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The Summer of Seventy-two
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The Summer of Seventy-two |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
For Enchantress, Who knows the casting of spells, And for Midnitesun, ... who shines ... And ... well, for everybody ... The Summer of Seventy-two I did this write originally for senior high school English, because we were supposed to write something, and I couldn't think of anything else to write about. But I knew I could always throw it away. And no one but Mr. Miles would even read it, and then nobody would know. Unfortunately, Mr. Miles wanted each of us to read our "stories," the better to grade them. Well, we started. Then they finally got to me. I tried to get out of reading my pitiful piece of mindless, tedious twaddle, but then everybody started jeering and teasing me, so finally I just ... did it ... and I guess the teacher graded it, and it was presumably thrown away. But I would never forget it. It was the most extraordinary summer of my life ... the way it was ... and here also are the audio tracks running in the background to so many of the first times in my life. I've got a pair of roller skates; You've got a brand new key ... The summer of seventy-two began in the cold. Christmas, 1971. TSB was a boarding school for blind students from across the state, and we were all going home for vacation. As on every other year since 1967, I took the long twelve-hour bus ride home to Monterey. I would spend Christmas in Mexico. But I was deeply unhappy. It was my face, itching and pop-marked with horrible acne; it was my scalp, burning and flaking away with dandruff that was even worse. I felt dizzy and at times I couldn't hear. But what upset me so deeply that Christmas was not having a girlfriend. I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted a girlfriend so badly, more deeply than I ever wanted anything else. Day and night I dreamt how it would be to have a girlfriend. My parents arranged a diversion, a trip to Mexico City to visit Father. I think it was part of the custody arrangement. It had always been fun to see Dad in Mexico City. He and his wife and friends were always going out sight-seeing or to restaurants. There my reverie continued. What could I do to have a girlfriend? ... anything? ... Why did many of my friends have girlfriends and I didn't? All I knew would happen is I would go back to the school next year, and the next year, and the next ... One day my father took me to a certain Dr. Dugol for treatment of the acne and dandruff. I guess maybe he was a skinologist and scalpologist. His enchanting daughter, playing in a field of flowers, reminded me again of what I wanted, and it made me cry. The doctor was gentle. He said that emotional turmoil can cause skin outbreaks like mine. Could he know ... my secret? ... It was almost unbearable. What if he knew? He prescribed a cream for my face, vitamins, a special shampoo and cap to protect my scalp, and a special soap to bathe with. In January I was back at the school, and it was as it had always been. All the teachers were making fun of me. The house so-called "parents" were old hags and they seemed always to be yelling at me. Worst of all, I was finally mastering the art of beating up on myself.. Life was bleak and uneventful, and January became February, and February became March. (Bang a gong; get it on) T-rex And then one day in April I got a long distance call from father, and the news there had been trouble at home. In February mother had undergone what was termed a "psychotic episode," and the student boarding business had to be abandoned. She was taken to a facility in Montery, where she stayed until arrangements were made for her return to San Antonio and there to the state hospital where she could get better treatment. Dad took the girls with him to Mexico City. There was no home to go to for the summer. He had spoken to the school administration. Would I like to stay in Texas and go to summer school? I agreed. And as the school year drew to a close, I began to feel an aliveness and quickening I had never known before and that I could not explain. (Rocket Man) Elton John. Bill Withers; Some time in our lives We all have pain, We all have sorrow ... Monday, June 12, 1972. There was glimmering magic in the air, the feeling that something was about to happen, that it might happen any minute, was stronger and more powerful than ever. The crop of summer schools students were almost all new, and even some teachers. It was the same old place, but somehow it seemed that everything was different. We were housed in a building called the "complex" because the old building were being cleared of furniture prior to their demolition The routine we followed in summer school was simple and the atmosphere almost casual. There were two classes, one for morning and the other in the afternoon. I had English all morning and then elected "group discussion." I took group discussion to avoid having to take PE. You know how awful having to take PE is, and having to run laps in 90 degree heat was something I didn't even want to think about. And if I had told, I knew they would have made me do it. It was in the afternoon class that I met the crazies: Randall, Donna, Lisa, Paula, Lenelle and Bob. I hold them strictly responsible for teaching me that there is humor in everything and how to really laugh. When we all got going, they had to open all the windows just to let the sound waves out and keep the panes from shattering. We decided we were inmates in a special concentration camp. Given a bunch of teenagers with nothing to do, the officials couldn't resist the temptation to exploit us as cheap slave labor. Without warning they could impress us out of class and make us carry furniture, couches, chairs, tables, anything, from one building to another in the hot Texas sun. Every day we got our thin prison gruel, so it wasn't too bad. If interviewed by the "red cross" or some reporter, we were instructed to say how happy we were and that the food was wonderful and give them signed statements (previously extracted from us under torture by the political police) saying we were not being mistreated. If anyone complained about this, the student seemed to "disappear" for a while and then come back cheerfully parroting the Party line, and how they loved big brother, etc. Just two days after the Wattergate break-in, Bob and I created anew shadow government which was to be even more Nixonian than Nixon's. With others joining we made up cabinet posts and tried to fill them. Some went unfilled, so I volunteered to be the minister for human lefts, for civil wrongs, the functionary for fundamental functions, the procurator for procurement, the deus ex machina, official beholder of the divine digits, minister for nocturnal affairs, and High Priest during the festivals of Wester and Passunder ... and sometimes we would institute a command economy and five-year plans like the Communist countries----all of which, of course, had to be kept secret from the happy camp authorities, some of whom we could also bribe to get enough prison soup to survive for another day. I'm yours. You're mine. Automatically sunshine ... Diana Ross Back in English class we had principally two activities. Besides written assignments, we would listen to cassette books and make plans to put on a school play. In this regard, we decided that, since they were going to laugh at us anyway, we might just as well perform a comedy. After going through one by Thorton Wielder called Healthy, Wealthy and Wild, we either chose or were assigned parts. The last parts, by default, went to me. It was supposed to be the lead. My last act had been playing lion tamer back in second grade. I thought this would be easy, just memorizing lines, but I was wrong, and by the time I decided this had been a mistake and I shouldn't have gotten into it, I couldn't get out. my cracked voice was still changing. I didn't know how it would sound from one week to the next. And as if that were not enough, I was about to fall hopelessly in teenage love. ... I found myself phoning her At least ten times a day. It's so unusual for me to carry on this way ... The Cornelius Brothers SC Hey, you sweat less than any other fat girl I've danced with. |
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LoveBug
Moderator
Member Elite
since 2000-01-08
Posts 4697 |
Hey, this was really neat. Your descriptions are very vivid, and the story itself is very nice. Will there be a sequel? You kinda leave a lot of questions unresolved  And just one thing: "I guess maybe he was a skinologist and scalpologist" I think it would be a dermitologist Nice work, keep writing! Oh, make me Thine forever |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
A pleasure to read...James |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
http://www.rmdjournal.com/V2i5htm/RMDJ_PG13.htm grinning here and enjoying this, and also providing other readers with a link to your Rocky Mountain Dream write  Conratulations, Jaime, WAY TO GO! |
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