One That Got Away

I spend too much time reminiscing about ages past. Today, in a half-awake state, my memories were flooding back to 1998, when my life was rather turbulent. I had reached the ends of my sanity, and my entire life began to unravel before my eyes. My life became dream-like when I was awake, I was drunk most of the time, and I slept 12+ hours per day. I lived my reality in my dreams, as the real world proved too difficult for me to handle any longer. I reached the end of my metaphorical rope, and I decided it was time to get some professional help. Within a few days, I was given a prescription of antidepressants, and instructed to make some changes in my lifestyle.

There was no more skipping classes. From that day forward, I was supposed to get up early every day and attend class. There was no more alcohol. I was instructed that drinking on antidepressants was not advisable, and I would have to get on the wagon. I began going to the gym to weight-train and do cardiovascular activity a few days a week. I even changed my image: I cut my long hair (that I had been growing for six years), and even changed my clothes.

I wanted to cast away everything I was; all the things that led me to become what I had, and start with a clean slate. The first few days were almost unbearable. I would compare it to being in detox. The antidepressant drugs were the worst trip I ever had. The withdrawals from alcohol made it worse, I was clammy, in cold sweats, I shook and trembled, I couldn't sleep, I didn't feel like eating, and I cursed everything under the sun, asking what I did to deserve this trip. I was ready to tell off the doctor, flush the pills down the toilet, and order two jugs of beer and a pack of cigarettes. I was miserable, and a sobbing mess. It took two days for me to fully detox.

Then something happened. I could attest to a miracle, but I really know that two things happened. The first was that the levels of antidepressants in my body had elevated to a level where it began to affect my mind and behavior. This happened precisely the same day the second miraculous thing happened: I saw the Matthew Good Band in concert. He had recently released his second album, Underdogs, and the hit song Everything is Automatic was on heavy airplay. The concert was mind-boggling, and the next day I rushed to the music store to buy a copy of Underdogs. Amidst my new-found mental clarity, Matt Good's music spoke to me in a way that music hadn't spoken to me since I discovered Nine Inch Nails years prior. I was in a state of euphoria, singing MGB's Indestructible for days on end, and I began to believe I really was immortal. Matt Good's music was my savior in one of the darkest periods of my life.

And then, being completely reborn, my eyes began to open again. I could focus, and I noticed things around me that either I had taken for granted, or I had no prior interest in before. I was alert, I felt good, and began crawling out of the bottomless pit of my old depressive self. I began to enjoy University again, I liked my professors, I enjoyed learning, I began writing a book, and I went to class.

That's when I met her. Psychology 2700 - Animal Behavior. My professor was the spitting image of David Suzuki with the manic sense of humor of Robin Williams. His lectures were hysterical, and we spent more time falling off our chairs from laughing so hard, that we would forget to take notes. Every class was a riot, and you never dared miss a class because it was so good for the soul to just be there. But she was the extra incentive that forced me to go to that class every day.

I never knew her name. She would sit in the row in front of me, and she would sit one or two chairs to the left or right of me so we could stare at each other. The first time she turned back to look at me with those eyes, she gave me a big smile, and my heart just melted. I was indestructible, I was psychic, I was high on drugs, and I knew she wanted me.

She was this tiny, thin girl who couldn't have been a day over 19. She had bone-straight brown hair that was a little longer than shoulder length. She wore these glasses that made her look both sexy and smart. She seemed so innocent; so pure, and after I had just been reborn, I wanted something pure and sacred.

She had the habit of wearing white blouses with plaid skirts and black stockings to class. She had the Catholic school-girl look perfected, which made me (and I'm sure dozens of other males smitten with testosterone) drool at her feet. It sure made her look innocent, but I knew underneath that innocent facade was a repressed sexual being who wanted to ride. I knew she wanted me, I was irresistible, and psychic, and when she looked at me with those eyes of hers, I stared right into her soul, and I saw what she had planned. I knew that it would just be a matter of time that we would introduce ourselves, and then she would push me into a dark, unoccupied custodial closet, and she would throw me to the floor and jump on top, tearing away at my clothes.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not gather the guts to approach her. I resorted my time between classes to wandering the halls, hoping that I would run into her; maybe I would find her alone and I could approach her and break the ice. I managed to see her a few times, but she was never alone. I had only wished that she might go to my stomping grounds, and then I would not have a reason to not approach her.

Then one night, nearing the end of the semester, a few friends of mine and I discovered that she was on my turf - The Zoo (the campus bar). The angel I had been staring at all semester was at my hangout, and there was only her best friend with her. My friends suggested I go and talk to her. I froze, and I found I could not. My friends had finished their beers, and I suggested we go home. They wouldn't hear it. They were going to force me to talk to her even if it killed me. I still refused to get up and talk to her. The one thing that my antidepressants did not give me was a shot of courage. I kept telling my buds that I didn't have a reason to go over there, except to get her name and phone number.

After much deliberation, by friends decided that they would invite themselves over to the girls' table, sit down and introduce themselves. I would leave the bar for a few minutes, and walk in, like I was meeting the guys there and they would invite me to sit with them. It was a bit of a childish plan, but we figured it would work, and I would have a chance to meet this girl I had been star-crossed with all year.

I left the bar, and peeking through the door I saw my friends sit down with the two ladies. I stood in the hallway for a few minutes, trying to clear my head. There was no way I was going to get around this; I was going to meet her, and anything could happen. I was also worried about my friends, as I was not sure if I could trust them. I was sure they were going to sit down, and tell her every little detail about my little obsession over her. I figured they were going to embarrass me, which would have been a fate worse than death. If I waited too long, I was convinced that these guys would spill the beans, and it would be better if I stopped them by walking to the table and meeting with destiny.

So I gingerly approached the table and made some story up about how I had been looking all over the place for the guys. I finally got to meet her. We were introduced, but sadly I cannot remember her name anymore. The conversation ended up being what I had expected: short, simple, and very superficial. She didn't speak much, and when she did, she said very little. My friends did most of the talking, and I got the feeling that we were regarded as a bunch of guys looking for some girls to pick up. I was really hoping that this meeting would break the ice a little, and we would speak again in the future. Unfortunately, it seemed like this meeting closed the door instead.

I never spoke to her again. I only saw her a couple more times around campus in the following years; nothing more than a glimpse. Whenever I saw her, I remembered the exhilaration I felt those first few weeks when I first saw her in class, when she would look at me and smile. I remembered singing Indestructible at the top of my lungs at all hours of the day and night, believing I was a flawless human being, and the object of desire of every female I met. I often wonder where she is today; if she is single, if she is happy, and above all, I wonder what she really thought of me.

Memories of what could have been (not unlike this anecdote) plague my consciousness every day. I wonder if it would have changed my life, or if fate would have brought me to the same place I am today.

If you were that young woman who sat in front of me in that class, I would be happy to hear from you. I only want to know what you thought of me those many years ago.

MC Fro, M.Sc.

A few days ago, I had received a newsletter from the alumni association of my alma mater, the University of Lethbridge. While viewing the publication, I became overwhelmed with memories of years past, the classes; the professors; the atmosphere; the friends; the architecture; the parties; more or less the overall experience. I have longed to return to the campus, a visit that I have managed to make only once since convocation.

A new fire is burning in my belly now. The newsletter announced some new multidisciplinary graduate programs which will be introduced in the upcoming year. Some of them sounded extremely appealing for yours truly.

Many people do not realize the importance, nor do they appreciate the value of a good education. Many of my friends left the concrete walls of the University years ago, with nary a look back. Sure, they loved the time they spent there, but in their minds, they achieved their goals, and their lives are spent in pursuit of other dreams. I have known souls who were lucky to attend University/College, but never managed to make it past the first year. Often, I imagine these people attend a place of higher study because it is what is expected of them, sociologically speaking. Others choose to attend to find a mate who is (for the lack of a better phrase) a cut above the rest. Truth be known, all the above is hogwash.

People go to school for all the wrong reasons.

People think that with a college education, they will get a good job with an equally good salary and benefits. People believe that success is more achievable with a solid collegiate education. People believe that they will find a smarter, compatible, and otherwise more desirable mate at an institution of higher learning. These are all myths.

I have seen high-school dropouts make more money in a year than I could hope to achieve in my lifetime. I have seen people with Ph.D's declare bankruptcy and be incapable of maintaining a career of any sort. I have seen manipulative and abusive relationships develop between two intelligent, educated individuals.

You must want to go to College/University for other reasons.

It is the same reason why some people choose to follow the path of God and become a member of the clergy. It is the same reason why some people dedicate their lives to helping the less fortunate. It is the same reason why teachers become teachers, and why doctors become doctors. It is the same reason why I love to learn.

We all want to help, to do our part; to feel some sort of self-fulfillment. I want to learn so I can understand. There are so many interesting disciplines that I have interest in. I feel that my undergraduate degree has prepared me for the real world in many respects, but I still feel like I have a lot to learn. The universe is full of mysteries. It is the nature of the universe and the nature of the human mind, that makes it impossible for us humans to know all the secrets of the universe. But what we have learned in the few short thousand generations of modern civilization is incomprehensible. There is no possible way that one human being would be able to assimilate all the information there is. Professors spend their entire lives learning everything they can about a small part of their discipline of choice. They learn, contemplate, question, and critique every small detail about some facet of the universe, which the rest of us take for granted. To have that amount of dedication to their work is commendable. It is no wonder why we call them Doctors.

I have learned in recent years, that I am comfortable with the classroom environment, with the relationships I have had between my professors and myself. Research is an exciting thing; it allows the individual to participate in the writing of the largest book mankind has ever written; the Book of Knowledge. As long as we exist and we have a desire to find answers to the questions we ask, so will this book. I want to write a small paragraph in that book, and be immortalized with one small discovery.

Upon many meditations, I have realized that our time on this earth is infinitesimally small in comparison to the age of the universe. What we all do in our lives, is quite trivial in comparison. Those who we remember -- the ones whose names live on throughout the generations, have contributed significantly to the human race. These are the theologians, the philosophers, the scientists, the composers, the leaders, and the visionaries whose names have been spoken and admired for generations. There are the Homers, the Socrates, the Christs, the Newtons, the Gallileans, the Mozarts, and the Einsteins. There are thousands of them -- too many to mention. I could hardly hope to have the legacy that the aforementioned names have, but I would enjoy the fact that my name would eventually make its way into a small paragraph in one of the history books.

All people are born; and all people die. Only a select few manage to contribute something to the human race that immortalizes them. I have grown to understand that it's not about how long you live, it's about what you do with it. It's about time that I start doing something.