I had spent much of my teenage years wanting to be an
Oceanographer, like Dr. Bob Ballard. I
even ran my bath scalding hot, so I might prepare for diving in the hot water
around the underwater volcanoes. When I
tried to get into LSMSA, see Cold Hands, I
had to take the SAT’s. I began to
understand I was smart, but not that smart.
Math is the bane of my existence.
I also began to understand I would have to leave the state to study,
something I was not prepared to do. I
did not want to leave my family. I also
did not want to leave the area, go away, build a life, get married, have kids,
own a home, and have to give up everything many years later, to come home and
care for aging and dying parents. I am
an only child. I don’t get the luxury of
handing it off to another family member.
It is going to be me, doing it all, in the end. I was brought up to believe you do not put
your loved ones in a nursing home. It is
dishonorable and distasteful.
So I knew I could not be an Oceanographer, although I loved
writing, I figured I could never make a living at it, besides I knew I wasn’t
very good at it. I knew people who could
write circles around me. I didn’t want
to be a teacher like my mom was working on becoming, and two of my Aunts were already. I didn’t want to be a nurse like my other
Aunt. I had been training in the wifely
arts of cooking, cleaning, sewing, and hand work since I could remember. My mom always said she wanted to prepare
me. So I thought I am a pretty good cook
and I love food, maybe I will be a chef, so that is what I started out going to
college to do. I was also in love with
the Frugal Gourmet about this time.
As my senior year approached I began to look at
colleges. My father then stepped in and
said, “You may only apply to colleges where I may get to you in less than a
day’s drive.” That sealed the deal, no
Oceanography for me. I remember
measuring off the distance and marking my large US map with my compass and
setting up the radius. I decided to
apply in state. I asked, my family, for
help filling out the forms for both financial aid and college applications,
they refused. It taught me how to do
them though. I always found it odd some
colleges required you send a picture.
What the hell did that tell them about your brain or who you
were??? I applied all over the state: to
Northwestern in Natchitoches, LSU in Baton Rouge, USL in Lafayette, Louisiana
Tech in Ruston, NLU in Monroe, Southeastern in Hammond, and McNeese in Lake
Charles. I got in to all of them. I was very surprised I got into LSU, but I
did.
I was so ecstatic when my letter came from Louisiana Tech
that I had been accepted. My entire life
my father had told me, “You’re going to college.” I never had a say in it. I wanted to go to Tech, desperately, like my
father before me. I have always wanted
to be just like my Dad. I still remember
going into the living room to tell him. He
held the letter and said, “That’s great, but you can’t go there. You will have no one to watch over you. You can go to NSU, where you Mom is
attending, and she can watch other you, or you can go to USL where your aunt
can watch over you.” I was
devastated. All that work, applying to
all the other colleges, only to be told, again that what I wanted, didn’t matter. I am sure he had his reasons, but he broke my
heart that day. Still makes me angry to
this day.
I thought for a moment.
I wanted to get as far away from my mother as possible, and I knew
others from my school were going to NSU.
I was terrified the bullying would continue there, so I said, “I guess I
will go to USL then.”
USL became my battle cry, it became my hope, and thinking of
going there and getting away from the daily abuse, which was only getting worse
now that Cajun Rink had been added to he bunch, became my refuge. Cajun helped crank the daily taunts up to
11. But I was trying so hard to be a
good Christian and turn the other cheek, and to do what my parents asked. But with every word he hurled at me, I died
inside. He even went so far as to paint
penis on my car windows, in shoe polish. I am still thankful for the
cheerleaders who helped me remove enough from my window, to drive home, with
spit and a Kleenex, and held me while I cried.
Into my life came Brett.
He was beautiful or so I thought.
He had this long curly black mullet.
He was of Native American decent, and covered in pimples. I didn’t care. I was on him like white on rice. He was fresh meat and I wanted him. In my mind he had not been tainted by my
tormentors. So it was game on. He was from Shreveport. He was always crying, come to find out his father
had recently died. His mother had
remarried. She and her new husband had
moved to Keatchie. Brett and I became
fast friends. I was always trying to
comfort him, rubbing his back and trying to help him through this difficult
time.
As I sit here looking at my annual, I don’t know that we
were ever officially boyfriend and girlfriend.
I was invited to a bonfire at his house.
Our parents met and they liked each other. They encourage us to be together. I went to a Christmas party at his house,
where he danced with me. He gave me a
cassette single of Dwight Yoakam’s “Fast as you.” I spent hours listening to it, to see if
Brett was trying to give me a secret message.
I hate that song now, it reminds me of all of this.
Brett was strange. He
spent hours on his hair and although it was my guess he liked me, he didn’t
want to hold my hand, and kissed me only once.
When he kissed me it was not like Adam’s kisses, full of passion and
want. No it was like kissing a
rock. I was confused. I liked him, was falling in love with him,
but he did not seem to reciprocate. I
knew, deep down, it was going to be another one of my one sided love
affairs. I often fell “In love” with a
guy and then waited for him to say he liked me, even tried to buddy up to some
of them, but none of them ever got the hint.
So it was always on sided.
Brett, me and our families went out New Years Eve to the
American Legion Hall dance. Brett was
prone to migraines. He had one that
night. I would learn later he faked it
to get away from me.
Not long after we were due to give blood. I talked all my friends into doing it. It ended up that I could not because had an
ear infection and was on antibiotics.
Brett, Sonya and some more of my friends gave blood. A few weeks later Brett received a letter, or
so I was told, that said he had a devastating medical condition. I wrote him a letter and told him how much I
loved him and I would stay beside him through this diagnosis.
Within a few days later I was given a note from him, by
Sonya, he said wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I was devastated. For once in my life, I thought I had found
love. I have always said the worst thing
about all of this, was that for a few weeks, I had hope that I was not this
horrible, ugly, fat, crazy monster that everyone told me I was. When I read his letter, all that hope was
destroyed.
It was not just the relationship that hurt, what did the
most damage is what came after. Sonya,
my best friend since 2nd grade, was also friends with Brett. What I didn’t know, is that many nights that
I was on the phone with Brett, she was quietly listening in. He had called her, before he called me. I didn’t know until later that she was acting
as a conduit to help get him hooked up to another friend, who Brett began
dating a few weeks later.
This friend he dated, a few months later, when the
relationship was over, turned to me in class and said, “He lies doesn’t
he?” I said, “Yes he does.”
I still do not know what was said. I don’t know what rumor was spread, but from
the time that Brett broke up with me in January of 1994 until about a month
before I graduated in May of 1995, I was basically shunned. Suddenly none of my friends, or anyone for
that matter, would speak to me. No one
would eat lunch with me. I was treated
like a pariah. My only clue is what one
friend said to me one day. He had the
courage to break whatever taboo they had set against me. He said, “They have told me to hate you and I
just can’t do it anymore. You have
always been nice to me.” And he sat with
me and ate lunch. It was finally over. He was the first, more would join us as they
year drew to a close.
I cannot tell you how desperate I was. I cannot tell you how many nights I wanted to
kill myself. How I wanted to jump from
the river bridge. In one swoop I had
lost everything I understood. My people,
my tribe, my friends, or however you want to call it. My sociology professor years later, would
call it a “social death.” When I finally
got up the courage to talk to my parents, tell them what was going on and I was
suicidal, my Dad said, “Oh It’s just puppy love. It will pass.” Twenty-Two years later it hurts, almost as
bad as it did when it happened. At least
I now have some understanding to go with all of this.
I stayed friends with Brett’s parents. I have seen his mother several times over the
years. When I saw her, I told her all
that had happened, and she confirmed for me what I had begun to suspect many
years before. Brett was gay. I now understand what he did. He used me for cover. He was pretending to be interested in me to
appease his family and hide his homosexuality.
That I could have lived with, and would have even happily participated
in it had I known.
I found Brett many years ago on Facebook, we discussed much
of the above. To say he has a different
idea of what happened is an understatement.
He said we were never in a relationship and he never cared for me, that
he has always been gay. I am sure there
is much truth to that. I have known for
a long time what I felt for him, was not reciprocated. I had hoped for an apology, but that will never
happened. Never got one from Sonya
either or knew what was actually said about me.
Would love to know now, if someone wanted to PM me, I would be open to
hearing it now. Ten years, after all
this, I would see Sonya again. Who just
hugged my neck and could not understand why I was so mad at her. What a Bitch!
While all this was going on, all I could do was pray and
count the days until I would go to USL.
I was in Hell and I had to find my own way out. I was like Rapunzel. I was trapped in the tower, no one was coming to
save me, I had to cut my hair and save myself.
There was a young man in my class who came in everyday, with
the most beautiful smile. As corny as it
sounds his smile, gave me hope. Seeing
him smile, and hearing him laugh helped me in ways he has no idea of. I even developed a little crush on him, but
my fate was sealed and I was too broken and afraid to try to find love
again. I was leaving for Lafayette after
I graduated, and that was that.
I began what I called “Smile Therapy.” I would force myself to smile, just for a few
seconds every few hours. I noticed when
I did so I would feel better. Turns out
smiling releases all kinds of endorphins in your brain, that are good for
you. Slowly, ever so slowly I feel it
began to pull me out of the worst of my depression. The first few weeks were the worst. I would get two or three seconds and then
burst into tears again. I cried so much
during class, during this whole thing, me a woman who hates to cry and used to
see it as a sign of weakness.
A few weeks before we graduated someone told me something I
would never have dreamed. They said,
“Melvin has been in love with you for years.
He would have done anything for you.”
I remember sitting in our drafting room, looking at him and just
smiling. I have no idea if it was even
true, but it helped me none the less. And
today I regret not doing anything about it.
The idea that Melvin had once loved me, along with my friends smile,
gave me comfort in one of the darkest times of my life. Stupid and corny, right? I know.
But I love stupid and corny.
Ilsa
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