Lovers No More (Ch. 7)

I had to set out and do something different this year. I remember signing up with various fraternities in the hope of being a fraternity brother one day. I eventually became a part of Zeta Beta Tau. I wasn’t easy, but I made it. I became friendly, at the time, with the founding father of the chapter. His name was Joel. A few weeks after assuring me that I was indeed a part of the fraternity, we decided to go out and celebrate. Boy, did we celebrate. He invited me to a fraternity party at Rutgers one Saturday night. Ironically, I took a CK girl with me. Her name was Connie.

I met Connie one day, strange enough when I was walking through the hallways at CK with Rose. She and I walked over to Connie and introduced me as the half-insane boyfriend. That was back in the better times. I would have never have seen Connie again if it wasn’t for the fact that I had seen her walking through the halls of SJU one day. Perhaps, I was thinking of getting an immediate connection to Rose. I still don’t know. I spoke up after we remembered each other. I invited her to the Rutgers party that was being thrown by the fraternity. I had a heck of a nerve. I had no car, but I still did possess my learner’s permit. I invited her out on a date—my first and only real date since the departure of Rose.

The evening, overall, was a rousing success when you put everything together. I didn’t think so at the time. She was really what I needed at the time. Just being with her seemed to pull me out of the doldrums. She held my hand and pulled me to the dance floor. Her hand felt so soft, so cuddly. She brought back the thoughts of Andrea. I wondered what Eddie was doing with Rose at the very moment. Connie started dancing. I was lost. I haven’t danced in public since my evening with Andrea. I had a real live woman in my husky arms.

Connie was an extremely beautiful young woman inside and out. She could have easily been a model. Instead, she was determined to be a doctor. In my drum corps days, Connie would have been referred to as a fox. She was a light-skinned black woman with a lovely French accent. When she spoke, I would often giggle because her voice was cute. Her family came directly from France and settled here in Queens. She had an hourglass figure. I put my hands on her hips and tried to rationalize that maybe this was to be the start of better things for me. She got the dance number. I heard “Turn the Beat Around” and Connie took off. I couldn’t help but stare at her hips. She was picture perfect. Guys would kill to get a woman like this, but I never made a real move for her. It was still too early for me to try to get that personal with her.

There she's dancing to the beat. I was looking more like a pathetic case. Luckily, the floor was very crowded. The guy dancing next to me with his girlfriend told me to just move my feet and arms. “Nobody would notice,” he said. I just had to laugh. Here is a white man telling a black man how to dance. If the bigots could see us now, they would not believe it. I took his advice. At that point, I felt like that I was being showcased in front of the whole campus. I was honestly trying to have fun. I forced myself to enjoy it. It just wasn’t happening. We got back in the car some three or four hours late. I had to get back home in time to get up for work the next day. I couldn’t believe that I really wanted to go back to St. Catherine’s and work. During the ride home, all I could do was stare out of the side window of the car and think of Rose. I had this extremely beautiful and petite woman sitting next to me holding my hand and all I ever wanted was a distant memory. Things weren’t right.

The following Monday, I called Connie up and told her that I didn’t think that it was going to work out. What was I thinking? I ended what could have been a perfect relationship. I had to have been insane. I needed to have my head examined. No date after Connie has ever been as enjoyable. It was safe to say that Connie was the last real date I ever had that meant anything to me.

THERE WAS THAT GIRL AGAIN!!! It was the girl I saw for a brief moment at CK except she no longer looked like a girl. She had developed into more than a woman. She was a LADY! She was the most beautiful lady on the entire campus, bar none. She carried herself with such dignity and she and I were still classmates! We came to SJU together and traveled on different pathways. I still hadn't mustered the courage to talk to her. When would a conversation actually happen between us? Don't get me wrong, but I just could not pull myself away from my stupidity to approach her. I felt that if I did speak to her, I would be cheating on Rose, a romance that no longer existed, and Connie, a short fling.

I asked around, mostly to my classmates from CK. Somebody told me that her name was Luanne and that the table where she sat every day was her sorority table. She was just too gorgeous. Even Daniel Webster could not write enough descriptive words to describe her beauty. I spoke to many of the gals on the campus about dating and Luanne, I felt, probably fell into one of three groups: not interested, dating or, even worse than the first two—engaged!!! I was so certain that, without asking her, she was pretty much engaged. That's it! A gorgeous lady like that had to be engaged or getting engaged even though I did not see a ring on her finger.

Connie had ranked right way up there behind Rose. No one else has come even close to both of them. Connie cared about me and I didn’t show the same care for her. I remember how she forced me to eat some nice, piping hot alphabet soup after I came inside from a freezing night in January. If that wasn’t an example of deep concern, then I don’t know what is. It wasn’t that I didn’t care for Connie. It was just the fact that I always thought that Rose would come back. I couldn’t turn my emotions back on. I was still vulnerable to pain. I couldn’t go through that again. I was still hurting from June. I missed her just as much as she cared for me.

I was beginning to feel more at home at SJU than I did at CK. I focused more on what I wanted to be. I wanted to teach. I was also a junior once again. What chance would I have at meeting another Rose? She needed to look just like her and act like her in every way. I thought that I met a girl last year who came pretty close, but I scared her away-not by ugliness, but by being way too aggressive. I decided to just leave the thought alone. I needed to compete with the soon-to-be graduates of next year.

I also developed a very serious addiction-fooseball, a version of table soccer. I found myself, at first, in a small ten minute game with someone. It turned into a huge monkey on my back. My $30 weekend salary soon turned into quarters. The car that I wanted was now being lost in every 25 cent game. I couldn't pass a fooseball machine without challenging someone to some make-believe title. I crowned myself a fooseball champ and went about trying to hustle some competitors. It got the better of me. Every fooseball machine called me. Soon, I was playing down to the lint in my pocket. Money that was budgeted for carfare became another game. I was in dismal shape.

There was a set of unwritten rules for the game. If anyone shut out the opposing player or players, the loser must buy a beer for the winner. Great way to start a person on the road to alcoholism. Win a game, win a beer. There was some fearsome competition in the joint. I did win my share of beer games, however, I lost a few as well. I must have destroyed a few friendships along the way. One night, the editorial board of the satirical newspaper got together to elect a new editorial board. All I had to do was show up. I always wanted to be on the editorial board. I couldn't pull myself away for even a few minutes to be present at the meeting. This enslavement was too strong. I now understand what it means to be addicted. For me, I sunk to the bottom. Emotionally, I was only able to go up. Instead of progressing and growing up, I was regressing and acting like a child. Playing games? In a college of all places?

You might have laughed at my predicament, but it warranted a serious reevaluation. If I couldn't pull myself away for an editorial position, could I do it for a teaching position? I had to surmount the odds and get over this childhood quandary. It was time to get my priorities in order. I found the solution-walk away. That's right. I just walked away from the table and never looked back or regretted it. Many problems should be solved so easily. I did pay a price, however, for the many games I played. My grades dipped nearly bringing me to an academic probation. My potential in the clubs I was in, especially-ironically-as the president of the Psychology Club, fell to an all-time low. I needed to have my head examined. I lost interest to the point of damaging their very existence. I was nearly run off campus by the very people that I was designated to represent. That is when I rediscovered the grandstand over the football field in the back of the campus. I would sit for hours at a time. I would sit and watch the sunset over and over again. It was so refreshing to think about what I really wanted to do with persona. That's when I realized that I had to put my goal of teaching above anything else. Therefore, it was to be accomplished.

I decided to get more involved with cycling. A few months before I was to see Rose for what would be the last time, I found a nice bike frame leaning against a garbage can. I took the frame home, cleaned it up and proceeded to assemble some components on it. I rode it just about every day. It was an enjoyable machine. I set it up mostly for touring. It served me as my means of transportation to and from school and other places. I even put on a set of panniers. I rode it to and from church every weekend. It was a true steed.

It all came crashing down one Saturday evening. I had to get to church on time to set up for Mass. Normally, I had parked my bike inside of the church with me. I always stored my schoolwork inside of the bags while I attended to my duties. On this the first weekend in November, however, I decided to park it in the shed adjoining the priests' garage. When Mass was over this particular weekend, I went out to the shed. As I walked closer, I saw the lawn mower that I used earlier that day on the outside. At this point, I thought that someone tried to steal it but just gave up. Then I saw some spray cans sitting all over the place. These were originally sitting in the back of the shed. Then, to my horror, I didn't see my bike. Someone stole my bike!! She was gone. This was the icing on the cake. This was a tough year. First, Rose left for good. Now, my bike is stolen. For many weeks after that, I spent a great deal of time trying to recover from the pastor my loss.

I eventually did recover my loss to the tune of $75. Not bad for a bike that I found sitting next to a garbage can. I didn't want to spend it on anything. It had to put it toward something useful. I never did get a graduation ring from CK. I wanted to have my first real school ring. I put the money toward my SJU ring. The ring would help keep me focused on the biggest prize—my degree.

In the meantime, I had no way of getting around. I had to do something on an extremely limited budget. I don't know who said it, but they did say that when life deals you a lemon, make lemonade. I found my last bike in the trash. I figured that I should look back into the trash for more gold. I canvassed as many waste sites as possible. I was able to assemble, with great resolve, a ridable bike. I honestly don't remember how many miles I put in, but it got me where I wanted, or needed, to go. Putting it together showed me that when I really wanted to get something done, I got it done and nothing got in my way. Maurice Bernier learned something about himself. I needed this kind of motivation to get where I wanted to go. Now it was time to be a teacher.

And I still could not stop thinking of the goddess named Luanne.

Chapter 8: A Really Old SJU Senior