Chapter 5: Accepting My Fate

As I read over this journal, I'm struck by the impression that you must have about how I have so easily adapted to my situation. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was desperately lonely despite the family I had regained, as well as my friends and acquaintances at college. There was no way I could just wipe out fifty years of my history and not feel hollow and incomplete. But as time passed, I began to accept the likelihood that this altered universe would now be my "real" life, and the other was gone, perhaps forever. It took me a long time to come to terms with that possibility, but gradually I began to acknowledge it.

I passed my first semester exams without difficulty. My preparation and disciplined study habits had paid off and my marks were surprisingly good, even in math and physics. Math was just hard work and application. In physics, however, I had a helpful friend, Dave Meehan. As the fall progressed and we met weekly at the SciFi club, he and I spent more time together as he volunteered to give me whatever assistance where I was having difficulty.

Whatever Dave might have wanted to be before he took this job, I couldn't think of anything he was more suited to than teaching. Perhaps it was his age, or more likely the patience he showed with anyone in the class who really wanted to learn the material but was struggling.

The SciFi club would continue over the full year, so Dave and I could get together weekly. We spent a lot of time discussing philosophy mixed with physics. I hadn't really associated the two subjects; one a "hard science," the other the opposite, but Dave had obviously given it a lot of thought, and I suspect I was a sounding board for some of his theories. I often wondered why he would expect a nineteen year old student to grasp these concepts, but he did and I was pleased.

With the Christmas break imminent, Tommie French called to ask me if I was interested in some work over the holidays. Naturally, my answer was yes. I had some objectives for Christmas presents that needed funding, and Mr. French's offer was exactly what I was hoping for.

On top of that, I was planning to buy a car for myself. I was constantly borrowing Mom's or Dad's car, and I know there were times when that wasn't convenient. I hadn't found any investment opportunities that jumped out at me, so I decided to spend my surplus cash on a used car. I had very little to spend, but then cars didn't cost anywhere near as much as they do now. I was confident I could find a very serviceable five-year-old sedan for under a thousand dollars.

As it turned out, one of my dad's golfing partners was a part-owner of a GM dealership in the village, and he found the ideal car for me. It had been the only transportation for an aging gentleman who could no longer drive. Out of pity, Roger, who had originally sold the man this car, agreed to buy it back. It was a little rough on the outside, but it had only eight thousand miles on it, despite the fact it was seven years old.

I was about to become the proud owner of a 1952 Pontiac Catalina two door hardtop with a 239 cubic inch, 90 hp, flathead six, and a hydra-matic transmission. I wondered why the old man had chosen this model, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I laid down $750 cash, licensed it, insured it, and drove it home. Between the car and my Christmas shopping, I was down to less than a hundred in my bank account, but my brewery job would replenish my cash.

Most of the car's outside damage was minimal and cosmetic. Some of it I could erase with a cut-polish job and a little judicious metal-beating from the inside. I had no illusions about the performance of this machine. It was heavy and slow, possibly getting up to about 80 downhill with a tailwind, but based on the tires, suspension, brakes, and steering of the day, I wouldn't dream of attempting that.

It had a lovely wide front bench seat of vinyl, trimmed in leather. It was a cream and blue two-tone with white wall tires and full hubcaps. By the time I had invested several hours in cleaning it up, removing most of the scratches, and knocking out most of the "door-dings," I was satisfied it was a nice ride despite its age.

As Christmas approached, I was growing more confident with my progress at college and in adapting to my new life. I wasn't, however, making any progress with Belle. I was being very careful with her, of course, not pushing her too far or asking for too much in the way of intimacy. I restricted myself to petting and kissing, a frustration for a hormonal nineteen-year-old. I had a decision to make soon. Get more aggressive with Belle, or find someone else.

I worked at the brewery all through the Christmas and New Years break, amassing the tidy sum of almost $230 after taxes, thanks to overtime and double-time on holidays. The brewery had sold more than anticipated over the period, and needed to restock their inventory before stepped-up demand came from the stores. I was back with a flush bank account once again.

I bought my mother, father, and brother fairly nice gifts that they appreciated. I didn't get too extravagant, but I knew them so much better than I had at that age, so I was more thoughtful in my selection. I bought my father a "coffee table book" on exotic automobiles. He was a car nut, among other things. When my brother and I left home and were safely out on our own, he bought one of the last production Mercedes Benz 190SL roadsters. He loved that car like he loved my mother.

For my mother, I bought a very nice Italian Merino wool sweater, after consulting with my father on colour choice. She loved it, but was upset that I had spent so much on something so lovely. I told her I bought it on sale (a lie) and couldn't take it back, and that put an end to her objections.

For my brother, I had to think long and hard. I finally decided on a nice ski jacket. He and I had been skiers since we were just into our teens, and this was the first year that I wouldn't be up on the mountain with him. He thought it was great and thanked me very much.

All together, I had spent a little more than I planned on, but when I think of all the sacrifices that my parents made for me over the years, it made the decisions easy. I told my mother the sweater was to thank her for allowing me to use her car for those early months when I was carpooling twice a week. She accepted that and gave me a big hug in appreciation.

That left just Belle to complete my gift list. We always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning, so I told her I would be over in the early afternoon before heading home for a family dinner. I wrestled with my decision about what to get her. We had been going together for just three months, and while we were exclusive to each other, it wasn't at the serious stage. The gift couldn't be too personal, but not too frivolous either.

I finally decided on a pair of Italian leather gloves I saw in the same shop where I bought my mother's sweater. They were incredibly soft, just like her hands, and I thought she would enjoy them. I was right. She loved them, and she wore them many, many times. It was a personal gift, but not too personal.

My job at the brewery hadn't changed. I was still on the packaging line, doing mindless, repetitive work. I wondered how anyone could do this year after year without going crazy. I did give me time to think, however. Perhaps that was a dangerous thing, because I began to wonder what other life I might create for myself. I was beginning to get frustrated with the relationship between Belle and me, and wondered what to do about it.

What changed everything was an incident shortly after I returned to college in the New Year. I had been oblivious to other females for the most part, although I couldn't ignore the steady parade of sexy young things that graced the campus.

Near the end of the first week back, I was sitting near the back of the lecture hall at my Economic History of Europe class when I became aware of someone arriving a little late and plunking themselves down beside me with a whoosh of captured breath. I turned to look and saw a spectacular looking girl with cobalt blue eyes, long straight blonde hair and a flawless movie-star-like face. It took me a moment, but I remembered that I had seen her before on campus. Who could forget her? I knew she was tall, almost six feet, and had one of those lithe, perfect bodies for a model.

I smiled at her and she smiled back and I turned back to the lecture. Professor McGowan, a sour old sot, droned on and on while I desperately tried to glean even a sliver of information from him. It was a lost cause, but fortunately for me, I was enthusiastic about the course, if not the lecturer, and I was doing well in spite of his wretched performance. I pitied those who were trying to get their information from him. It was an almost impossible task. It turned out one of those poor souls was the gorgeous young woman sitting beside me.

As the lecture ended, she flopped back in her chair and let out another long, protracted sigh.

"Tough sledding, huh?" I said turning to her.

"Worse. I haven't a clue what he's talking about. I've been reading the text and I'm trying to pick up what he's getting at, but I'm beginning to think I'm wasting my time. I barely passed my first semester exams, but I don't think I'm going to make it this time," she said in despair.

"Don't give up. What's in the book and a couple of other references are what you really need to concentrate on. His lectures are hopeless, but I come because every once in a while he says something that interests me. I really like the topic, or I'd have torched this course long ago."

"You really like this course?" she asked in a disbelieving voice.

"Yeah. Europe is a fascinating and complex place, with so many historical reference points. I plan to travel there when I'm finished school. I took this course because I already know quite a bit of European history, so this would be some additional information that I didn't have."

"I wish I felt your enthusiasm. Right now I'm about ready to quit."

"Don't do that. If you want, I'd be happy to help you. Give me an hour or so in the library once a week and I'm betting I could get you back on track," I said, wondering what in the hell I was suggesting.

"You would? Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I think I can help. You've made it through the first half. All you have to do is make it through the second half and it you can kiss it sayonara."

She looked at me for a few moments before saying anything.

"That's very nice of you. When would you want to do this ... tutoring?"

"Well, Thursday afternoon is usually the lightest for most students. Would that work for you?"

"Yeah. I don't have any classes on Thursday afternoon. We'd meet in the library study hall?"

"That's the best place. All the reference material is handy and we can talk a bit without disturbing too many people. Besides, it would be out in the open and you'd be safe."

"Safe? What do you mean?"

I stopped immediately. I was putting a modern reference to an as yet uncommon issue. I struggled for a reasonable answer.

"Well ... uhhm ... you don't know me, so ... uhhm ... you wouldn't feel uncomfortable with just the two of us together," I tried. I cringed at what I might have put in her thoughts.

"Oh ... I see ... well ... I'm not really worried about you, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah ... that's sort of what I mean. But ... why wouldn't you be a little suspicious of my motives?" I asked, this time with a smile.

"Because I have a very big boyfriend who is very protective of me," she giggled.

She had easily defused the tension.

"Okay ... I've been warned," I grinned. "Anyway, we've missed this week, so why don't we plan on meeting at one-thirty next Thursday in the library and between now and then, you can think of where you want some help and we'll go from there."

She gave me a thousand watt smile and nodded enthusiastically. "Great, I'll see you then."

"Uhhm ... just one thing. I don't know your name."

"Zoe. Zoe Braithwaite."

"I'm Lee North. Nice to meet you, Zoe."

As I walked to my final class of the week, I thought about the conversation I had just had. She was a spectacularly beautiful woman, way out of my league at any age. But she was also vulnerable. She wasn't trying to get by on looks alone. She needed help, and instinctively I offered it. I was looking forward to my future Thursday afternoons.

That was just he beginning of a series of situations that caused me to change my outlook and reassess my plans. The following week, in the SciFi group, one of the girls approached me. I remembered that her name was Diane, and she was quite attractive.

"Hi Lee. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Uh ... sure. It's Diane, isn't it?"

"That's right, Diane Williams," she smiled. "I'm surprised you remembered."

I didn't respond, but waited for her to continue.

"I was wondering ... would you like to have coffee ... or something ... at the Student Union Building?"

"Uhhm ... well ... sure ... I guess so. To what do I owe the honour?"

She smiled, almost in relief I thought. She had sucked up her courage to ask me if I would be interested in being with her, even briefly. I was surprised, but flattered.

"Oh, nothing. You're kind of a cool guy and ... pretty smart. I know you and Mr. Meehan are friends. I'd just like to get to know you better." She was nervous, but trying hard to disguise it.

"Well, when would you like to get together?

"Would tomorrow be okay? Maybe we could have lunch together."

She was upping the ante. I smiled at her, both intrigued and interested.

"All right. Lunch it is at the SUB. I'll see you there just after twelve."

She broke out into a wide smile and then blushed, turned away and left the room.

"What was that about?" I said aloud to myself.

"I'd say it was about a young lady who is interested in getting to know you," came Dave Meehan's voice from behind me.

"You heard?"

"Some of it. Enough. She is pretty."

"Yes ... she is."

My math class wasn't far from the SUB, so it was just after noon when I entered the cafeteria and looked for Diane. I spotted her before she saw me and waved to let her know I had found her. She smiled immediately and rose from her chair.

Both of us packed our lunches and usually bought only soup or drinks from the counter. Diane wanted only milk, so I volunteered to look after that while she held our place for us. It would be crowded in the cafeteria within minutes and she had obviously arrived early to get a prime location. I chose the clam chowder, and two milks, and was soon back at our table. I remembered to bring napkins and glasses for the milk.

"Thanks," she said as I passed her a glass, napkin and her milk carton.

We went through the routine of opening our sandwich bag and looking to see what we had. My mother continued to insist that she would pack my lunch, despite my willingness to do it for myself. She said she wanted to make sure I was eating properly, but I doubt that she really meant that. I think it was more likely a way of staying in touch with me.

We ate almost in silence until Diane summoned up her courage and asked me a very direct question.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uhhm ... yes ... sort of," I said. I had no idea why I added that last bit. There was no "sort of" in Belle's mind I was sure.

"Oh. What does sort of mean?"

"Well, I know her from high school, and she is in her last year, so we don't see each other very much." Again, another lie.

"Is that the girl I saw you with at the Freshman mixer?"

"Yep. That would be her."

"She's pretty. Very ... sexy too."

I nodded, careful to say nothing and let Diane go where she wanted to go.

"Do you think it might be serious ... I mean between you two?"

"Hard to say. I have my doubts some times. She's still very young and ... well ... she's still very young."