Ruckschau

It's not you, it's me.

Thinking back to opportunities missed, or just not taken.  The times when I was young and pining for female companionship.  I can see now how many there were, right under my nose.

Kathleen, 1982: We had at least one english lit class together.  Sometimes ended up having one on one conversations, lengthy and thoughtful. One winter semester. I was having my annual near death head cold experience.  Feeling particularly shitty, to shorten my cross campus trek to home I opted for a cut through the graphic arts building.  I could avoid the steep hill and warm up a bit at the same time.  I encountered Kathleen in the elevator. I wasn't in a particularly talkative mood as I was struggling to breathe.  She did most of the talking on our way down to the bottom of the building.  We exited the elevator and I tried to separate politely. Probably I was a bit brusque, nodding in agreement to whatever she was saying, one word answers, just leave me be. As we parted, she stopped me, looked me in the eyes earnestly and said; "John, if ever you need someone to talk to I live in Jeff Hall room xxx. If you ever want to talk about anything, anything at all."

I wonder what she'd have thought. If I had taken her up on that, if I told her what I was.  Mostly, in those days, I thought I was a freak, a monster, an undesirable. No woman would want me. How could they?  Experience had taught me that to deviate from expectations was to risk being shunned. I made a self imposed exile from the tenderness and acceptance that I so much wanted to experience.

There were others, some I likely didn't notice or don't recall.  One, Nancy I think her name was. Sharp as a whip, athletic, pretty. I enjoyed her company, never ran out of things to talk about.  Another, name escapes me, practically begged me to go on a canoe/camping trip with a group of friends.  Let's see: Tents, girls, wilderness.  WTF was I thinking?  "Well, I'm spending the weekend with my hand and my imagination." Shit!