Frey, Patricia

English

Digital Repository @ Iowa State University (ISU)

To the Concerned by Patricia Frey Journalism, Soph. I FEEL high. I've been high for years it seems—laughed and loved my way through all 20 of them; well, at least the last six since I discovered I was a guy. It was a girl named Sally Brown that led me to believe I was pretty important and then I was only 14 or 13 or one of those years. At least I know I was in junior high then and I was captain of the football team and president of our 8th grade class. I was tops and Sally was second tops because she was vice-president. Sometimes Sally used to come in off her farm and stay with her best friend Mary; she always knew when I wanted to talk to her. I had to sneak out of the house so I could see her and we used to sit on the swings in back of the public school in that small town. Lot of times too we would walk the streets, mostly alleys, and one night I grabbed her hand and it was like nothin' I ever felt before so right there I took off my ring with my initial on it and gave it to her. Golly, being in 8th grade was great. I loved to play football down on our town ball field. That 8th grade year they got us new suits and we won all our games. I used to get so mad at my best bud Jerry, we called him Mort, because he always gave up after he would get hit a couple of times. There were so many times when great big pockets would open up and I ran, ran like hell, and all the time I picked up at least 10 yards. I made a lot of big runs and a lot of points that year—got the award for the most points—20 in all. [29] 30 Sketch Just remembered that one of the reasons I went steady with Sally was because she was a cheerleader and needed a guy's ring. I had to learn to dance that year so I could dance slow ones with Sally else the other guys would take her away. I used to pull her close to me so she could feel my muscles. But the end of that year Sally gave me back my ring because she said it wasn't fair because so many guys wanted to give she and Mary their rings. I could see that—that was fair. But I was the leader and the guys looked up to me. I had the best fake cough in the class and the teacher never caught on. Lot of times I'd spend 15 minutes of history down gettin' a drink of water. My grades weren't too good then because I had to do all those things. Heck I didn't have time in study hall to read books cause I had to talk with the guys—we had so many dirty jokes that lots of times we laughed all the day. Mom would tell me about those grades . . . that I was gonna need them to get into college but I didn't even know what college was. Next year I went into high school and I was pretty pop-ular I guess. They elected me president of the class again and I played football. Made a good halfback substitute that freshman year. I was going with Mary that year because Sally went to the Catholic high school in the city. Mary had brown hair and neat brown eyes that twinkled when she laughed. She was pretty thin though, but at least she didn't walk bent over like Sharon who was so skinny her legs didn't have any shape. We made fun of a lot of people and I guess that I kind of led them all to do that 1 took Mary to the away basketball games that year—we would meet in front of the public school and sit in the back of the bus that took the kids to the games. First time I kissed Mary was in the back of one of those busses. I was wet at the mouth because I didn't know how to control my spit but I sure say that I improved that year. Some of the guys tried smokin' in 9th grade but I knew it would be bad for bein' an athlete so I didn't go along Winter, 1966 31 with them. Because they knew that too, they never made fun of me for not trying. I screwed up my freshman English course with a D but I made C's in everything else and kept eligible. . . . Football was all I lived for—and Mary. Falls were so crisp and warm and it was easy to seep sweat even at practice. Sun always kept me tanned and my muscles were getting sized. Sophomore year was the same with the football except that I played first team. The kids yelled my name when I went on and I looked for the breaks in the line just so I could give them touchdowns. Screaming like I never heard and I al-ways felt so high when I played. There was that one game though . . . we played some name-less small town one Friday night in what must of been a new-plowed field. There were cows along the east goal and yellow corn stalks on the south side of the field. The brick school loomed tall on the north side and kept casting some shadow on me. We fought hard that game and they did too. I punched guys in the stomach a lot and they kicked a little too long when they were tackled. I ran crazy hard and dug into the ground for speed like I was afraid the ground was opening up behind me and then by damn, it opened up in front of me. Somehow I twisted and flopped down and hit my nose in the dirt and it smelled like cow and worms. Then my face seemed to twist up with some kind of pain and then I screamed like God was ending my life right there—my knee, my knee, my knee. . . . Well, that night ended everything I ever wanted and there was an empty year in there that I felt lower than what-ever was low. There was nothing, no moving without tape pulling at my leg hairs, no running like I was born free, and Mary started going with the quarterback. So winter came and it was cold and my eyes grew cold from looking at things. I skipped school a lot that sophomore year, but I started reading late in the winter from nothing else to do so my 32 Sketch grades got better. I started to learn things in school then and I started smoking out in the back of the school. By my junior year I had a different outlook—I walked okay but never could play sports any more. Got a girl that year named Linda and I think I loved her. I had money from working in the back shop of Dad's business so somehow I bought an old car. It never would start when I tried to leave Linda's house and I was embarrassed from knowing she watched me from the window—trying to get the thing started. But it was wheels and I took her to all kinds of things at the school and to all kinds of empty roads and blind alleys. Tha t was when I really got to know Linda—every curve, every button on every different dress, the zippers, and the lipstick on her lips. She was pretty smart in school so I tried lots harder and we used to do academic things together like getting involved in speech and the choirs. Senior year was much the same—loving Linda and getting grades and smoking most everywhere now. I missed not play-ing football but most of the time I tried not to ever, ever think of it—sometimes in my dreams I used to see me running like the Sam into those empty pockets and then I'd wake up and stare into the darkness for a while. But I felt high that senior year what with Linda and the things we did. We picked our colleges—Linda went down south and I decided to go north. Not much I can remember doing that senior year except going to basketball games, the plays, the dances—slow dances I liked and when I pulled Linda close to me I felt her and it was good. Senior year was Linda's face, her hands, and that long black robe and the hat with the gold tassel on graduation night. I was glad to be leaving—the high school stopped offering me anything that one night in my sophomore year. In the summer I smoked all the time and learned how to dress like college and how to drink good. I worked in the back shop all day long meltin ' lead and carrying type buckets and sweatin' away in that printer 's shop—and all night long I kept Linda out of her house. . . . Winter, 1966 33 College came in the fall and man did I feel high. I rushed but I pretty well had a fraternity all picked out that I wanted to join so it was no big thing. Parties were swell but I thought about Linda a lot. At the end of the week I joined a fraternity and lost my freedom to birds. They told me I was low but I felt better than a pledge—it was fun, that pledgeship though, and it knocked a lot of tar and stuff out of me. Freshman year was so different. The things I did. I hit the books pretty hard and didn't date because I still loved Linda and she wrote to me every day. I didn't join any-thing on the campus and the fraternity guys let me be for my ideas that first quarter—I was just another one of the people and I got my share of pushing but it wasn't bad. Then I went home for Thanksgiving. Linda wasn't the same, home wasn't the same, and that basketball game I went to was all crap. None of my high school friends could talk good talk any more. I left that game, and left home and went back to school early and I figured if there was nothin ' at home any more, not even Linda, then school is where everything has got to be. So, I became involved . . . dances and dating girls with long swinging hair and parking in the lots and drinking out in the woods with the brothers (sic) and feeling higher than Jesus Almighty—himself—man staying up all night and laughing and getting deep grooves under my eyes Grades went down and it was all right though 'cause they were good enough to suit me, I got by, and I was activated into the fraternity. There was nothin' outstanding that freshman year except that it was a ball and I went undeclared that whole year from major to girls to drinkin' and back again. So, now I 'm 20 and a sophomore in college and what do I got for myself—a lousy way of putt in ' words on paper and the feel of a girl's warm cheek. I don't know where I 'm going and it's hell not knowing. I've got the quality of glide and I 'm a nameless face to the world. 34 Sketch i've been drinking vodka-and-squirt's for the last hour and there were a couple of cans of beer before that so now I'm just sitting here at this typewriter and my eyes are bloodshot and i'm smoking every now and then. . . . there's nothin' I can do except once I could run like a strong wind through a line, I could love girls with my hands, once I could even recognize myself. . . . laugh with me cause i'm nobody and i'm glad you listened and can see i'm depressed but it's all right, college does that to some people meanwhile I think I'll just sit here and take the vodka straight and. . . . I feel high. Remembrance by Mary Lou Lifka Journalism, Soph. Incense glow And candle flame And an ice-kissed evergreen Summon smoke-dreams Of that summer last night When the cold was crushed between us And the moon somersaulted Out of the sky Into your eyes. 

To the Concerned

https://lib.dr.iastate.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2816&amp;context=sketch

To the Concerned

Abstract

Similar works

Full text

Available Versions

Digital Repository @ Iowa State University (ISU)