After ascending the heights of my senior year at Interlochen, a step down was inevitable. How far down that step was to be was unknown at the time, but it was a drop that I’m still recovering from in many ways. At any rate, I went to the University of Chicago to wile away my academic purgatory. Things didn’t go well from the very beginning. My second day there, I contracted a “whizz-bang” (the doctor’s term) of a urinary tract infection that caused me to dramatically pass out in the middle of my first class. Then, while recovering from that, I took a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol and got into bed and turned on the radio in time to hear an emergency announcement that tainted Tylenol had killed several people in the Chicago area and you should throw your Tylenol away. That was an exciting hour while I waited to see if the cyanide was going to kick in or whether I’d survive. My roommate turned out to be a homophobic homosexual who fell hopelessly in love with me and spent the entire semester trying to crowbar his way into some intimacy while I spent much of my energy trying to keep him at bay. And all of this while I was immersed in one of the country’s most demanding academic colleges. And what little interest I had maintained in the world of academic achievement was quickly being sucked down the drain, leaving me scared and tired and bewildered. So, when Thanksgiving rolled around, I was ready for a break.
I hadn’t initially planned on going home for vacation, but when some Interlochen friends showed up in a van and threatened me with physical and psychological abuse if I didn’t come with them, I gladly tossed my plans aside and jumped into the van for the six-hour drive.
It was a bittersweet vacation. A wonderful respite, but tragically short, I got to spend some time with the people that meant the most to me. I saw my mom and Frank, I spent a little time with Eric and Bob, I was appreciated for who I was instead of ostracized because of it (just before this vacation, I had gone to a U of C dance and had draped myself in a tattered old American flag and flailed around, as was my wont. The next morning, I got a phone call from some anonymous somebody who said if I ever danced that way again in public, he would personally come kick my ass). Perhaps the bitterest of this sweet respite was the chance to see Jennifer.
Jennifer, a year younger, had been power flirting with me for my last semester at Interlochen. Although I loved the attention, I largely ignored her advances, as I already had a girlfriend, thank you very much. At the end of the year, on the cusp of oblivion, my resolve broke and I found myself making out with her on the sacred shores of my lake. The following summer, we wrote mad love letters to each other – the bulk of which still sit in a box in a bottom drawer of my office, where they have remained untouched for 20 years. The safety of distance fanned our desires and we burned up pages and pages of paper with our longing. Because she wasn’t actually there and because we didn’t really have a relationship, she became the perfect woman, everything I wanted and nothing I didn’t. Too far from home to go for the long Thanksgiving weekend, she was going to be staying at the house of one of her teachers, Mr. K. The chance to actually see her in person was exhilarating and terrifying, and I thought of little else on the drive up.
After fulfilling my other obligations, I finally drove over one night to see her. Mr. K welcomed me in and the three of us sat around drinking hot chocolate until the dreaded and hoped for moment when he excused himself. Jennifer put a tape on the stereo and we moved over to the couch to talk, but were too shy to really talk to each other. After all those pages of purple passion had been exchanged, we found ourselves speechless. So, after a few awkward moments, Jennifer pulled out a notebook, and we continued our courtship in cursive, where we were more comfortable. During the times she was writing, I listened to the music coming from the stereo. I immediately recognized the voice as Joni Mitchell’s, but for some reason it didn’t irritate me like it usually did. In fact, I suddenly found a warmth and an understanding and a truth in her songs that I hadn’t heard before. I asked Jennifer what we were listening to. Blue, she scribbled on the pad. While she wrote, River played, and poured itself deep into my soul. I found my throat closing and I blinked back tears, wishing I had my own river to skate away on. After a few flirty pages, we were able to break through and actually touch each other and share a few holy moments in each other’s arms.
The next night, we went for a long walk down by the lake. Steel grey snowflakes floated through the air and disappeared into the black lake. While we strolled along the beach, chastely holding hands, she admitted that she felt our relationship was more romantic than sexual and I reluctantly agreed, being too shy and scared to wade into those dark carnal waters without a guide. Without saying as much, I think we both were let down. Having had a fiery long-distance romance with the perfect woman, I was disappointed with the flesh and blood reality, warts and all. I’m sure she felt the same way about me, so I walked her back to Mr. K’s, kissed her goodnight and goodbye, and drove home, my perfect love buried in the snow that was drifting along the side of the road.
In the morning, I glumly boarded a bus bound for Chicago, and settled deep into my skin, watching the world blur by. Filled with dread, I was headed back into the belly of the beast that was sucking the life force out of me. My confidence, my sense of self, my happiness, my desire, were all disappearing into the bleak grey landscape of the windy city. Another illusion broken, I tied on my skates, taught my feet to fly, and disappeared down that river so long.
