Syracuse-Part 2

Rebecca of Sunny Brook Farm vs Oh so Much!

SYRACUSE-Part 2

     I had learned a lot in the five months thus far at SU.  Little of it came from my classes.  I did get a glimmer from my appointed Guidance Counselor, which I chose to ignore until it slapped me silly in the wee insomnia hours of 2015.

     His suggestion for my Capstone writing project, was to focus on my Army BRAT years.  At age 20, I just was too self critical to reflect on my past as it seemed to pale by comparison to the rich, flamboyant lifestyle of my peers at Syracuse University.

      I had upgraded my wardrobe to include a vintage fur coat I purchased for $25. It  eliminated any and all lake effect snow, wind, ice and the mixture of all three.  The coat was made of Muskrat.  It was all I could afford.  My Preppy, Peppy roommate had purchased one made of Mink. 

      We two had also applied for on-campus housing and right before Winter Break,  piled all of our belongings into our friend Gordy’s red, goes on forever boat of a car, very reminiscent of the car in the “Love Shack” B52’s video.

     Our move into Lawrinson hall, along with our other friends, Jim, John, Danny, and Ric from Skytop was a definite upgrade.  My roommate and I shared a split double, and our bathroom had actual stalls with curtains.  Preppy-Peppy and I were so used to living like inmates with shower heads and walking around naked in the bathroom, much to the horror of our new Lawrinson dorm floormates.  We quickly learned that it was de rigueur to wrap one’s self in a towel prior to exiting the shower stall.  

     Shortly after our move in Gordy’s red boat, it was Winter Break, and I headed home.  With each passing state, seeing less and less snow, and I was nearer to the people who had always known me best.  This included my Naval Academy beau.  He and I had been together since the year before I attended SU. 

    Ahh, to be back in his warm embrace, only for a day before he returned home to Massachusetts, was heaven and hell at the same time.  Oh young love, with all its all or nothing, its urgency, the head to toe overwhelm of depth of feeling making one say words like, “Where are we headed?” 

     Uh oh…those are and were the wrong words at the wrong time…and I had said them.  The answer… “ You are the right girl at the wrong time”.  Right Girl, Wrong Time”.  Those words rang through me, stabbed and left me bleeding for years and years.  But, that is for another story.

     Upon return to SU, it was time to register for Spring Classes.  This required a paper book 1,000 + pages long of each class, section, time and professor.  One had to wander with Registration card, newspaper grade book, and go to a central building to take said card and go from card table to card table, checking to see if a particular class and section was “open” and whether it would fit into one’s schedule. 

     On the way to this building, I was suddenly confronted with the absolute inability to see two feet in any and all directions.  What the hell had happened…oh damn…it was a “White Out” just like I had experienced in Davos Switzerland (see my story on Davos), only there were no Ski Patrol guys to save me. 

     I saw confidently walking shadows approach and I sheepishly asked many of them where the Registration Building was in reference to where I was standing.  Oh damn…my complete lack of spatial awareness was made all the worse by no visable landmark from which to oriente myself and have a hope of following their directions.

     I finally ended up crouching in a frozen sheet of ice created from my tears.  One student, one solitary student, emerging from the blinding whiteness, clad in chic houndstooth check overcoat and yellow sunglasses which apparently enabled him to see in this god forsaken landscape, grabbed my thick gloved hand and said, “Follow me”.  I’m just lucky he wasn’t Ted Bundy as I just went with him, so thankful someone cared that I existed.

      He said, “I assume you need to register given the items you are holding”.  I nodded and snotted, “Yes, but I can’t SEE”.  He gave me a tissue, I scraped the frozen snot off my face with one hand and held his hand tight with the other.

     He led me up some stairs, opened a huge door, and said, “This is where you want to be.   Good luck”.  And then he was gone.  I yelled out, “Thank you!” but he was off. 

     9,000 hours later, wandering from table to table, erasing classes from my proposed schedule as classes or sections were full, I finally had a schedule and had switched my major to Education.  Why? 

     The competition in my journalism classes had been cutthroat.  Other students stole my ideas for stories, compared grades, and generally exploited my innocent thinking that we were “all in it together”.  No, we were not.  It was every student for her or him self.  That lifestyle and attitude has never been and never will be part of my life blood.

       The day after my Arctic Registration Adventure, I woke with a temperature of 104 degrees, bed covers drenched through all three layers, nausea, bone aching pain and the belief that death would have been preferable.

     I quick called home on the hall phone as our room phone had not been “set-up” yet.  I sobbed and sobbed to Mom about my pre-death symptoms and my sweet, kind to the core mother responds, “Oh, that’s the flu.  Oh well, it will pass”.  To which I eeked out through my razor cut sore throat, “Mom, I am sure I am going to die!”

     She, always the giver of wisdom, responds with, “Not to worry, no one ever died from it”.  What?  I scratch talked, “MOM, the 1918 flu epidemic! People have died from this!!”

     Ever the cheerfilled soul, Mom finishes our conversation with, “Oh, that was a long time ago!  Just get yourself to the Health Center.  You’ll be fine.  Love you!”

     Great. I crawled on my hands and knees back to my room from lack of strength.   Now I had to strip off my drenched pajamas, and attempt to dress.

     Once dressed for a trip to Antarctica, off I went through the ice tricklet snow shards coming down from the sky, to the Health Center.  By the time I got there, I had stripped off all my outer wear due to my fever and came in with an actual icicle hanging from my nose like Jack Frost.

     The workers in the Health Center took one look at me, rushed me back to a room, layed me on a bed, and then an angel said, “Oh, my poor sweet girl.  You must be so scared and depleted”.  I cried and cried-not a McKnight thing to do, but her manner and words, coupled with the physical and mental pain coursing through every element of my mind and body just released.

     All I remember after that was walking back after some hours later, with a bag of medications to address the symtoms and a stop in the little shopping store on the ground floor of my dorm.  I picked up foods that needed no refrigration or preparation and staggered to the elevator.

      The next morning, I knew I needed real food, but still suffered with a nausea that embodied my spirit.  Down to the dorm cafeteria, one tray later with one fish stick (known as “fish coffins” by the students), apple sauce and a small glass of juice, and I began to head out the door.  The cafeteria lady yelled at me in a voice that made me sure she was the Wicked Witch of the West, “You can’t take that tray out of here!  Bring that back!”

     I began to cry, “But I’m sick!”  She retorted, “I don’t care-you can’t take that tray out of here!”.  So…I stuffed the “fish coffin” into my coat pocket, left the applesauce, placed the tray in the appropriate place, took one sip of the juice, placed the plastic cup in the tub for dirty dishes and toddled back to the elevator.

      Once in my room, I took the squished, pocket fish, forced one bite down, where it rose back up and I threw the rest in my garbage can.  I then spent the better part of the day praising the porcelin gods in the hall bathroom.

     Oh, my readers, there is more to come in my Syracuse Story.  Thank you for reading and listening!  Please “heart” me and tell me of a time when you endured something temporary but felt it would last forever.