The Problem - Once Upon a Time in My Life - Part 9
As my two roommates walk ahead of me, I hear one turn to the other. "Walk fast, he's weird." They are talking about me and I agree with them. Symmes dining hall is just ahead. My first time ever eating "school food", as my mother had made lunch for me every day from kindergarten through high school graduation. The other freshmen seem to have this whole scary deal figured out, but me, I don't even know how to pour the milk from the tap. I spill it all over my tray and assume everyone sees me do it. My roommates sit down at a table of about a dozen impossibly beautiful girls, the likes of which I have never spoken to in my life, and I join them. Dave, the one who will eventually be named president of the most popular fraternity here at Miami University, cheerfully introduces himself to the women. I say nothing. A minute passes. I pick up my tray and walk away, as the fear is too much and I cannot take another second in their presence. Moving to a table at the rear of the room I hear the guys at the next table ridiculing me. "Did you see him pour milk all over himself?" My next move is to the door. I leave the food, leave my roommates and the lovely young girls. I have to get out of this place.
It is my first day on campus and I only know a rough outline of the school grounds and the adjoining town of Oxford, Ohio. Walking down a side avenue, parallel to High Street, which I have figured out to be the main road, I hear someone on a porch say, "Look at that one, he thinks he's tough." I can only keep my head down and keep going. I make it to a gas station and a pay phone. "Mom, this is Joe. I can't do this. I can't do this at all. You've gotta ask Dad to come back and get me here." "Joe, your father won't be home until tomorrow. I don't know what to tell you, but you've gotta stay there until he gets back." I need my parents to save me and they cannot. I will be here at this frightening place for at least a few more days. God, I cannot do this.
I retreat through the gridlock of streets to my dorm room, using only survival instincts to return to my belongings. I tell Dave that I will be going home in a few days, and he acts surprisingly tender to me upon hearing this. He brings me to the RA of the hallway, a sophomore who looks like he could be a fashion model. The RA, I can immediately sense, has better things to do than speak to a loser kid who just wants to leave, so I quickly return to the room. The fear is becoming manageable now. I will go to bed tonight and wake up tomorrow morning, somehow someway.
And that is exactly what happens. I have to go to the basketball arena and sign up for classes. Millett Hall is just about the most beautiful building I've ever seen, a circular structure with red tiled walls above the glass enclosed lower bowl. Somehow I fill out a schedule for first semester, taking only a dozen or so credits as I know that I may be leaving and that if I stay I will be in no shape to work hard. Millett has glass for walls on its lower level and after I am finished I can't wait to leave, and hurriedly walk headfirst into the wall/window, thinking it to be an open door. The loud crash my body makes draws the attention of several hundred people but I am too scared to really get any more fearful. I realize that fear can be my friend, that it can help make me oblivious to further embarrassment, that I can only get so scared and then nothing else can touch me.
Returning to my room I get a call from my father, who has just gotten back to our home in Amherst, New Hampshire. His smoky, rough edged voice comforts me. He wants me to stay at school, just for today, and we'll talk tomorrow afternoon. This I can do, Dad. He asks what the rest of my day is going to have in store for me. I tell him that the US Open tennis tournament is on and that the small television that he gave me as a gift is proving a big hit on my floor. Guys will wander in, watch a game or maybe even a set, introduce themselves to me, ask where I'm from. Without that damn tv I'd be fucked. I don't use that word with Dad, but make sure to thank him.
The next day classes start. I make it on time to all three of them. I notice others chatting before and after classes, acting like old friends. How can they be so cool about this adventure, this frightening thrill ride we are all on? It's like they've been here for years while I just got to town. I know none of them are as scared as I still am, though the third day is better than the first two. My Dad calls again. "One day at a time, Joey. You can do this, son." I have never felt so close to the man who some years prior drunkenly swore he would kill me.
I now eat my meals at Symmes alone, but contentedly. It is OK that I am not sitting with the cool kids or the jocks or the punks. I am alone, as always, and that's how it will have to be this year. Attending classes, going to the library every night, where I can hide out until Dave and the other future frat boys leave for the uptown parties and bars, watching television in our room. I am in a rhythm, helped out by the daily phone calls from my father, who says every day to me, "Just make it till tomorrow, Joe That's all you gotta do. Can you make it until tomorrow, son?" I can. I do.
It is my first day on campus and I only know a rough outline of the school grounds and the adjoining town of Oxford, Ohio. Walking down a side avenue, parallel to High Street, which I have figured out to be the main road, I hear someone on a porch say, "Look at that one, he thinks he's tough." I can only keep my head down and keep going. I make it to a gas station and a pay phone. "Mom, this is Joe. I can't do this. I can't do this at all. You've gotta ask Dad to come back and get me here." "Joe, your father won't be home until tomorrow. I don't know what to tell you, but you've gotta stay there until he gets back." I need my parents to save me and they cannot. I will be here at this frightening place for at least a few more days. God, I cannot do this.
I retreat through the gridlock of streets to my dorm room, using only survival instincts to return to my belongings. I tell Dave that I will be going home in a few days, and he acts surprisingly tender to me upon hearing this. He brings me to the RA of the hallway, a sophomore who looks like he could be a fashion model. The RA, I can immediately sense, has better things to do than speak to a loser kid who just wants to leave, so I quickly return to the room. The fear is becoming manageable now. I will go to bed tonight and wake up tomorrow morning, somehow someway.
And that is exactly what happens. I have to go to the basketball arena and sign up for classes. Millett Hall is just about the most beautiful building I've ever seen, a circular structure with red tiled walls above the glass enclosed lower bowl. Somehow I fill out a schedule for first semester, taking only a dozen or so credits as I know that I may be leaving and that if I stay I will be in no shape to work hard. Millett has glass for walls on its lower level and after I am finished I can't wait to leave, and hurriedly walk headfirst into the wall/window, thinking it to be an open door. The loud crash my body makes draws the attention of several hundred people but I am too scared to really get any more fearful. I realize that fear can be my friend, that it can help make me oblivious to further embarrassment, that I can only get so scared and then nothing else can touch me.
Returning to my room I get a call from my father, who has just gotten back to our home in Amherst, New Hampshire. His smoky, rough edged voice comforts me. He wants me to stay at school, just for today, and we'll talk tomorrow afternoon. This I can do, Dad. He asks what the rest of my day is going to have in store for me. I tell him that the US Open tennis tournament is on and that the small television that he gave me as a gift is proving a big hit on my floor. Guys will wander in, watch a game or maybe even a set, introduce themselves to me, ask where I'm from. Without that damn tv I'd be fucked. I don't use that word with Dad, but make sure to thank him.
The next day classes start. I make it on time to all three of them. I notice others chatting before and after classes, acting like old friends. How can they be so cool about this adventure, this frightening thrill ride we are all on? It's like they've been here for years while I just got to town. I know none of them are as scared as I still am, though the third day is better than the first two. My Dad calls again. "One day at a time, Joey. You can do this, son." I have never felt so close to the man who some years prior drunkenly swore he would kill me.
I now eat my meals at Symmes alone, but contentedly. It is OK that I am not sitting with the cool kids or the jocks or the punks. I am alone, as always, and that's how it will have to be this year. Attending classes, going to the library every night, where I can hide out until Dave and the other future frat boys leave for the uptown parties and bars, watching television in our room. I am in a rhythm, helped out by the daily phone calls from my father, who says every day to me, "Just make it till tomorrow, Joe That's all you gotta do. Can you make it until tomorrow, son?" I can. I do.
posted by joe sweeney at 2:33 PM
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