Freedom, Magic, Mayhem, Fun

A Four Part Series

Part I- Intro

Today found me perched upon a fallen log on my secret woodland trail, taking in the present, drifting back to my past, my glorious past, back behind the nonsense years, the struggle years, the worry years, back even before the inklings of maturity years.  The time travel, see, yes, that is the thing, the meat of the matter, the ride on the Nostalgia Rail.  So, why not bring all of you with me?  Sit down and I will tell  you a fine tale, a story of innocence and adventure, of youth and all the glories locked away therein. 

Once upon a time, I was an eighteen year old girl about to start making my way, the new navigator of my own small craft upon the stormy and mystic waters of quasi-adulthood, or better recalled as the college age.  I had no real thoughts or strong opinions on what I really wanted to do, so the decision to apply to West Virginia University could have been a lark, or a half-hearted attempt at picking a direction, or more than likely a thinly veiled excuse to escape the home nest and the imagined shackles of youth.  Regardless, my acceptance letter sealed my fate and set into motion the events which would wheel me madly down my path to adventure. 

My intentions were noble, I would argue.  I thought I might want to teach music, since I loved it so and could feel it churning in my soul.  Or perhaps an English or Literature professor would be my ultimate goal.  They both filled my head with fanciful notions and fantasies of spreading my gifts of wisdom and passion to a classroom of teenagers rapt and eager to learn, to absorb.  One semester of Music Theory conclusively eliminated the one possibility.  Seemed I was far more content playing and feeling the music, so the whole theory part eluded me, as it looked for all the world like an intricate algebra problem gone rogue.  My musical theory was that music theory was designed to give logical brained math nerds a back door into the secret world of true musical talent. 

I did much better in my literature courses.  I even had advanced classes I was never supposed to be taking as a freshman, but with tens of thousands of students buzzing around the campus frantically, no one noticed the kid in the classroom of seniors and post-grads, and a few advanced juniors with special permission to enroll.  I was particularly adept at British and French Lit.  In high school, thanks to one Mrs. Linda Whitford (the only teacher who truly prepared me for college, for life, by fostering my natural love and penchant for writing) I had already been lost in the worlds of Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare, Voltare, Moliere, and all the good classics.  I breezed through Blue Book exams, aced both courses.  I left my Modern Lit professor in awe with in-depth essays and thoughtful analysis of books we studied-The World According To Garp, Grendel, Lolita, and Labrynths.  By the end of the first semester, I had a pretty narrowed focus on what I wanted to get out of my college years.  I had no desire to teach.  I wanted to learn, and learn only.  I wasn’t sure what kind of courses one took for that, but I planned on trying many and maybe lean heavily on Literature for a while.  At that point, the end result meant nothing.  I loved college, freedom to choose my own way, my own world, the bits and pieces I wanted and felt I needed.  I wanted to learn all I could about life, I wanted out of my tightly wrapped shell, I wanted to feel the sheer thrill of meeting and talking to people of all walks of life.  I talked to my professors, to everyone on my dorm floor, to guys at frat house parties, to bartenders and store clerks. 

There was another form of education going on in the world outside academia.  West Virginia University was the number one party school the year I was there.  There was a residential section of Morgantown that was shut down, a four by four block of streets, all of them college students, for a three day weekend of contained drunken mayhem.  These were mostly older students with shared apartments or houses, a community which took care of its member admirably considering the circumstances.  I can’t recall who I was lucky enough to know to get into this exclusive party, but I got my wristband with no hassle and was told until the party ended, I had to stay within the barricaded areas.  I could not have been more excited. 

By sundown of the first evening, the smells and sounds and sights of such an epic gathering of free young people were intoxicating enough, were overwhelming.  Having already had experimented with insane amounts of alcohol through the first part of my newfound freedom, I decided to give it the ol’ college try and not overdo it.  It was one of the wisest decisions I made that year.  I partook in my share of various party favors, yes, but slowly, gently, happily, without the need to compete with anyone over drinking prowess.  I met beautiful people, musicians, artists, free spirits with incredible intelligence.  I had deep conversations and barely recognizable as English ones with folks who were not as restrained as myself.  I wandered the streets all night, stopping at houses that had awesome music lilting out of, or a waft of herb smoke, or sweet laughter.  People knew I was young, and they didn’t take advantage of me, or try to do me harm.  They took care of me, guided me, kept me safe.  As the sun came up, the revelers drifted off one by one.  At the house I had been grooving in for the last hour, I was invited to crash on a mighty comfy sofa.  I was even given a blanket.  I slept soundly and well protected.

The next two days went the same.  Kindness, fun, debauchery of all sorts, I watched it all, took in a private world with wide open eyes.  The nights were wild and loud and energetic, the days were more mellow and chatty and easy.  At one apartment on the last night, I watched a party girl way beyond her limit of endurance take a nasty tumble down her apartment steps and cringed as her leg smashed through the glass front door.  She was too drunk to know she was bleeding badly, but her friends were very quick to react.  They raced to action, one rushing down the steps to assess the damage, one grabbing towels for the bloody leg and foot, one calling 911 for help.  Within a few minutes, she was taken to the hospital with two of her roommates.  We found out later she had many stitches, but was otherwise unharmed, no broken bones even.  Ah, the amazing power of drunk!   I was given many hugs as the saga came to an end and we all trudged home to collapse for a few days of sleep and sobriety.

Of course, by the next weekend, everyone was ready to gather again, to have nights of revelry and shenanigans.  I started walking a great deal, long distances in the dark chill of October and November nights.  I wove through back streets and sleeping neighborhoods of the older sect of Morgantown.  I walked from our dorm to downtown, a lengthy haul up and down and round and round.  I crept through the cemetery at the end of the business district of the town.  I drank my share and smoked my share and made bad decisions and great ones, dated, mated, fell in love a hundred times a week.  I dropped my earliest class, Algebra.  I sucked at it anyway, and I knew even then it was hopeless.  Who on Earth can learn such a thing at eight on a Monday morning, still bleary-eyed and dry mouthed from  two days of kicking up a dust storm at the Skull House frat? I knew what I wanted, and it was not Algebra in the morning.  I stayed up to listen to Zeppelin albums on my old Gerrard record player.  I drew art and wrote poems with chalk pastel on my dorm room walls.  It all seemed so grand, so surreal, so wide and vast and endless.

When I came home for Christmas break, I was different in ways I never imagined.  I was restless in the nest, ready to go back to my new world.  I signed up for weird classes, chose Liberal Arts as a major so I could have the leeway necessary to be a long-term student.  I was all set to tackle Geology, American Lit, even Algebra again.  I dumped Music Theory and Jazz Dance (not designed for klutzy girls such as me). I took my first Psychology course.  By the time classes started, I had a quietness inside, for the first time, a peace within, a calmness and acceptance I searched for so many times.  On a cold but sunny day in January, I made my way to my first class of the day-American Lit.  I took a seat in the back of the classroom.  I was early, as I usually was, because I liked to take my place in the back and watch people filter in, observe them and get their vibes.  Life School was once again in session.

End of Part I

 Stay tuned, oh loyal and gracious reader, as I work through Part II.  I promise, it will be worth it.

Love and light,

Tanya