Past Life

Early church, then lunch with my sister Lynn. I realized that I'd left my phone charger in my office -- I need it for my trip tomorrow -- so I decided to drive with Banks downtown to retrieve it, and do our five miles there.  We walked around the Capitol.  It wasn't hot (yet) and it wasn't cold.  There were only a few scattered people out, and the area was pretty flat.  I kept feeling it wasn't hard enough.

I cast a glance towards the University of Texas.  How long had it been since I'd roamed that campus?  Tugging at Banks' collar, I said "Let's go see where mommy went to school."

We entered from the south, where, as an English major, most of my classes took place. What was the name of that building?  Parsons?  Parlin!  That's it -- and it was connected to Calhoun, where most of my upper division classes took place.  We took a right past Batts, where so many of my huge auditorium classes happened.  We circled around campus and came to the ABC dorms -- Andrews-Blanton-Carouthers.  Lynn and I had roomed together at Andrews, and I stood in the driveway staring at it.  I swear to God, if I hadn't had Banks with me, I would have summoned the courage to knock on the door and ask to see the third-floor room at the top of the stairs.  That was our room.   The door was always open, and the third-floor residents were in the habit, upon climbing the stairs, of coming into our room, dropping their backpacks on the floor, and collapsing on the beds. 

The Geography building is directly across from Andrews.  There was one night when I had a paper to finish and didn't want to bother Lynn, so I took my typewriter to a loung-type room in that building and pulled an all-nighter.  The door was unlocked.  I would type for a while, take a nap on the couch and then go back to work.  The light was on, and I made no effort to hide myself.  No janitor or campus policeman challenged my right to be there, and it would never have occurred to me that they would. 

We finished up in the open area west of the old Academic Center, which spills out into the drag.  That was the hub of the campus back in the 70s.  Hippies and Greeks comingled happily. I would sit on one of the brick walls with my friends, eating the sandwhich that saw me through my undergrad years -- cheddar cheese, tomato and alfalfa sprouts on dark rye.  There always seemed to be an evangelist or political activist shouting their message.  I would glimpse a shaggy-haired boy I'd developed a recent crush on, slumping across campus, and my heart would leap.  Never did life seem so full of hope and thrilling possibilites.  Or, I remind myself, of anxiety and insecurity and heartbreak.

The tower clock struck 2:30.  Ten minutes to get back to my car and complete five.  I said goodbye to my university and my half-formed self.  I focused my gaze back to the present, which included dinner tonight with my own college student sons.  It's their turn.