Regeneration X (27 page)

Again, I have Dr. Baum to thank for this clarification and am happy to report this wound has healed. This fragment had been hanging over my head, and now I feel one tiny step freer from my past. One ghost vanquished.
 

Now Miles and I can carry on being friends without the baggage and suppositions. While he’s in town, we plan to see each other again. I can imagine how lonesome it must be to be in a foreign city for an extended period without friends.

I enjoy drama. Although it’s highly unlikely, I’d ever be a successful thespian. I’m hesitant to cast my dreams aside completely. So, at the very end of the term, feeling disappointed at having to choose one way or the other, it occurred to me there was no reason why I had to do everything the old-fashioned way this time around. I wasn’t a robot. I was multifaceted with many talents and interests. Therefore, I approached my drama advisor with a concept: I wanted to design my own program. She was intrigued and receptive to the idea. Perhaps because it was a new challenge for her professionally but also, limiting creativity was not one of the college’s goals.

Together, Dr. Burroughs and I were able to create a curriculum designed especially for me. While I would officially transfer to the Literature College, I would also continue to take one course per term in the Drama School. So far this wasn’t against the rules or too outrageous. I, however, proposed to take it a step further, for which I would have to write a Proposal for Special Consideration and submit it to the school’s board of directors and deans of both colleges. If everything went according to plan, I would be categorized as a student of both colleges and graduate with a specialized degree, Bachelor of Arts in Literature for Performing Arts. If my proposal isn’t accepted, then my education would at least result in a Bachelors of Arts in Literature degree with a Minor Certificate in Performing Arts. Dr. Burroughs said if I submitted my proposal sooner I was likely to have a decision before autumn enrollment.

To which I happily replied, “Done.” I could fashion a written statement contesting my rationale, abilities, and goals easily.

・ ・ ・

“Hey you! I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re finally coming,” I said to Michael. “I told you I put in the paperwork at the beginning of last term to transfer to the Literature College, right?”

“Yes. You mentioned it, but I didn’t understand why you didn’t just go ahead last term,” Michael said, asking and stating at the same time.

“Eh, you know how flaky I was the first time, changing to one thing and then another. Well, I needed to make sure I was doing the right thing. I’ve been anxious to make a decision. On the other hand, I didn’t want to give up too soon and make the wrong decision. I don’t think I wasted my time. It was a great experience.”

“So are you sure now?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll get to the twist in a sec. The end-of-term play,
Hamlet
, was great, but I wasn’t. From the beginning, I knew why my professor cast me in a lesser role. I played the queen in the play within the play. It’s because I can’t act, at least not well enough for it to lead me to the fulfillment I’m seeking. There is way too much of the already formed Charley in me to be able to play someone else well.”

“I would have enjoyed seeing you on stage, at least once. Somehow I just can’t imagine it.”

“Well, you may still get the chance. Let me tell you of my revised plan.”

“Hmm, there’s an alternate plan. How could there not be? Already sounds interesting. Explain yourself, young lady.”

“I know, right? I could use some parental guidance. So, I submitted a proposal just recently to create my own degree program, kind of a dual major. But since there isn’t a program such as the one I want, I worked with an advisor to design the curriculum. I want the curriculum to reflect in the degree I earn. So this is why I had to submit the proposal to the deans and the board.”

“You’re not kidding? You are designing your own program? Right on! So how’s it going to work, drama and literature?”

“Well you know how lit students take all the general lit classes for basis, and then move on to more focused study like 19th-Century Prose? Well, I want to study Literature for Drama, specifically. Plays. English lit is way too broad. I want to specialize. I want to become an expert, but I don’t want to give up either literature or drama.”

“It’s pretty brilliant because you could carry it into graduate and doctorate programs if you wanted.”

“Exactly! I knew you’d get it right away. There are playwrights in the Writing programs, actors in the drama, and academia in the literature. If this goes my way, my education can be specialized, but still be broad enough so I don’t go homeless looking for a job. I think.”

“That’s amazing, I am proud of you. I hope your deans approve it—it makes complete sense,” Michael said. “How do you feel about giving up on having adventures, traveling, and all the other stuff you wanted from being an actress?”

“I found out a while ago there isn’t much traveling in acting anymore and, as I said, I don’t think I would ever succeed as a full-time actress. My facial expressions alone won’t get me in the movies. Actually, on that note, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you ever feel as if the
old
you gets in the way of the
new
you?”

“Sometimes, but I tell myself to stop being a stick in the mud. I’ve been doing some visualization exercises Dr. Baum taught me. Whenever I feel I’m holding myself back, I imagine I am stuck in mud and then think the mud is runny and easy to get unstuck from. I visualize myself walking right through it. It really helps.”

“I’ll have to try that,” I say closing my eyes and finding it pretty easy to visualize myself immovable and covered in muck. “So, just one week. I’ll be seeing you!”

Chapter Twenty-four

It hath been taught us from the primal state

That he which is was wished until he were,

And the ebbed man, ne’er loved till ne’er worth love,

Comes deared by being lacked. This common body,

Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide,

To rot itself with motion.

—William Shakespeare,
Antony and Cleopatra (1.4)

・
・
・

“IT’S WONDERFUL TO SEE YOU,” I SAID as I give Michael a long and enthusiastic overdue hug. I’m not sure why we didn’t kiss, though. I think the romance has completely gone, but we’d become closer friends over the phone than we’d been for many years, as if living together had automatically created the bond we called
best
friends.

“Likewise, you look great. Ha! I don’t mean look, you know what I mean. You look happy, outright vivid,” Michael said releasing me from the embrace, but holding me at arm’s length to look at me. “Video chat doesn’t do you justice. Seriously, better than I’ve ever seen you.”

When I was in my fifties, my fashion sense was conservative but classy, I thought. My standbys were sweaters and black capris, or button down shirts and jeans without holes. I wasn’t so far gone into frump-dom that I started wearing “mom jeans”—waisted above the belly button, just under the diaphragm. And even though I worked from home and stayed indoors for most hours of every day, I had not succumbed to jama-jeans, either. I definitely valued comfort, so I never did wear heels when I was young or middle-aged. It wasn’t something I felt I needed to do—learn how to walk on stilts and get past the pain of crushed toes, just for the sake of elongated calves. I couldn’t understand the logic in this for anyone except an aspiring ballet dancer.

What Michael saw now was a blend of the two old me’s. I’m still not fond of trendy styles—so no hoochie daisy dukes or tiny shirts exposing my midriff. I still loved a good pair of jeans. The ones I was wearing now with a plain white t-shirt were a bit more distressed. They were called “boyfriend” jeans, and were a bit on the slouchy side with not even one percent spandex in their composition.

I won’t say I let myself go, but if you saw me, objectively speaking, I was noticeably more attractive now, mainly because I spend time outdoors, how elementary. The sallowness of my complexion was gone. Of course I noticed the fine lines and blemishes back then. It was the gray undertone from being secluded for long periods of time that I had overlooked.

“I can take a compliment on my looks every now and again. Just say it, I’m hot!”

“You dig my kicks?” I asked raising and twisting my ankle to show off my red leather converse.

“Very nice, where’d you get them? I’d like a pair myself,” Michael said appreciatively.

“We’ll make sure we get you a pair before you leave,” I acknowledged, feeling gratified. “Let’s go, Inez will be looking forward to seeing you too. We can grab some take away on the way home,” I said, looping my arm through his and leading us toward the doors leaving Heathrow.

“You’re starting to talk as a Brit. You said, ‘take away’ instead of ‘carry out’.”

“Good! I didn’t even do it on purpose. This just means I’m a millimeter closer to assimilating.”

・ ・ ・

Inez, Michael and I walked through the campus and stopped to sit in the quad in front of the College of Dramatic Studies, which was just across the road from my new college. Despite the ground being damp, possibly from the last of the rains for some time, we had come prepared with a thick wool army blanket. We must have sat there for a couple of hours.

We talked about Seattle, Becks and Fergus, my family and the Fenns. Although Inez and I chatted with Becks, and I with Michael over the phone frequently, there was so much more to discuss in person. For example, Mark Haydn was leaving the university for retirement and had recommended Michael to take his position as Dean of the Fine Arts College. This was big news for Michael and a possible career change for him as well. On one hand, while Michael anticipated a new challenge, he didn’t want to commit to many more years of work—Dean Haydn was currently 72 years old.

“Fergus has a girlfriend,” Michael reported. “He met at her the agility training facility and goes completely bonkers when he sees her, which is once a week.” Oddly, Fergus and his girlfriend, an Irish setter named Matisse, lived in the neighborhood for 3 years and had not noticed one another until a love at 100th-sight moment a month ago. I missed Fergus immensely and imagined him exactly as he was the day I left. I tried video chatting with him once, but he put his big hairy paw on the screen and I could see no more of the lovable face, even though his eyes were usually hidden under expressive eyebrows. He barked a few, “rhurufs!” in farewell, and that was the end of our conversation.

After Inez took off to do her thing, Michael and I had a more private (and serious) conversation.

“I came here to see you, just to be with you of course, but there are some things we need to discuss.

“It’s been almost six months since you moved here. From your transfer and our past conversations, I assume you’re planning on staying. Do you know as of right now whether it will be just for school? Or do you think, intend, to reside here indefinitely?”

I was somewhat taken aback by his directness. He had never before been so forward in asking about the future; the Michael I knew lived day by day. Another old habit of his: he didn’t ask questions. He had once explained he didn’t need to ask since I told him everything he needed to know.

“I plan to stay for school, of course, and hopefully after.” I paused and then plunged forward. “I’ll be as direct as you now. What are your plans? What do you think about us?” He seemed almost to have been waiting for those questions.

“While you’ve been away I’ve changed—been trying to. I want to be more proactive about life now that I have the opportunity. I don’t have to explain this to you, I know. Over the past few months, and even before the CR, I started to see that I, and we were just coasting through life. And remember the conversation when you asked me if I felt like I was walking in place?”

“Yes, I remember it clearly. You said you did, but you still loved your work.”

“Right. I did and still do, but only because I find the subject interesting and feel confident in my level of expertise. Lately I’ve realized, though, it’s because I am comfortable. I wallow in comfort. But this is not living or growing. I think I want to accept Mark’s offer, if only to challenge myself and expand on my abilities, stop walking in place.

“The conversation we had stuck in my head. I use it as a guide when I’m stagnating. It’s strange, but I wanted to thank you for making me think about my own happiness. Really, I am grateful.”

“You’ve sort of mildly shocked me. You’re very talkative,” I said not knowing what else to say exactly. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you think it’s a good thing. I’ve always felt … I don’t know … selfish, hard-hearted, for making you change the way of life you seemed to think was just fine.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t see anything except what I was losing at the time. I’ve been waiting to speak with you. You’re still the one person who knows me best, but I wanted to talk openly, in person. It’s not the same as calling. Even though I see your face, it’s not the same.”

“I have no complaints. Keep going, I want to hear it, the good the bad and the ugly.”

“I was saying I want to be more proactive now that I have a chance. That’s not to say I wasn’t before, because of age, or you. I don’t want you to think you were holding me back in some way. But really, I feel, maybe we were holding each other back,” he paused and looked at me sadly, probably wondering how I would take this last comment.

I wondered if Dr. Baum had anything to do with this realization; it sounded familiar. “Oh, don’t worry. If only you could read my journal entries, you’d see you are not telling me anything that didn’t occur to me, too, both before and after my regeneration.

“Honestly, it’s hard not to be hurt by those words when I
hear
them because we have been married so long, but I understand exactly where you’re coming from. I’ve thought them. Just so you know it was excruciating to let you go. When you said, ‘I hope you come back to me’ it broke my heart. I felt guilty and confused. Would you still say the same now?” I asked pointedly, having gotten the impression, he wouldn’t. This was the strangest conversation I’d ever had with Michael. It was obvious we hadn’t been open with one another, and there were so many questions from both sides. Our tennis match continued.