Chapter 8: The Sophomore Blues

And so I began my sophomore year on my own again, but not for long. Right off the bat I ran into Zoe, and we renewed our acquaintance over coffee at the SUB. I might as well have had a neon sign over me after that. Zoe was still the same beautiful, sweet girl I had first met in class, and she was still very attached to Paul Michaels. Listening to her, I knew those two were in it for the long haul and they would be great together.

I had selected a creative writing course for my second year, and I was really looking forward to it. In my "old" life, I was writing as a hobby, thanks to the high school typing class I had taken and the wonders of the word processor. I had found a couple of volunteer editors who were very good and I could see my writing was improving as time went on. Now, I had a chance to go back and see what my knowledge would produce in a formal class environment. I could also practice in my letters to Diane.

I had purchased a used manual typewriter the summer before starting my freshman year which I kept on my desk at home. Any electric typewriter was far too expensive, so I was stuck with the old "basket of strikers" type machine. It was helpful, but I hated the fact that any error had to be erased and typed over, so I quickly learned that I had to slow down my speed in order to reduce the number of "white-outs."

On top of that, when I re-read my copy, I would often find awkward sentence structure that needed correcting, and that meant re-typing a whole page or more. If it resulted in one positive thing, I was much more thoughtful about what I was writing than before. On the other hand, it seemed to take forever to complete an essay or a class assignment. I would just have to plan my time to allow for that.

At the end of my second English class I was approached by a dark haired young female classmate.

"Hi ... are you Lee North?" she asked carefully.

"Yes, I am. And you are... ?"

"Oh ... Sandy Rossi." She seemed a bit shy, and yet wasn't really displaying nervousness.

"Hi Sandy, nice to meet you," I said, hoping to put her at ease.

She was quite an attractive girl, the dark brown hair framing a dark complexioned face with deep brown eyes. When she smiled, her perfect teeth shone in contrast. When I looked at her hands, I could see the same darker tone to her skin and I realized it was her natural coloring, and not some summer tan.

Sandy did have a striking figure to complement her looks. She was something over five foot six, with fairly large breasts and wide hips. When I thought about it, she had a Mediterranean look that I had often admired. She was destined to be an earthy, full-bodied woman and naturally my thoughts turned to lust.

We were walking together and it was just before lunch, so I turned to her and asked, "Would you like to join me for lunch? I don't really enjoy eating alone."

"I can't imagine you eating alone," she said, looking at me with a wrinkled brow.

"Oh. And why is that?"

"Well ... I mean ... you ... you are so ... well known. Every girl knows who you are."

"They do?" Then it dawned on me. It was the Zoe syndrome. "Never mind. I know what you mean," I chuckled. "Anyway, despite my ... reputation, would you care to join me at the SUB?"

She looked at me again, and a smile replaced the questioning look. "Sure. I brought my own," she said pointing to the bag on her shoulder.

"Me too. Mom insists," I grinned, wondering if that would make her wonder just how worldly I really was.

We had a nice lunch together and got to know each other a bit. She was from a large family in East Vancouver. Her parents ran a restaurant on lower Commercial Drive that specialized in pasta dishes. They had emigrated from Italy right after the war when their town was destroyed in the fierce fighting between the Americans and Germans.

She had two sisters and one brother. All were older than her, and she was the first to attend anything past high school. Her brother, Louie, was a construction worker, while her oldest sister, Tina, was married and already had two children, both boys. That made both Mama and Papa very proud. Her middle sister, Marianna, was engaged to a nice man, but not Italian. It was a cause for some concern in the household. But not as much concern as there was for Sandy.

Her proper name was Alessandra, a lovely name I thought. Her schoolmates named her Sandy early on and she now preferred it to her given name. It was a sign of her rebellion against the old-world values of her parents and grandparents, all of whom lived in the same house.

And rebellion was what Sandy was all about. Her parents objected to her furthering her education, expecting her to find a nice Italian boy and marry him and produce more grandchildren. Sandy wanted no part of that scenario. She had her eyes on a career, and marriage could wait until she found the right man, regardless of whether he was of Italian descent or not.

That lunchtime chat we had was very revealing; surprisingly so, considering we had just met a few minutes earlier. She confessed that she was a bit of "wild child," although she didn't call it that. I got the impression she wasn't a virgin and not embarrassed about it at all. She'd had several boyfriends, but was vague about anyone currently. She thought most of them were too immature.

"So, I know you're very friendly with Zoe Braithwaite. And you used to date Diane Williams when she was here. Are you going with anyone now?" she asked boldly, having quickly lost her shyness.

"Nope. Footloose and fancy free." I gave her a nice smile to encourage her.

"Good. Maybe we can get together sometime then."

"Maybe we can. How about Saturday evening. Perhaps a movie?"

"Yeah. That sounds good. Can I pick the movie?"

I feigned a look of disgust. "I suppose it will be a chick-flick."

"A what?"

Damn, I did it again. "I mean, it will be one of those mushy ones."

She laughed. "You don't know me. I'm sure I'll surprise you," she said confidently.

"Well, then, it's your call. I'll trust you ... this time," I smirked.

I got a big smile in return and we began to discuss where and when I would pick her up. Right away I realized she didn't want me to meet her at her home. I could guess the reason, since I was about as far from being Italian as I could be. We agreed I would meet her at a corner drugstore just a couple of blocks from her home at 7:15, and we would go from there.

The rest of the week was taken up with getting settled into my new courses. Along with my creative writing course, I had decided to add political science, since I'd had an interest in politics due to my father's close association with it at the newspaper. Besides, it was going to be an interesting year in the U.S., with the upstart Kennedy running against the seasoned Nixon. Nixon wasn't a very likeable guy, and I could see why all the young people were supporting the handsome newcomer, but most of them couldn't vote, and they probably had no idea how close this election was going to be.

My third new course was psychology. I had taken it during my first year back in the day, but held off until this year because I knew I would ace the course just as I had fifty years ago. However, in order to get to the next stage, I had to get past the first, so it was Psych 101 all over again.

If it sounds like there wasn't any sense of direction with the courses I selected, then you'd be correct. I was sampling, I guess you could say. I had a wide variety of interests throughout my life, some of which were influenced by my father, and some by the jobs I had held. I wasn't going to worry too much at this early stage of my college career. I had plenty of time to make up my mind on what path I might choose to follow. Even if it was just a Bachelor of Arts, I would still have that degree and the sense of accomplishment.