparently he had talked his way out of a great many tickets.

We got back to campus in one piece. Ian, Tony and Sam we scattered all over the campus as far as dorms, none of them managing to become roommates, which wasn’t allowed for freshmen. Sam and I went back to his dorm room. Sam’s roommate was quite a dweeb I must admit. He really did nothing more than take up space. He breathed through his mouth, he was thick headed, he had a constant hard-on up to his nose, and I could find nothing about him that was redeeming. He had promised to sleep elsewhere this evening however and that was a good thing since Sam and I planned to have sex. It was the seventies after all.

Sam was a virgin, but I sure couldn’t tell. It was as if he was made just for me size wise and he seemed to know just how to move to please me as well. We were perfectly sexually compatible and he had me screaming with each orgasm that night. Actually, he earned the nickname “Stud”, after that one particular evening with me since I could be heard up and down the hall. He didn’t mind that much too at all. After that we had sex at least twice a day; morning and evening. Sometimes we did it right in front of his loser roommate, though not with him watching.

He and his buddies also smoked a lot of weed. I tried his pot, but it didn’t get me off the way Evan’s did in Georgia. Sam and his pals nicknamed me the “waste”, as in they didn’t want to waste any of their weed on me. That was fine with me. Ah, what a semester that was: party, party, party.

Here are some videos of tunes Billy played at the concert back in 1976:

Sophomore Year - Part 8, Acing Organic Chemistry

I was astounded with my own progress through the self tutorials of organic chemistry’s second semester. By the end of March, I was taking the very last one. After I passed that one, I was eligible to take the final exam. I just couldn’t believe it. I could be entirely done with this 3 credit course more than two months in advance of the end of the semester! Plus I had taken a full course load and worked at my own pace. It was just that I had this inexplicable natural proclivity and aptitude for this subject that enabled me to learn extremely quickly. I requested that Dr. Silver give me the final immediately while the material was fresh in my brain.

So at the next class, while everyone was taking their quizzes, I sat with the final exam which had ten questions. I had two hours to complete it. I read through the exam quickly and found that I could not answer any of the ten questions. Panic time. I could not answer a single one. Not one. None. I was holding my breath. I looked around the class at my fellow students busily working their quizzes. I felt like a fake. I looked at the front of the class at the other smart kids that had stayed clear of me when I pulled ahead of them in the quizzes. It sure is lonely at the top. At my school, those kids were all trying to get into medical school and they were also competitive as hell. I was ruining the curve for them as well. They would just love it if I failed. And it seemed that what just what I was about to do if I could not answer even one of the questions on the final. I was in all out panic mode when the 1 hour class ended and Dr. Silver told me that we had to move to the lab room to finish the test. I quickly hid my test paper so that he would not see that I had not done anything yet and got up to move.

We walked across the quad to the lab building and the fresh air helped me snap out of my panic. I thought that there must be one question that I could answer on the whole exam, and I would look for that question as soon as I sat down. We made it into the lab; I sat down and looked for the question that I could answer. A short time later, I found it. So I answered that one, and then looked for another. After that I was able to do the test. Time was not really an issue once I got going. I had already gotten my panic out of the way. I learned that sometimes I just really needed that panic time and that if I allowed myself that I could move forward. I have used that strategy in life many times.

Dr. Silver came in and graded the test right in front of me. Talk about instant gratification. I had made a very small error in one of my syntheses and he gave me an A. I was elated to say the least. An A in organic chemistry was the stuff dreams were made of. He shared my joy.

He told me of a senior research project, that he would like for me to undertake next year. He was saving it for a gifted organic chemistry student who was also studying biology. He said that I would be perfect for it. It involved identifying the chemical components of the alarm pheromones from local amber ants called Acanthomyops claviger. We would use a gas chromatograph and nuclear magnetic resonance imaging to do this. My eyes opened really wide. The project sounded so challenging. He assured me that he would be my adviser and that he had full confidence that I would be able to do it. Was I interested in the project? I told him it sounded wonderful and I wished I could start now. He smiled broadly at that. We shook hands.

When I got back to my dorm, my Dale Carnegie books had arrived. So I read them.

Eventually the semester ended and all of the organic chemistry students took the final. When all of the grades came in, mine was the highest. But there were other A’s. I really felt that my grade should be increased to an A+ based on the curve. So I thought about how best to approach this based on what the Dale Carnegie books said. Then I went to Dr. Silver’s office.

I walked in and said “Hi Dr. Silver. How are you?”

“Hi Sue. I am fine. How are you? What can I do for you?”

“I just have one question. Why didn’t you give me an A+ on the final?”

He looked flummoxed as he stammered and said “Well let’s take a look at that…” Then he rifled through various papers and exams and mucked around his office. I really caught him off guard. He hesitated and then said “I really don’t see any reason not to give you an A+. So I will change your grade to an A+.” Then he smiled at me. I smiled back.

“Thank you so much Dr. Silver! See you next year!” Then I walked out on air.

* * *

Here is an organic chemistry quiz for you: What famous organic chemist is this and what pivotal discovery did he make?

Here is a hint:

Sophomore Year - Part 7, Ornithology and Zach

The other course I was taking that I really loved was ornithology, the study of birds. Dr. Fågelson, an older man in his early sixties, was our professor and I really liked him. We had lecture classes and for our labs we went birding with him in his Volkswagen bus.

I really loved the birding part of the class. He was an expert birder. We all bought Roger Tory Petersen Field Guide to Eastern Birds in addition to our ornithology text book. We were provided with binoculars and brought the guide books and binoculars with us on our field trips. We were required to keep life lists of all the birds we saw beginning with those we saw on our class trips. I was so excited! This opened a whole new world for me.

We departed really early in the morning, before the sun was even up. Dr. Fågelson would drive like a madman with his window open listening for birds. Meanwhile, it was bitterly cold and the frozen air was coming into the van. But he would see a bird on a wire and screech the van to a halt, or hear a bird call and veer off dangerously off the road and set off out the door at a run, expecting us all to follow, or miss out on the sighting. If you missed out, you would miss out on seeing something that might be tested later. But most importantly to me, you missed out on a life experience, on seeing something you had never seen before, and might never see again. Didn’t everyone see how precious this man was? How inspiring he was? What a genius he was? How could they not? I just wanted to be inspired by him. But, not everyone saw him as I did. I got to run after him to see the woodcock, the wood thrush, the rufus sided towhee, the kingbird, the ruby crowned kinglet, the indigo bunting, the meadow lark, the killdeer, the snow geese, the blue bird, the cedar waxwing and so many more.

I sat right behind him in the van, questioning him about the birds we might see. One day we were talking about large predatory birds. I asked him what kinds of those birds we could expect in our area. His answer was “Well, we do see some kestrels and lots of red tail hawks. Rarely you will see an eagle. But, hey, wait! There is one right now!!! Pull over! Stop the van!”

We screeched to a halt and off he ran across the frozen corn field with me following at his heels. He jumped over the mounded rows that were frozen solid, and hard as rocks. I looked up and saw a huge bird sunning its wings high up in a tree in the first rays of morning light. Bur Dr. Fågelson still wasn’t close as he wanted to be. He ran down a little gully while looking up through his binoculars and fell headlong into a small partly frozen stream. Unfazed, he got up and kept running up the other side of the gully. He assembled the class on the other side in a corn field. We all had a really great view of the golden eagle there.

He told us how rare a sighting this eagle was in this area. Then he talked about what the eagle eats and how it lives and so forth. I just listened and stared at the eagle though my binoculars. I was amazed. It was a day I will never forget. God, I loved that class. I would have aced it, but a big part of the final was memorizing bird calls. To me, all ducks and sparrows sound alike. So, I only got a B. Oh well. So it goes.

At the end of that week of seeing the eagle, Zach came to Cayuga to visit me. I couldn’t wait to show him off to my suitemates. They were duly impressed. We hugged each other good and hard and I took the time to really feel all those muscles I had missed so much. We kissed in our suite lobby and as he forced his tongue into my mouth, my knees gave out and he lifted me into his arms and carried me into my room. He kicked the door shut after us. I could see my suite mates happy faces as we left; they were probably thinking it was so romantic and it was. He gently laid me on the bed and proceeded to undress me.

Oh god I wanted him to fuck me so bad. I helped him with my buttons and zippers, and his and in no time we were naked. He was making those grumbling growling noises as he kissed my body and sucked on my breasts that he mounded with his hands. I writhed on the bed with expectation. Quickly he donned a condom and we began to make love. He lifted my hips clear off the bed again and I just never could get enough of that feeling. He was so fucking strong to be able to lift me while fucking me. It was such a turn on. I felt like I was totally under his power; it was so easy for him to do. It was as if I weighed nothing. Then of course I had a great view of his meaty chest during sex, which was totally hot, plus seeing his handsome face as he pounded his cock into me until he shot his load. God, sex with him was wonderful.

Afterwards, I had time to really look at his body. He was beautiful everywhere. Since he was from Florida, and had just returned from Winter break there, he had a perpetual tan. He had great thighs. They had just the right amount of muscle, nice and thick with a bit of light brown fur. His calves were good and solid too. But nobody that went to Cornell had bad calves. (That is an inside joke – there are so many gorges in Ithaca that it is said that the coeds have over muscled calves.) He had the widest shoulders. That was my favorite part of him. From them hung his marvelous pectoral muscles that I used to lie across. He was absolutely perfect in my eyes and I wanted him to stay just where he was forever. I entertained thoughts of tying him to my bed. But I rarely saw him asleep. When he was awake he was always ravaging me with his animalistic grumbling growling noises or we were going out someplace to have a good time.

We continued to see each other through the spring. Zach became my bodybuilder boyfriend and I was thrilled.

Photo credits Zach: Unnatural Devotions

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 2

I felt the drabness of the terminal closing in on me. A solitary passersby eyed me with sinister or maybe just a hungry look. I was scared. Where was Mom? Why was she so late? I could easily rationalize a one hour traffic delay, but now it was coming up on two hours. Images of terrible car accidents came involuntarily to mind. I clenched my teeth for strength and resolve. I had been through a lot this summer; surely I could over come this. I walked to a bank of telephones and put in a quarter. I telephoned my father’s house in Massapequa, collect. When Dad answered, I burst into tears.

“Dad, I’m at the Greyhound terminal in New York. Mom was supposed to meet me two hours ago and she’s not here. Have you heard from her by any chance?” I stammered.

“Calm down honey.” he crooned. I was reassured just by the sound of his voice. “I’m sure she’s okay. Its probably traffic; I’m sure she’ll show up soon. I tell you what, if she isn’t there in another half hour, I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll let you know when I get home, or whatever.” I conquered my outburst. I hung up the phone, did an abut face, and returned to the television circle. Another fifteen minutes passed, and I saw her blond hair and colorful jacket. Relief, accompanied by emotion overtook me. I stood up, but she didn’t see me right away. Finally her head turned in my direction. Her face looked at me sternly. I rushed to her with my arms outstretched, “Mom, you’re alright! I was so worried.” She withdrew from my attempted embrace.

“Not now Susie. I was worried too. I’ve been here for over two hours looking for you. You could have been dead, or you didn’t wait where I told you to?” she said in an edgy pissed off voice.

“I’m sorry, but you must have just missed me by some incredible coincidence! I did wait in the circle from time-to-time, and just outside of it over there” I pointed, “because I was scared and there was a transit cop. I didn’t think you could miss me just right there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now! I told you to wait there and you did not do what I told you. Let’s get out of this place.”

I insisted on calling Dad back before we left to make sure he didn’t worry, not hearing from me while we drove home.

“I told you she was okay.” he cooed. He was so supportive. Mom had waited impatiently.

“None of this would have happened if you had waited where I told you to!” she admonished again.

We turned to walk towards the exit. I couldn’t wait to get out of the terminal. Meeting my Mom certainly hadn’t gone as planned. I felt my sadness starting to break as I approached the large exit doors and saw that the sun was still shining brightly. The street looked inviting, even though it was Eighth Avenue, a terrible neighborhood. I walked slightly ahead of Mom to open the door for her. This would all pass and the ride home would be more like I had in mind. I sure had a lot of stories to regale her with.

Suddenly, blinding pain seared across my right temple. In a flash, blunt pain moved through my head from one side to the other. My eyeglasses flew off my face, cutting the bridge of my nose. My head pivoted sharply left. She had punched me. I never saw it coming. She had blindsided me with a sucker punch. Tears instantly came to my eyes, and it took me a few moments to recover from the shock and pain. But the physical pain was hardly a match for the emotional pain I immediately felt. I turned and faced her, looking shocked and distraught. There was no remorse in her face, rather this flushed and scary look that had me thinking that the attack might just continue. She looked right at my face with cold clear eyes and witnessed my pain. Still her face was angry and impassive.

“Let’s go.” she said. No one had seen her hit me. It was the first time in public.

I wept openly as I retrieved my bent eyeglasses from the floor, and tried to examine the cut on my nose. I imagined how Sam would have reacted if he had stayed to wait with me (as he had offered). But I didn’t wish he was here to see this. No, I felt totally humiliated. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone I knew to have seen me then. I felt pathetic and ashamed in my humiliated condition. Every scrap of confidence and self worth I had gained during the entire summer was sucked out of me instantly as if a black hole had appeared in my soul the moment she hit me. I was not independent, or even adult. Who was I kidding? I was that small child again crying for mother’s love, and receiving only contempt. Why? Surely I was the most worthless being on Earth. After all, it was my fault; I had not waited where I was told. The hurt was big enough to crowd out any anger, for I felt none. I was empty of any positive feelings about myself. I felt just plain empty. She opened the door and I walked out mechanically. She looked at me again, but didn’t acknowledge anything with her glance. Overwhelmed, my mind went blank. We drove home, not speaking to one another.

I don’t remember how long it took for any spark of rational thinking to reignite again in my brain. But somewhere, on the Long Island Expressway, out from the total darkness of my thoughts came the idea that it was definitely not right for her to punch me.

Nothing I could ever do would make it right for her to do that to me. It was the only thing I could be sure of at the time. I was way too afraid of her to share my thoughts. I watched her as she drove, looking ahead, never at me, as if nothing had happened. That renewed the hurt, and I sobbed quietly. I began to see her attack as another situation, not unlike those on the bookfield that one must survive. I knew that I could never rely on changing her true nature. She could easily try to hit me again at any time. But I made a vow to myself. I would never, ever allow her to lay a hand on me again. I would watch her like a hawk every moment she was near. She would never have an opening like that one, or any undefended opening again. I promised myself. I was the only one who could prevent her attacks. Never would I allow myself to be physically hurt by her again.

I clung to that thought like a drowning person to a life saver, keeping her in view out of the corner of my eyes. I breathed in deeply as if coming up from a great depth, and being starved for air. I muttered under my breath, “never, never, never!” And in that one moment, I was an adult.

THE END

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 1

The Greyhound bus departed early in the morning from the tiny one room station in Cayuga, New York, bound for New York City. I had to go home to Nassau County, briefly, to pick up my winter clothes for the semester ahead. It was a gorgeous late summer day in the country. I sat in an aisle seat next to a young man, whose face I really couldn’t see at first. He turned out to be cute, though. Dark brown hair, ivory skin, brown eyes, I liked him immediately. His name was Sam, and we seemed to have quite a lot in common. He did gymnastics in high school as had I, and was also biology major at Cayuga, but a freshman, on his way home to Riverhead, also on Long Island. I told him that I was a junior. We chatted the whole 6 hour drive to the city. He was entranced by my southern accent. At one point I was sleepy and put my head on his well muscled shoulder. He seemed happy enough with that. He gallantly offered to wait with me for my mother to pick me up, but I declined politely. We decided to get in touch when we returned from home. I felt pretty confident that we would date (and we did) and my spirits were high.

I was an adult returning home. An adult who had made it through the summer against difficult odds, doing a job that proved my independence, and tenacity. The demanding hours and personal sacrifices surely illustrated my ability stick-to-it when the going got rough. I felt confident that I could do anything. I couldn’t wait to greet my Mom, as a new adult me.

We arrived at the Greyhound bus terminal on Eighth Avenue, NYC in daylight. The terminal was notorious at that time for sheltering panhandlers, drug dealers, muggers, and other unsavory characters. Sam and I said our farewells and he was quickly lost from sight in the crowd gathered to meet the bus outside. I entered the terminal. There was no natural daylight as I walked further in. The institutional gray cinder blocks were dimly lit by weak fluorescent bulbs. The floor was filthy, and smells of urine rose in waves while a general stuffiness predominated the air. God knows what the bathrooms looked like. I never would have dared venturing into one.

I had been instructed to meet Mom in the terminal’s television area. The area consisted of a raised circle of molded grey plastic chairs with coin operated television sets attached to one arm of each chair. I stood inside the circle of chairs trying not to look conspicuous, and simultaneously checking out the people around me, for about twenty minutes.

‘Mom should be by any time.’ I thought to myself while I waited.

A small group of young unkempt black men was loitering in the circle. They asked me for change for a television, and I told them I didn’t have any. They kept looking me over, and I didn’t feel that staying in the circle for a prolonged time was a good idea. I waited there for another few minutes, even though I felt more concerned as each second ticked by. My eyes followed a transit cop as he made his rounds just past the circle. I left the circle and followed the cop. He only walked about ten or fifteen feet from the circle and stood his ground as if it was his post. I chose to stand behind him, up against the wall. I was still plenty close enough to the circle to be seen, and to see anyone else who entered the circle. There I waited until I had waited for abut an hour total. The station was emptying out by then. Soon all that were left were people who appeared to be loitering, or confused. The transit cop was on the move again. I really felt insecure, and so I followed him a little bit, thinking about reasons my usually punctual Mom could be late. I concluded that traffic on the Long Island Expressway was most logical. ‘She’s probably here by now’ I thought as I returned to the circle again. The loiterers had split. I sat in one of the television chairs. I didn’t have enough coins to watch, and by now I was kind of worried about Mom and wasn’t interested in T.V.. I noticed how the floor under the circle of chairs was raised, like a stage, above the surrounding flooring. This made me feel exposed, like the one animal in the pack that is straggles behind, and is therefore more likely to be singled out by predators. I returned to my position by the wall. More time passed by. Where was mom?

Bookfield, Blue Mountain - Part 2

The next morning at eight o’clock we all got into the canoes owned by the Cayuga facility and began to paddle to Blue Mountain. It was maybe 3 miles away and with 3 canoeists in each boat, it was easy going and fun. The lake was peaceful and gorgeous and we could see the Adirondack Mountains in the distance all around. There was one short portage, and then we were quickly back into the water for the last leg of paddling. We disembarked at the foot of Blue Mountain and met our two guides. We could summit before lunch hiking at a steady pace. So we started out, led by our guides.

I kept pace with the guides easily and we spoke about the flora and fauna of the Adirondacks. It was supposed to be an educational trip, after all. I had quite a southern accent, and everyone wanted to know how I came by it and inevitably I ended up regaling them with my Parchment stories. Suddenly, I felt so energized that I began to race up ahead. One of the guides followed me and one other student did as well. We pretty much ran up the side of Blue Mountain, making it to the summit and hour before schedule. It was exhilarating and terrific. I felt I was on top of the world both literally and figuratively and nothing could bring me down. It was a pristine view from up there; nothing bad in sight. I was in the best shape of my life from all of the riding I had done that summer.

The view from atop Blue Mountain

The way back was a breeze. We had a wonderful dinner and next on the agenda was the cedar sauna, which I had never done. I was pretty excited about it. The bad news was that the girls were going first then the boys. Though at the time there were lots of snickers and whispers on both sides about peeking and checking each other out.

After we got back to camp, the women went into the cedar sauna first. We all stripped naked. Man was it hot in there and really dry. One gal threw water onto the hot rocks and the steam rose and was almost suffocating. It felt so good to let all of my tensions go after a hard day’s rowing and hiking.

I looked around tentatively at all of the other women. Women are typically modest sorts in locker room situations and modest when together in the nude. But here in the sauna they had to be relaxed. So I took full advantage to slyly take a look. Then, it was time to take a dip into the cool lake. Steam rose from our bodies as we exited the sauna and entered the lake. The water was so cold, but if I stayed still I could feel the heat from my body warm the water near my skin. I kept thinking that this was how Native Americans bathed and how cool was that!

We all wanted to catch a glimpse of the boys getting into the sauna. But, try as we might, none of us did.

Bookfield, Blue Mountain - Part 1

I was thrilled to arrive at Syracuse Airport, but less than thrilled that the airline had lost my duffle bag. I went through the arrangements to get it back and when I found out that it was insured for $400, I was hoping I could just get the money. All of the clothes I had worn that summer were hopelessly worn out and therefore worthless.

The Syracuse Greyhound Bus Station

All the way back to Cayuga, which was about 35 miles west of Syracuse, by Greyhound bus I was thinking of just exactly how much time there was in a day, since I was accustomed to working an 80 hour week. Now I had all of that time just for myself.

I was rooming in a suite for four with three friends I had made last year. Our dorm was the top floor of a ten story new buildings called the twin towers. The view was really wonderful: hills, fields, cows, apple trees, and a little bit of small town Cayuga. I had to borrow underwear from one of my roomies who was my size 4 until the airline found my bag that had mistakenly gone to Salt Lake City, Utah. I offered to retrieve it myself, but the airline person laughed it off and the duffel was returned to me at my dorm the next day. It was so good to be home.

I had signed up for a weekend trip to the SUNY Cayuga’s Pine Tree Lake Research Facility in the Adirondacks before the semester began. We took a chartered bus there one Friday and checked into dorms. The dorms were long narrow two story log cabin type buildings with double occupancy rooms. That evening we all met at the Pine Boughs, a three story post and beam wooden structure first built in 1887, to discuss the itinerary. The next day there would be a canoe trip to Blue Mountain, which we would then climb and then canoe back. That evening, we would take a cedar sauna and a dip in the lake. Great plan!

The lodge we met at.

Bookfield, Debriefing

Guys from Parchment who were heading back to Nashville for the Sunday debriefing picked me up at the Sanders’. They had been further South in Georgia that summer. The ride was uneventful. Everyone was nervous about checking out. How much money would we get? We pulled up to Parchment Headquarters in the early afternoon. We piled out of the car with our sales cases and luggage and headed into the building. I went through the formalities of turning in my case, remitting final cash from deliveries and filing out forms at tables set up for the occasion. Then I was told to wait.

I hung around sitting on the floor with my forest green duffel bag and sometime later someone called my name. I went to the table. I had earned a profit of $3,000 that summer, about average for a first summer. My take home was $1,500, so I had spent about half during the summer and it was minus Chip’s cut. I was ready to go home now. Finally and at last, the summer was over. I had learned a lot about people and was hugely relieved that it was over. I had found oodles of confidence, enough to even survive summer at home. The ‘there’ part of it was over and it was time for the ‘back again’ part of the journey.

Robbie’s secretary came out and found me. “It’s time for your debriefing honey. Come with me.”

I didn’t realize that I would have to face Robbie again. I was despondent over this, but followed her with my duffle bag into Robbie’s office.

“Hi Sue. Good to see you back. Sit down.” I did. He continued, “Okay you made through the summer all in all pretty well. I see here that you had an average summer for a first year. Good job. There were some bumps, but that is to be expected.” He finished his mostly financial review in detail.

“Thanks Robbie. Can I go now?”

“Wait a sec Sue. What I would like to know is if you will come back next year as a sales manager.”

What a shock! It was as if a lightning bolt struck me. After the horrible struggle I had to make through this summer, it was inconceivable to come back. Thoughts of how unfair the bookfield tactics had been raced through my mind: the sexism, the brainwashing, the focus of my entire life on sales, the humiliation of sales meetings and that phone call from him. There was absolutely no way I would ever even consider coming back.

“No.” I answered calmly. Then I burst into tears. It was uncontrollable loud shaking sobs, tears racing down my face and dripping onto my jeans kind of crying. I could not stop. How could he think I would ever come back? “Never Robbie.” I managed between sobs.

He was stunned at how upset I was by his question. He added that when first timers had an average year, they were all asked to come back as managers, and besides, then I would make a percentage of my sales force’s profits. He raced over to calm me, but I did not want him to touch me at all. He then left to get his secretary. They came back together and I did not welcome either of them. They fussed, offering me water and such. I fended them off. He kept trying to guess what was wrong. He was so far off I knew that there was too wide a gulf between us to ever be bridged. It started on the first day at the sales training; when they leered at me in the hallway and compared me with my twin like we were slabs of meat, when they humiliated people at the training, the sloganeering, Chip and Gregg vying to score with me. It only got worse from then on. And so the gulf grew, unchecked. I had literally done only what was needed to reach my goal of staying on the whole summer. I achieved my goal, and only now was beginning to pay the full price.

“May I go now?” I asked again, the thought of going calming me somewhat.

“Yes Sue. If that helps, you may go.”

I got out of there as fast as I could with my duffle bag. ‘Free at last, free at last, thank almighty God, I’m free at last’ was my thought as I left.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 4

The next time I was at Evan’s place, I went up into the bedroom alone and searched the closets. The one on the right just had clothes hanging in it and I felt kind of silly going through Evan’s things. However, what I saw on the floor of the one on the left really stunned me. He had plastic trash bags with bales of marijuana in them.

He was a fucking supplier, just as Jeff had asserted. I felt let down. Now, the relationship could go nowhere. I was thinking of transferring credits to agricultural school at Georgia University to stay with Evan. I could not stay with a drug dealer. I decided that I would keep my cool, and keep the relationship just as it was, leave and never come back. I would never let Evan know what I had found. I had always kind of wondered how he paid for everything, the house, the furniture, the new truck and bike as an unemployed part time student. Family money can only go so far.

I felt betrayed. How could he be so loving and yet keep this big a secret from me? It just didn’t compute. He must have known that I would dump him in no time flat if I knew. And yet, I was not angry with him; just vastly disappointed with a life that was not to be.

Toward my last day of delivery, Evan came to say goodbye and met me outside the Sanders’ house. We talked on the driveway. He said, “I have a birthday gift for you.” I had turned twenty that week, as he held out a small box, like one you would put jewelry in.

I was a bit worried that it might be something like an engagement ring, but the box would have been velvet. I guess the thought showed on my face, as I took the box and opened it. It was a thin gold bracelet with round tiger eye gems every inch or so. “Oh Evan, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”

“Yes you can, it cost nothing compared to how I feel about you. I love you.” He looked very concerned that I did not look happy and said, “Please just tell me it was not just sex. Our relationship, I mean.”

I replied truthfully, “No Evan, it was never just sex.” I had honestly begun to care for him, until I found out he sold pot, so I smiled earnestly to reflect my caring, put the bracelet on and that seemed to make him happy. We hugged again. To myself I thought that it was a shame that he did not trust me enough to tell me that he was a drug dealer and that I would never see him again.

“I was hoping that you could come down and visit me again sometime or transfer here to take Biology.” He never knew how close our thoughts were. “I know Brandy will miss you.” He smiled. He moved forward once more and hugged me tight. I closed my eyes and tears formed because we had had some really good times and I knew this really was goodbye forever.

I bid my roomies farewell too. I had decided not to keep in touch with them either as we just never really clicked. Their semesters began later than mine, so their delivery weeks would last later than mine did. I heard that Mary did have trouble delivering to her houses. That was predictable.

The Sanders wished me luck. They were sweet people and I will never forget them.

The rapist stabber was never apprehended. The total body count was 7 by the time I left Athens.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 3

Suddenly, I felt an urgent desire to urinate. I turned to Evan and screamed over the music that I was going to the ladies room. He nodded and kept an eye on me as I headed for the back. I pushed my way through the crowd that seemed reluctant to move. I had to make body contact to force my way through. Finally I got to the ladies room, and I must have been lucky, because there was no line. I got right in and did my business, trying not to see how filthy the place was. I wiped myself with the tissue and noticed a blood stain on it. I was not having my period, so the blood was puzzling to me. Blood in my urine, I thought, why would that be? I began to feel alarmed because all I could think was that something that I didn’t understand was wrong with me. I pulled up my jeans and made my way quickly back to Evan. He looked very concerned as I told him quite frankly what the problem was. He took my hand and helped to lead me out of the bar.

When we were outside he said, “I think you might just have a bladder infection, but let me drive you to the hospital right now to get it taken care of. I’m sure it will be alright.”

I nodded thinking how secure it felt to have Evan there. He seemed to know what the problem was. I chose to believe him as we sped off to the emergency room.

It was around eleven o’clock by the time we go to the ER. I had never been to an ER before, but Evan was there and a great comfort. I don’t recall anyone else being in the waiting room, as it was late, and a week night. A nurse escorted me to a bathroom where I filled a cup with urine. There was no visible blood on the tissue this time, and, it’s just like me, I then worried that I had made a mistake and nothing was wrong.

Next the nurse took me to a separate examination room and asked me to wait. The room was completely white. White tiles on the walls, white linoleum flooring, and white ceiling. The cabinets were metal painted beige. I figured I was supposed to sit on the examining table, which was covered with a white paper sheet. There I sat. The room was cold and the fluorescent lights seemed extraordinarily bright glaring off of all the white surfaces. Time passed, and I had opportunity to worry anew. It wasn’t so much that I worried that I was deathly ill, but I worried about what painful procedure might be imposed on me.

After about a half an hour a male physician’s assistant came in. He was quite good looking.

“Hi, I’m Shawn. Could you please describe your symptoms?” he asked.

I did, and felt like maybe my story wasn’t good enough to merit being in the ER. But I had no doctor in Athens, and Evan suggested it, and seemed to know what was best.

He asked a few questions and then said, “I think we may need to do a pelvic exam.”

Suddenly, I felt suspicious because even my little bit of biology training led me to think that this exam was not needed. “Why?”

He looked flustered and quickly deferred from the pelvic. That sexist bastard just wanted to get into my pants. He told me that my urine sample was loaded with white blood cells and confirmed that I had a bladder infection. After some time he gave me the medications from the hospital pharmacy that I needed and described how I should take them. When I walked out to see Evan, he was a sight for sore eyes. It was comforting that he knew what was wrong. He took me home to the Sanders’. He kissed me sweetly good night.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 2

Fortunately, that was the roughest delivery I had. We had been taught in sales school that we would have to enter the house, ripping the box of books open and dumping the books on the floor while saying, “Hey, Mrs. Jones, kids! Here are the books you ordered!” and making a big scene by unwrapping each book to intimidate them into paying the remainder of the tab. I hardly ever had to resort to this tactic. My sales were all very solid. Folks were happy to see me and the books they had bought. They had the cash ready and in hand to pay me. When I left, they were all smiles.

The end of the day was welcome after making deliveries. It was going really well; the woman with the shot gun was the only dissatisfied customer. Jeff turned down my street and as we approached the house he said in a somewhat incredulous tone, “Is that your boyfriend?”

I saw Evan on his motorcycle in the driveway, waiting for me. He really looked cool on that bike.

“Yup. That’s Evan.” I answered. “Why?”

“Did you know that he is the main pot dealer in the county? I mean, I sell to my high school, and he supplies me.”

“What? You’ve got to be joking. Evan?” I didn’t know what to think.

“Yeah, he’s the guy. You ought to be careful around him. I mean, not that he’s dangerous or anything. I guess I’m just surprised you’re hooked up with him.” With that last comment we pulled up to the house. I thanked Jeff and got out of the car. Jeff waved to Evan, and Evan seemed to make a connection as he waved back. Jeff drove off quickly.

“What are you doing with that guy?” Evan asked pointing in the direction Jeff left in.

“Oh, I hired Jeff to help deliver my books since I don’t have a car.” I answered as calmly as possible. I thought better of asking Evan if or how he knew Jeff, even though they had waved to each other. I wasn’t exactly sure whether or not to believe Jeff’s accusation about Evan, and I didn’t really have too much time to think about it. I certainly didn’t want to let it slip to Evan that I had any suspicions about him.

Evan said, “I dropped by to see if you wanted to go out tonight. A joint North of town is having a band; we could both go on my bike.”

“Sure, let me get a jacket and drop off my sales case.”

Moments later we rode off on Evan’s bike. When we got to the small bar it was packed with people. The air was smoky, which usually I detest, but I was thrilled to be there with Evan. Jeff’s accusations must have been at least overstated. Evan bought us some beers and we listened to the music. It was very loud, hard rocking, rock and roll. It was too crowded to dance, and no space had been cleared between the tables. Evan kept one hand on my waist and pulled me closely in front of him as we listened. He pressed my ass to his groin and we swayed to the music. I was really getting turned on as he breathed into my ear. I leaned my head back against his chest and closed my eyes. My god, I was falling for him.

Bookfield, Delivery Week - Part 1

Mary, Chris and I had cardboard boxes of all of the books we sold delivered to the Sanders’ house before delivery week. We stored them in the central hallway adjacent to the stairs. Mary still had more books coming. It was such a huge pile of books! It as like a wall of cardboard and the Sanders remarked that they were astounded that we had sold so many. We tried to separate them into which ones belonged to whom.

When Jeff arrived, we loaded up his Impala’s trunk with the boxes of books for our first delivery run.

Early during delivery week, I returned the bike I had borrowed. I had had to replace the tires and had it all tuned up at a local bike shop. It was, however, still stuck in third gear. The man who owned the bike was shocked to see me return it.

“I thought that when you rode off on it, that would be the last I ever saw of it or you.” he said. “You have restored my faith in humanity, little girl.” He was amazed at the work I had done on the bike and how far I had ridden it during the summer. “I’m sure it came to better use than sitting in my breezeway.” he noted.

As we drove off, I said to Jeff, “Well, we might as well deliver to the one house I sold to in the projects today. It is on our way.”

“You sold books in the projects? Wait, you mean to tell me you went into the projects, alone?”

“Yeah. The sale was easy, but the woman had no money for a deposit and gave me one of her old shoes.” I opened my sales case and pulled out the shoe to show Jeff. He glanced over from driving and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you went in there by your self. You’re lucky you weren’t shot! If she didn’t give you any money, why try to deliver there? She probably still doesn’t have the money.”

“Well, leastways I will return her shoe.”

“It’s not worth anything, so why bother?”

“We made a bargain, and I will keep my half and return this shoe. We’re going into the projects; it is only one house any how.”

“Okay, but I suggest that you deposit what you’ve collected so far today in the bank before we go in the projects.”

“Do you really think we need to do that?”

“Yup. It would be foolish to go in there with any cash on us, or without a weapon.”

“Weapon?” I asked.

“Yeah, see that baseball bat in the back. I always carry it. You never know when you’ll need it, and I’ll feel better knowing that its there when we go into the projects.”

I looked over the back of my seat, and sure enough there was a heavy wooden baseball bat on the floor of the car. It looked brand new.

Jeff and I drove to the Citizens’ and Southern Bank to deposit all of the money in my blue-black zippered vinyl money collection envelope before we went to deliver to the one house I sold to in the projects. We had collected about a thousand dollars so far. It felt good to put it safely in the bank, and the bank cashier was so happy to see me when I walked in with so much cash. Jeff suggested that we take a Family Bible Library set out of the trunk here, in the bank’s parking lot, rather than when we got to the projects. He looked pretty serious about it, and I figured I’d just trust his judgment.

We got the set out of the trunk, put it on the floor of the front seat and hopped back into the old green Impala. Off we drove to the projects. The house I had sold to was only a handful of blocks from the bank. We pulled up in front of the house. Even though it was mid afternoon, no one was about. Jeff put the car in park and looked over at me nervously.

“Make it quick.” he suggested.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine.” I picked up the FBL set and the shoe and walked up to the door of the house. I knocked. The door did not open, but I heard noises inside.

“Shhh, honey, get away from the door and be quiet.” It was a whispered voice of the woman I had sold to from inside of the house.

“Hi there Mrs. Jones.”, I said. “It’s Sue Fairview. Remember you ordered some books from me and I’m here to deliver them?” I tried to speak loudly enough that she could hear me, without yelling.

“Do you have my shoe? Did you bring my shoe with you?” Her voice seemed fearful and aggressive.

“Yes, Ma’am. I have it right here.” I held out the shoe in front of me as if she could see it through the still closed door.

“Now you listen to me! I have a shotgun pointed at you right through this door. You leave that shoe on the stoop right there, and get out of here, so no one gets hurt. You leave that shoe, or I’ll shoot!”

‘Yes ma’am. I’m leaving it right here, ma’am.” I said as quickly as I could. I put the shoe on the concrete stoop theatrically, in case some on was watching, and backed off immediately. I walked briskly back to the car. I did not run. I felt that running would escalate the situation. Jeff leaned over to my side and pushed the door open before I got there. I slid in, slammed the door and said, “Let’s get out of here!” He did not hesitate to follow this instruction, and even seemed to have his drive out of there planned. I took one more look as we drove away. I saw the door open slightly. A black woman’s hand darted out and grabbed the shoe, pulling it back into the house. The door closed as quickly as it had opened.

“What happened back there?” Jeff asked me as we reached safer neighborhoods.

“She told me she had a shotgun pointed at me through the door and to leave the shoe on the stoop.”

“Thank God nothing happened! I told you it was a mistake to go back there. You risked your life to return that stupid old shoe. That bitch would have shot you for that damn shoe.”

“You were right.” I said dejectedly. But still I felt that returning the shoe to its owner was very right. I never should have been there to take it. It was as if the world order that had been disturbed the day that I took the shoe, was now restored. The shame I felt in taking it was lifted, especially since I had risked my life to restore the order.

At first I had been afraid when the woman claimed to have a gun. But that fear passed when I left the shoe on the stoop.