Regeneration X (29 page)

“What do I need Dr. Baum for? That was an expert analysis I am gladly willing to accept,” I say in agreement. “The only thing that drives me crazy about these dreams is why Michael is in them at all. I’ve never been hiking with him on the Alps, never been to any mountain lake with him.”

“I’ll take another crack at it. Miles was your first love, and that memory was from the first time you noticed that the relationship was starting to fail. Michael replaced Miles in your mind and heart—it’s almost as if you are bidding Miles farewell.”

“Ooo, that was good too. I think I should start paying you by the hour.”

“I vil be heer ul zeh veek,” Inez said standing up to leave, but curtsying primly on her way out.

I don’t know what I would do if Inez hadn’t come with me. Would I even be a sane person? If we were gay, we would have made the perfect lifelong companions. But sex aside I hoped the day when we were separated never came.

・ ・ ・

This glorious first summer, as much as Chambre avec Vue would allow, Inez and I planned to travel, taking as many weekend and longer trips as we could. Perhaps back to Scotland, and then France and Italy, Ireland and Germany. We are optimistic and pressure-free.

It didn’t seem fair we should traverse through Europe without Inez having at least seen some major points of interest in England, outside of London. Therefore, in the spur of the moment, for our first of many escapades, I planned a guided day trip to Stonehenge, Salisbury and Bath for Inez’s birthday. We both liked those often-stupid guided tours, the old biddies that we were. There was so much more to learn from the natives than there was from the dry reading of a guidebook, even though Dorling Kindersley guidebooks are awesome.

We departed and arrived at our first destination just a tad late; we didn’t depart for Stonehenge until 10 minutes past nine o’clock Saturday, July 11th. When we got there, I was disappointed to find ropes around the stones. The guide explained the history of disorderly drunkenness, modern pagan rituals taking place at the site, and bouts of vandalism. It wasn’t as awing from 50 feet away as I remembered it from a study abroad visit in 1992—a case of a few ruining the experience for all. I didn’t voice my complaints to Inez; she seemed to be enraptured regardless.

We were famished by the time we reached our second destination, Salisbury. The two hours we would spend here were free-to-roam time. We lunched on a scrumptious pasty while walking and exploring the town before deciding to take in the view of the magnificent Salisbury Cathedral from seats in the grassy quad adjacent to it. Another thing we have to note for future adventures is we could have spent a day or two in Salisbury alone.

As we both lounged with our feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on elbows, gazing at the tall spire of the cathedral and its ornate façade. I ask Inez, “When you moved from Quebec, did you miss the way of living and the European-esque architecture?”

“Yes. The completely different everything, including the environment in Halifax, made me want to run back home, although it is beautiful in its own way there, too. Later, when Becks and I came to Seattle, I told myself I would give it a fighting chance and later return to Quebec if I still wanted to. The longer I stayed in Seattle, the more the patterns of the past didn’t matter. I felt quite at home there.”

“Oh, are you missing Seattle?”

“Yes, but I’m overjoyed to be here. It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted, all come together. I don’t ever think I will move again.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been selfish and not asked before if you were happy. I should have asked how you felt.”

“Don’t be silly. You ask me how I feel about things all the time. It’s actually another condition you have, I think. You have to stop putting yourself through it. You asked me if I wanted to come here with you. I made this choice,” Inez said smiling and leaning over to nudge my shoulder with hers.

“I’ll add this issue to my list of issues.”

“And if I forget to ask, will you tell me when you’re not feeling so well about things?” I asked, still feeling as though I was bad friend since it had taken over seven months for me to learn Inez was happy to be here.

“Charley, you act as you always have. I’m not going to fall apart, and if you start badgering me about my feelings and checking up on me, it just makes my misfortunes present. I’d rather just treat them as minor inconveniences and forget about it since I can’t do anything to fix myself. I will definitely let you know if I fall in love, but don’t expect to hear it.”

“Okay, got it,” I said succinctly, now feeling bad for reminding her on her birthday, of all days, if was even possible to forget something she carried around with her everywhere she went. “What do you think of your birthday so far? I thought we’d celebrate tonight—dinner and later Whitespace. I heard it’s pretty rad. If you’re up for it?”

“I’m having a great day. Thanks. As for this evening, dinner sounds good. Let’s wait to see about the White Space. Remember, I’m 48. Maybe it can wait until next weekend,” she said getting up. “Looks as though it’s time to move on,” seeing a couple of our tour group companions walking toward the street where our bus was parked.

A couple more hours on the bus and we were in Bath. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. We weren’t there for long, but sufficient enough time to get the general feel of the place—sampling the mineral waters, walking along the Avon, taking scenic pics, and having a mobile coffee and another pasty.

Chapter Twenty-six

The childing autumn, angry winter, change

Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,

By their increase, now knows not which is which.

—William Shakespeare,
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2.1)

・
・
・

AUTUMN TERM BEGAN AND I WAS EASILY acclimating to my new surroundings in the College of Literary Arts. Much like the Drama College, these buildings were old, with cold stone corridors lined with large arched windows inset with leaded diamond-shaped panes of glass. The floor was well worn after years of studious passes to and fro. Its quiet respectability was daunting
and
inspiring. It felt much more my mental speed than my physical. The classrooms were drafty and damp, even in the summer. I know because I came several times to tour my new school over the break.

The only real difference between the literary and drama facilities are the cavernous gallery rooms in the center of the literature complex are three stories tall, filled with rows upon rows of oaken desks with reading lights, and the walls are stacked tomes old and new. There are so many book it looks like wallpaper from a short distance. There are tall ladders extending to the ceiling, set on rails to allow for navigation around the periphery of the great hall. I’d only ever seen such a thing in movies. Of course, most of what we newbies need is available electronically over the school network catalog, but these rooms and their tactile nature make me feel much more involved in my learning. It creates a culture for the school. I pray will always exist. I feel inspired in a place like this and look forward to the days when I will spend my time in the archives researching and analyzing the contents of dusty manuscripts and volumes.

I counted myself fortunate indeed, and considered this to be an instance of the happiness Dr. Baum described. Since both colleges have accepted my candidacy as a degree-seeking student, I have drama as my outlet for my physical enthusiasms, too. It is the ideal arrangement for me, so
yippee
, now all I had to do was graduate—and possibly again and again to become a prof. I have roughly ten years of training ahead of me and the fire within me has been thoroughly stoked.

For my course selections this term, rather than taking guidance from my new literature advisor for the typical course of study, I’m following my own curriculum. I’ve met with my literature counselor and he was made aware of my case. My advisor is a small man, balding with a comb-over do for the remaining 50 or so strands of hair on his head. He’s also rather geeky and shifty looking and bears the name of Malcolm Fibbs—an unfortunate name. He should have taken his wife’s surname. He’ll be providing help if I need clarification on course descriptions and prerequisites, and generally to keep me on track toward graduation.

Although my first undergraduate degree was eons ago, I was able to place out of most of the fundamentals courses with the help of applicable work experience gained at
POV on Health
, as well as the primary critical analysis course, since the Interpretation of Text course at the Drama College applies for those credits. I find I am not as far behind as I thought I would be. In fact, I am well into the junior-level year, which is why I decided to start in the fall term instead of summer as I’d originally planned.

With experience and credit hours combined, I actually have enough course credits for a general liberal arts degree and, therefore, have the option to forgo the undergraduate degree entirely. I could apply directly to the master’s degree program, but I’ve decided not to jump ahead. Partly, I do not want to miss out on the undergraduate experience here, as it is so different from the United States, and also because my goal is not to reach the end sooner, but rather to reach the right goal for me. Also, with a general degree I would miss the knowledge I’d gain from taking the undergraduate literature and drama courses that would serve as the basis for master’s-level study.

I’m relieved to have found my niche and made it uniquely my own. Although, I have a feeling my minor rebellion at being restricted to one college will become more of a common practice with future students. If the universities are forward thinking, they will open up the option rather than letting the students come to the same conclusion themselves.

I am exceedingly thrilled about this half-new adventure. I realized there still isn’t much you can do with degree in just English literature or just drama. Even teaching in secondary school requires a dual major in education or a secondary education certification. The same is true for both; I still won’t be able to do much with the BA. I’ll cross this bridge when I come to it. Ideally, as I said before, I would like to take my institutional education to its end with a PhD. This is a premature plan since I have only just begun the program, but there it is.

This term, I’ve enrolled in Literary Analysis of Archaic Texts, Chaucer’s Day, Argumentative Prose in the Literature College, and Drama and Society through the Ages in the Drama School.

The courses themselves in the Literature College were more individual-focused so I hadn’t made any new acquaintances. But I’m not worried on this score it’s early yet. Besides, just yesterday I met up with the collective for a pint at the Swan of Avon. We’d gathered a few times over the summer, but since modules began we—the collective—have resumed the regularly scheduled program.

As I suspected, Mel and Parker are no more and Parker has been considering transferring out of the drama program himself. For those of the group who didn’t know, he comes from a family of thespians and was perhaps, persuaded to make acting his calling in the first place. It’s amazing how people choose their career futures based on role models. I did this a few times in my first youth. It only reinforces my original thought: young people are too green to know better and, in many cases, the career choice is not the individual’s idea.

Rather than nearly requiring people to be stuck for 45 years of their life in an unfulfilling career—which is roughly 93,000 hours—the powers that be should recognize the problem and institute the acceptance of candidates into career training programs when they are 25 years old at the very least. Isn’t this logical? By the time people are 25, they know themselves and the world they will enter a little better, and even if the smaller percentage choose wrong, this decreases work unhappiness by 7 years, or 14,000 hours in one’s lifetime. I also think the later start date would increase and improve educational outcomes for the individual and world economies. Mature students are better learners and contributors. Of course, this is all beside the point, as I am not a power able to suggest or push such an agenda.

Anyway, I was surprised to learn Parker’s true interests lie in architecture. Specifically, preservation architecture since it allows for broad historical interests in building design. Current, new structures are modern, and the field otherwise limiting in this respect. Mel, of course, was suspicious of his motives since the Structural Engineering and Arts and Literature Colleges are in adjacent complexes. She is obviously still infatuated with him, most likely because she feels she never really had him. Of all of my friends in the collective, Mel is the one I least related to. At the time I wished it were her who had found another academic focus, but she is the most dramatic of us all, and actually quite well suited for her choice of study.

After their break up, she called me one day to meet for lunch, just her and me. At first I hesitated, telling her I did not want to get in the middle of anything. She reassured me and was hoping just to speak with someone who could commiserate, “knowing” Parker. Again, I was not comfortable with this reason either, since the young man I knew was different from
her
Parker.

Regardless, we met for coffee and she proceeded with her pity party, saying, “I never had a chance,” as if Parker and I had been in love.

We dated for two months at most, had not consummated the relationship, and I was—and am—married. The mind of an 18 year old is selective, fragile, and irrational. Luckily, although she didn’t see it this way, since Parker was taking the elective summer term off and would resume his studies in fall, it would give her some time away from him. No doubt he welcomed the distance from her as well.

When I saw everyone yesterday, I could see no reason for Mel’s insecurities. Parker behaved as he always did, except perhaps less receptive to Mel’s input in the conversation—opinions about their professors this term, ideas about the classes. He listened intently to my accounts of the Literature College, but this was only because he was considering a move away from drama himself. And there was the obvious disconnect from the others when he described his interests. They didn’t seem to comprehend a high-minded choice such as preservation architecture.