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 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
I am the satellite,
The worldly observer
Of a spinning mass 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 passes 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 compassion
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 hoarding 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.
The War Within
Daily, it seems, I feel the alien
Presence that resides within,
Slowly pressing life from my
Faculties in a bland attempt
To reign in full over my ravaged body.
Neither do I madly oppose nor readily
Submit to my ruthless attack,
But attempt to retain a shred
Of normalcy in my existence.
Life takes what it will, and
Being a product of two lives,
I am subject to be called
To nonexistence, as is all creation.
Nature permits no flattery...
No favoritism...hence the
Ultimate equality of mammals,
Whether man or beast, in death.
September 27, 1982
Lauren Isaacson
The third and last class of the day was geography, dealing with the
conflicts of urban life and the planning of cities. It was what I
would call a "crash course," as it was a full quarter of work condensed
into a mere four weeks' time. The first test, being somewhat of a
midterm exam and covering a great deal of the text and lecture
material, was given after about two weeks; I need not say, perhaps,
that I found the class to be quite exhilarating. Indeed, it kept me on
my toes, if I may borrow a well used phrase, and taxed my eyes as well.
My efforts proved worthwhile, however, and I scored highly on the
initial exam. A final exam and a project were the only remaining
obligations of the class, leaving two English courses as my sole
exertions for the rest of the quarter. It wasn't a bargain, but then
nothing could be had without making an allowance of some consequence.
After attending my class, I would gratefully return home, exhausted,
and lie down for several hours. I generally did no homework on days I
went to school, saving my energy for days off and weekends. School
coincided with drudgery, for I was no longer deriving any pleasure from
life. If I was not in school or studying diligently, I was thoroughly
fatigued and unable to pursue diversions of my liking. It seemed to me
that I was nearly committing suicide through the over-exertion of my
failing body, playing the role of a normal person when I was unfit for
the rigorous portrayal.
As the days passed, I began to see the utter ridiculousness of my
situation. I felt lifeless after school, and began to wonder why I
maintained the effort; I had no foreseeable future in which I could
utilize the knowledge obtained in college, and my time and energy thus
spent gradually took on the guise of futility. It was after two
occasions of pathetically wetting my nightgown (due to the fact that my
exhausted body did not heed the brain's warning of distress) that I
decided to accept defeat. The demeaning situation described above
occurred only during sleep after school days, which, consequently,
were the days that caused the bulk of my exhaustion.
School was not a "given" in my life; it was a factor over which I had
control. Initially, I felt I had no other alternative but to uphold a
charade of normalcy, for that gave my parents the right to hope and
feel, perhaps, that life for our family was somewhat akin to the
societal norm. Although I had experienced deep tremors of anxiety
toward the thought of attending school during the summer months, I too,
deemed it best to carry on; I could not abide the image of myself as
an unproductive, and therefore, devalued member of the family. Also
within me was the question of whether I could manage the demanding
pressures of school, and the need to somehow prove to myself that
I could, both mentally and physically, pass the test. Though my
assignments were well accepted, my physical performance was far below
average; my will was strong, but my body could not keep up. The
decision to drop all of my classes spelled defeat, for I disliked to
quit, but even more it meant relief and the freedom to entertain my
desires in a comfortable atmosphere without overly taxing myself.
My parents looked upon my action with more regret and pain, for it
brought the issue of my ill health to the forefront. Now it could no
longer be concealed behind a wall of books or hours spent out of the
house, for I was home all day, every day. My mom persisted in her
assertion that "if only you'd taken just one class. . ." it could have
added excitement and social interaction to my life. Had I enjoyed
school as do habitual students, I might have followed her suggestion,
yet I found my free time to be an immense improvement and would forgo
none of it to sit in a stuffy classroom. One need not attend a college
to expand his intellectual horizons, and I had no intention of falling
into illiteracy; I merely wanted to do what I wanted, when I wanted.
Having scored highly on my first geography exam and completed the
English assignments successfully gave me the confidence that I so
needed, and further led me to believe that I would have otherwise been
a capable student; while I suffered a physical defeat, I had not failed.
With no obligations to fulfill, my life was rejuvenated with a
simplicity which could best be described as wonderful. I truly reveled
in the autumn splendor and my spirit possessed a vitality which had
nearly been smothered by a mere four weeks' toil and stress. My
general health improved markedly as I was no longer plunging all of my
energies into school's demands. I now could heed my body's warning to
rest as needed, and thereby enjoy more fully the other areas in which
my interest thrived. The thought that time was rapidly slipping by
gave way, once again, to the essence of quality which had, for a while,
escaped my grasp.
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