Lovers No More (Ch. 8)

Once again, I was in a position where I was about to graduate from a four year program. I was ready to move on to a new phase of my life. Where it would take me was beyond my imagination, but I was ready to go. St. John's had been very interesting and I needed to look for a way into the profession.

I couldn't help but compare myself to myself four years earlier. Four years before, I was an immature 17-year-old. Now, I was 21-years-old and looking for a teaching job. Four years ago, I started out the year on a happy note. Now, I started the year on a sad note and had hopes that it would get better. I had hopes that Rose would come back, but a Rose look-alike would nearly do the trick. I wasn't going to get any awards this time around, but it didn't faze me. I already accomplished what I wanted back then. The reward, for now, would be my degree. That was in my sight.

I concentrated on plenty of education courses. I also spent a lot of time sitting in the grandstand after school. I did a great deal of meditating for most of the afternoons. Could I do this or did I finally bite off more than I could chew? I have always been aimed at teaching when I was growing up. I was always influenced by my mom, Mrs. Fryer, and Brother Pat. This was my turn to pay them back in spades. I needed to become a teacher and make a name for myself. It had to be. I am Maurice and if I wanted something, I would get it. I wanted this so badly that I could have tasted it. Teaching was in my blood. Last year, I gave up the hope of being a professional musician and teacher like Mr. Williams in order to teach English. Now, I had to make things materialize before the summer. Now was the time.

The year was good. The highlight of the year was student teaching. It was a good indication to me that I needed some work. I selected St. Francis Prep in Fresh Meadows. I needed to do my student teaching and, because I had no car or license, it was agreed that I would go there. For once, not having either of these items prayed off. My bike was called to active duty. I rode her just about every day with clothes packed in the pannier and took my place in a classroom with Sister Angela, my supervising teacher. This was the time to learn something about teaching.

Soon enough, my four-year cycle had emerged once again. I examined the Prep. It closely resembled CK. It could have been built at the same time. Although St. Francis has a lengthy history, the building was relatively new. The building used to house another school. It closed and the Prep moved in. I really didn't take the time to wander throughout the building. Instead, I only went to the places that interested me: the classroom, the faculty room, the chapel and the band room. Each part gave me an unusual feeling. Let me go into detail.

I like to go somewhere and experience my own feelings. There are places that give a feeling that is strongly associated with the person that created it. You can go to these places and sense what has happened. You don't necessarily have to add to those feelings. I have never felt quite comfortable there. Yes, it was a nice place, but it wasn't my place. It was someone else's place. Christ the King was my place. I spent four years there. It eventually became my place. I still feel comfortable at CK. This is why I wanted to return and teach there. Obviously, I had to basically accept a teaching position wherever I could get one. I would have been okay teaching at the Prep until what I wanted came along.

The classroom that I taught in was a pretty decent room. It overlooked a desolate area of land that resembled a deserted forest. While I can normally appreciate something like that, the beauty of trees sitting in loneliness, I still couldn't find my bearings within the building. This was extremely important. When you are comfortable, you can be more of yourself. The room also faced south. It is important that a room faces west. West is where my success lies. My favorite tower is west (northwest) as opposed to my house. Christ the King, right now as I type these words, is west. I did what I could because I wanted to make a good impression, yet I didn't feel that I did my best work. There was another reason for facing west. To my knowledge, Rose was still in the west, just where I wanted to go.

The room, though, gave an aura of past students, some of whom may have attended SJU with me. This was their room, not mine. They had their own experiences in this room. I am just the paper blowing in the wind. I settle until the wind carries me away. They are the paint on the wall. Their memory is what will last. They made their own impressions. I looked throughout the room to see younger students who, in time, will forget me. They will, instead, remember the room that they were in. Did I have such a place in Christ the King? Yes. There were actually two of them. I already explained how I made my impressions in the band room. There was also the secluded spot where I would meet Rose. For me, that spot would always be a sacred area. It was there that she and I would enjoy each other's company and dream. She would dream. I would dream of a world without racism. I wanted to show everyone that I found the completion of my soul. It was Rose. She was the one who made me a complete person. I wanted to marry her. I remember how she giggled when I brought it up. I would have faced and defeated the Klan just to marry her. Perhaps that is why I found myself getting nearly violent at Eddie. He took away the one who I thought would remain in my life as well as my soul. Yes, I have my family, but she would have made all of the searching in life come to a halt. Nowadays, people can not see others without seeing sex and lust. There were no thoughts of sex or lust for Rose. There were just thoughts of how much I loved her and only her. I still love her. I love her more now than I did the day when I first kissed her. That is why I will always hold that spot in complete reverence. It was our spot.

I had no spot like that at the Prep. Someone else may have had a spot like that, but the spirits wisely chose not to show them to me. It wasn't any of my concern. My concern was simply to get into the teaching profession.

I next journeyed to the band room. This would be the ultimate battle of the auras, the spirits that guided me to this room. Would I be able to make an impression here? Would I be able to become a part of the paint on the wall? Instead, the room seemed more and more like something I had dreamed about for many of years even before I studied music. Why? I just can't seem to explain it. I was just drawn here. It was created, though, through deja vu. I was more fascinated by the room than what I did. What I played wasn't important. It was strange not to be able to make myself a part of my specialty room. I moved on.

I moved to the faculty room, the first faculty room that I had been in so close to the start of my career. I had no good experiences in this room. It was also the start for me to mix with people. I was not treated so kindly in the faculty room. I felt that everything that was done there was at my expense. I could go into more details, but I won't do so. Some of them were quite embarrassing. Some of this was brought on by myself. The majority was done to me. I merely allowed it to be.

Throughout the entire ordeal, I made a short-term friendship with the custodian. I read somewhere that the custodian should also be known to the teacher because he, like the teachers and administration, performs a service to the children and building. I understood. He would allow me to lock up my bike until my day was over. We would exchange pleasantries for a while. All during the time, I could see how isolated he was from the rest of the school. Now, the experiences that I had from the faculty room made sense. They were not imaginary feelings. They were real. You see, Cliff the custodian was white, but he associated himself with me and I with him. He was a good man. I am only sorry that I ever lost touch with him after a few years. He was a family man who took great pride in caring for his wife and child.

The final spot for me was the chapel. It was inviting for a prayer life, but I was seeking a bit more. I remembered how I met Rose that sunny day in the chapel some five years earlier. I was still looking for another Rose. Even if one did walk in, she probably would have been too young for me. I would often attend a Mass and think of her. Again, in terms of being a part of the place, it was not for me at all. I left. I never looked back.

In fact, I left it all behind with no remorse. For me, there was nothing gained and, therefore, nothing lost.

Once again, I found myself at the graduation stage. I worked hard to get my Bachelor of Arts degree. I should have been much happier than this, but I wasn't. I even skipped the graduation choosing instead to shoot for a Master's degree. I needed more. What was to follow would be on the road to real success. I searched for the teaching job within the Board.

For a while, I also thought about Luanne. I remembered that her address was in our yearbook with the addresses of my other CK classmates. There were many times that I wanted to write her a letter, but I feared that she, possibly a married lady by now, would get upset. I neglected to write, but she was never far from my mind at all. I looked through our college yearbook. There she was, just as radiant as I last saw her and will always remember her. What a dope I was. We attended two schools together and I never approached her to sign either yearbook. My HUGE loss.

During the summer, I spent a great deal of time going back and forth to the Board of Education looking for a job. In between my train trips, I made a stop at 485 MADison Avenue in Manhattan in hopes of becoming a writer for MAD magazine. I met with William Gaines, the founder. He introduced me to one of his representatives. I took a guided tour through the office. I was in total amazement. During my high school and college journalism days, all we could talk about was MAD magazine and how each one of us was well qualified to be a member of the organization. In CK, my biggest rival who really presented no threat to my abilities wanted to show us all up and write for the SJU satirical paper, the Common Good. Even though he was a sports writer and I was a feature writer, he made it to the CG for a while. He was quickly booted from their organization within a few months, lack of humor, I think. When I made it to SJU, I ended up writing for the Common Good for my entire four years. Neither of us, though, had any experience with MAD. I would like to believe that if it came down to a choice between the two of us, MAD would have been glad to have me aboard.

I accepted the fact that I was going to teach English as a profession. I decided that if there was going to be any music in my life, it would be as part of a freelancing gig. I saw myself teaching English in the classroom, Spiro replacing Doc Severinsen as the lead trumpeter on the Tonight Show and Eddie bringing up many children with Rose. Yep, my life was going just as well as planned except for a few major and minor glitches.

Chapter 9: The Post-SJU Days