…and its about romance and marriage and when and where the two collide and when and where they don’t.
I realized today that all my life I was in a thrall of a romance not even knowing it.
It was hidden inside another mainstream college romance that everybody knew about that failed badly, partly because of it.
The mainstream boyfriend was Manhattan M. The hidden one was red-haired lover R.
My position on sex at Harvard was that it was a favor to me. At Kent none of the boys wanted me. I didn’t shower. I didn’t know how to talk. to that kind of a boy.
I lived on the tiny girls school campus on the top of “the hill” almost all of the time for four years.
They took that down; they sold the “hill” campus and brought the girls down to newly built dorms on the old boys campus by the river in the valley.
There were others like me. Kent was an exceptional educational institution but also a place where some people got dumped and I was one of them.
I had a beautiful relationship with my English teacher who was also my Guidance Counselor and that dominated that time and I clung to it after I left much to his dismay, I constantly wrote him.
So, Freshman Year at Harvard–Freshman Week, in fact, when all the new Freshmen (and women) converge on Harvard Yard where all the Freshmen live–or at least so it was in my day–;I went to a party with female friend and roommate S and met red-haired Jewish friend R. He and his friend T. came to my door looking for me and met S and invited her to the party at their dorm room. I was supposed to go to, I don’t think that I did. I was in the middle of a nervouse breakdown. My father had tried to sexually abuse me, it was a question of his anger over my writing my college application personal essay about running away from home. Obviously, that is a long story. Roommate S.’s father knew my father. The situation was a pickle from the start.
So, S. hooked up with T. and they stayed together for the whole 4 years and then got married.
R. and I skirmished through the 4 years during which i carried on a very social romance with Manhattan socialite boyfriend M. who was an extremely beautiful, brilliant, kind and romantic lover and I hate how that went.
He was the complete antidote to all my woes with boys at Kent and I clung to it way later, even after getting out of the state hopsital here in PA, where my mother and sister finally interfered and took him off of me in a way that I wont try to explain but it was cruel and improper. I had written him from the apartment I went to after the state hospital. i got his name from the Alumni Office, the woman there commented that he wasn’t married and was willing to give me that info.
Meanwhile boyfriend R. had totally moved on. I hurt him. So, he hurt me back. I was hanging out in an apartment in Harvard Square getting ready to graduate after some summer session courses; it was all over and he burned me.
About 10 years later, after my son was born, this all came together where I was contacting EVERYBODY I had ever known. old family friends. lovers, family in England, Harvard Advocate acquaintances, other Kent and Harvard friends. That comes to you to do that when you have a tiny child who needs your help. I was extremely ill and I was trying to take care of him and had become disconnected from the community because of going to the state hospital.
So, some people talked to me; others were rude.
Finally, it came back to my requesting a copy of the guide to alumni that was published around htat time (late 1990’s?). It would have been tragic if I had received it. It arrived when I had gone to a domestic violence shelter on my mothers and therapists advice. My HUSBAND had the sense to get rid of it and I dropped that line of preoocupation and never went back. Instead, I wrote a completely nonsensical short blurb in the ’98 Class Notes inviting fellow alumni to visit our dingy apartment on Treasure Island where I wasnt getting along at all well. Then, I started writing Letters to the Editor. over the Monica Lewisnky scandal.
The point is about bvecoming disconnected even further.
Then, we moved to Seminole and our life as parents to Ian began in earnest. I wasnt sure that I had a place there but it was obvious that he did.
But, here we are today, NW of Philadelphia; SURVIVING.
And I want to write a book.
But, to do so I have to move out of my father’s house as he is mentally controlling and I can’t frame my thoughts well here.
They used to say in English classes at Kent that to write is to make something out of nothing and I have this situation where I am broke and I can’t get started without a little help from my (ex) husband to pay the rent until I am able to begin to write.
To do this I am here to sort out the ins and outs of our marriage where all this stuff–about old lovers –should have been sorted out a long time ago and never was; or, this is how that has to happen because I am asking him to pay a large amount of money to help me get me into such an apartment where I am safe.
So, I realize that I had a passionate and beautiful love affair with R. that evidently wasnt meant to be.
Everyone budged off of me when I went to the state hospital.
I tried to remedy this when I went to my de facto marriage to now ex-husband Alex.
As I said, I needed support to raise the baby; “it takes a village:” and we found that in Seminole, Florida where he lived until he was 18.
There is still something amiss here and it is so bad that it brings me to my clarion call of a lawsuit; not against Alex,, that will come first; Then, I will be looking to file a lawsuit i the mental health system.