May 1994

My younger brother finally moved out! Yay!!!! Now I had the whole upstairs to myself again. I could play music or the TV as loud as I wanted, and not worry about what he could hear and whether or not I was keeping him awake. I didn't have to worry about him making snide remarks during the day. And the other bedroom was now free again, making it a guest room.

Phil and I dreaded the three-month separation of summer, though in a way I looked forward to it. I wanted to show him my famous, long letters. I may have also looked forward to spending some time on my own in my last summer as a single woman (this was before we married), and working on my Senior Writing Project (continuing Jerisland) and reading up for my Senior Thesis (which I originally planned to do on Gothic novels).

Going through the May 3 issue of the Mirror, while writing my memoirs, I noticed that Phil's mom got several awards and honors. These were awards based on smarts, not just on leadership or personality. So just because her sons and, if I remember right, husband treated her like a childish idiot, doesn't mean she was one. I remember Phil's dad making some crack at her expense, and Phil laughing.

On 10/4/99, I saw an episode of Seventh Heaven in which a smart woman had endured many years of her husband and sons treating her like a child. They thought a wife was supposed to stay home and be her husband's servant. (She stayed in the marriage only for the kids; she was now about to file for divorce.) Maura wasn't expected to stay at home, but I can see echoes of that attitude in Phil's insisting I say "obey" and in the way he, his father, and Dave would treat Maura. Phil and Dave didn't see Maura as being very smart, yet here she was getting honored for being in Who's Who and finishing her Honors Thesis!

On probably May 9, our Botany class went to Kohler-Andrae State Park, a local park with dunes, water, sand, grasses, and other flora and fauna. It was a good time, at least for me. Dave was in charge of getting Pearl around the place; he may have carried her at times. We brought jackets; I believe it was a bit chilly there at times. On Monday, May 9 in my day planner, I wrote, "dress for the woods--boots or oldish shoes." I don't remember what I did wear.

On May 10 was an annular solar eclipse. I didn't know about this until after I stepped outside and everything looked as if I were looking through a car's tinted window. It was surreal. This was a Tuesday, and I remember we had classes and the campus was bustling and busy.

Phil had lost his Differential Equations (Diff-EQ) textbook, and hadn't been able to get another one, so he was soon lost in the class. (Cindy wondered why he didn't just borrow another one.) The class became so stressful for him that he wanted to audit it. Per page 30 of the 1992-1994 Course Catalog, auditing a class meant you'd get a letter grade of Z on your record. You'd get no credit for it. I think the point was so that you wouldn't get an F, and you still might stay in the class for a while. I don't remember if he actually did audit the class, but that would have been done before the end of the ninth week of the semester; I know he was still in the class in May, which was far beyond that time.

In early May, on one of our last days of World Civ class, possibly the 11th, Phil and I sat in Bossard with the others. In just a few minutes it would be time for World Civ, and then after that, the Botany class would go to the woods for a lab review. This sounded like a lot of fun, and I was looking forward to it.

I got ready to leave for class with Phil, while he worked on his homework for Diff EQ. He began to giggle.

I said, "We'd better get going to class."

He kept giggling. Pearl and others said "Okaaaay," and left.

I grew stern, stood up, and said, "We have to get going to class."

He kept giggling. He began to draw on the piece of notebook paper, then balled it up.

Something was wrong. I sat back down.

Phil kept giggling, and shed a few tears as well.

He was having a nervous breakdown right before my eyes! I took him to my room, and let him lie down on my bed until he felt better. I called Pearl and told her to tell Mrs. Rev why I wouldn't be in class. The next day, I would explain to Dr. Williams that there was an emergency, so that's why Phil and I weren't in class.

Mrs. Rev told Maura, "Phil's lucky to have Nyssa."

As Phil lay on my bed, I started work on a translation of "Undine." Though it was hard to take care of someone having a breakdown, at the same time I preferred that to being without him.

(You remember that story "Undine" by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué, the one Heidi read with me freshman year. On April 22 I found the book in the library again, an old compilation of German stories, and copied "Undine" on the library copier. It cost me six bucks because it was about sixty pages. A co-worker, a pretty and sweet senior, asked me about it; I explained that I couldn't find an English translation so I was going to translate the German text. She and Seymour also noted how much copying I did to get the story. I finish the translation over the summer, though many archaic words still mystified me. In late January of 2002, I searched the Internet and found an English translation with which to compare mine: http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/gutbook/lookup?num=3714. I did fairly well on such a difficult piece.)

Phil soon regained his senses and seemed to feel better.

Mrs. Rev must have taken us for another lab review, or else the lab test was in the woods, because I do remember going back there with her and the rest of the class. I drew sketches of the flowers she pointed out. Dave carried Pearl on his back, since she couldn't drive her scooter on the trails and her crutches would be slow-going.

Muskie Pat was finally graduating after several years of taking more than one major--how sad! You always knew he'd cook your burger up right, and you couldn't be sure of this with anyone else. Senior year, my Muskie burgers never did seem quite right.

He ended up marrying a girl in my class.

Dave soon graduated, and I remember his Pearl fussing over him and his cap and gown and everything on the day, and talking so proudly of him. I believe she'd graduated the year before. He ended up working in the sporting goods section of a home improvement store.

I think it was just before the beginning of summer vacation when Phil and I went with Dirk to see a movie. They asked me what I wanted to see; it was a "guy" movie, with action and a bit of gore, so they were surprised (and pleased) when I picked it out. But it was a good movie, a science fiction one with prisoners held on an island in the future. I think the island was tropical. The name was No Escape. I don't think the movie was very popular, because it was just the three of us in the theater with a big tub of buttery popcorn, free to talk or put our feet on the chairs in front of us. That was a good time.

Phil and I drove to my home on Sunday, May 22, 1994. The circumstances surrounding it were really trying. It started when my mom suggested that Phil bring me home and then stay the summer. There were lots of places looking to hire, and he'd have much better luck finding a job in South Bend than in S--. It would also help them a lot to not have to come pick me up, or pay for tolls in Illinois and Indiana. Phil liked the idea. I had to tell Mom by Friday the 13th who would be taking me

home, him or them.

Since they supported his driving me home for Easter Break, Phil thought his parents would support him driving me home and maybe even working in South Bend, so he mentioned it to his dad. His dad didn't mind, but said to ask his mom. Phil did, and she was against it. She said things like, he should be looking for a job now, we needed to spend time apart and not be together all the time, etc. (Actually, it's good that I spent so much time with him, because it taught me things about his character that I needed to know. And he was going to get a job in South Bend.) Since she was against it, Phil's dad joined with her. But his sister said, "You're over eighteen. You don't need their permission. If you want to do it, just do it."

My mom didn't want him disowned over it, and I told him so, but he said,

"Call your parents and tell them I'm taking you home for sure."

He didn't tell his own parents about this, though. He let them believe my parents would come up on Sunday to take me home, and that I'd stay at Phil's house till then. I hated the deception, especially when his mom started going on and on about cleaning up the house for my parents' arrival. There was even talk of a little party.

I told Phil I hated this deception, and that I'd rather he just told them, come what may. But he still didn't. (It was his job, not mine, since they were his parents.)

The day before we left, we were supposed to help clean up. I cleaned up Phil's room while he was off somewhere else, vacuuming and possibly dusting it, and it looked better than it had the whole time I'd been with him. I was proud of how it looked. I wasn't going to sit around on my butt while everybody else cleaned, even though my parents weren't really coming.

On Sunday morning, we filled up the van. It was partially packed already with things that I didn't need at Phil’s house, on the pretext that we'd unpack them from his van into my parents' vehicle. Phil said nothing to his family (only his sister knew the truth), and had me take my stuff to the van and get inside. Then his dad came out and called to him. Phil went to him, and he asked what was going on. I didn't watch or listen, but his dad didn't yell or anything, just let him go. I think in my letters the next few days, I pretended to laugh about it when telling my friends what had happened, but really I just hated the whole thing. It made me feel terrible, but Phil wouldn't have it any other way.

Doing what he wanted to do, while still living in his mom's house, seems to have been hard for him. If he'd had more gumption to stand up to them and say he was an adult now, he would have said he was going to South Bend (no sneaking around), and we would have planned to get married probably before the end of the year. Would there have been a secret marriage? Probably not, because we wouldn't need to do anything secretly.

One night in May soon after we got home, I heard on the 10:00 news that Michael Jackson had married Elvis' daughter, Mona Marie Presley. After all these years and the many questions people had of Michael's sexuality, especially now that a young boy alleged he'd been molested by Michael, it was a shock to hear that he was married. It was another shock to hear his wife was Elvis' daughter. Dad was away on business and Phil was probably in bed; Mom came out of her bedroom, which she'd just gone in, and watched the news report. She said at the end, "Her dad must be rolling around in his grave!"

Phil started looking for a job, and I did not, since Mom said I might not have time for one, what with all the projects I wanted to work on that summer. I had talked to Mom about working at the bank where she works, but when I said I was going to work on my Senior Honors Thesis, my Senior Writing Project and "Undine," she said I probably shouldn't get a job that summer.

If Phil and I were both successful in our dreams, we wouldn't have to work at "normal" jobs. I wanted to be a homemaker so I would have time to write. But I said that when we set out on our own, if I had to work for a while, I would, even if it was at a factory.

Phil got an interview for a sales job with a cable company before the end of the week. The company was in Mishawaka, a small town right next door to South Bend. You could cross a certain street and go from South Bend to Mishawaka. Though I didn't know my way around Mishawaka, Phil took me with him to help find the company. He, probably dressed in one of Dad's suits, poorly fitting but all he had (he either wore this for the interview or for his first day on the job), went off, and I stayed in the foyer for a while, sitting by the receptionist. She was married to the head salesman or owner. She asked when Phil and I were getting married, and I said,

"Summer of '95."

"'95--that's a good year to get married," she said, not explaining this, and also said what year she married.

I did try for one job, though. Mom told me they were looking for workers at a nearby shirtmakers, which was a few blocks down from my house. So I went down one day (possibly Wednesday), braved the busy street there, and put in an application. I picked one up the day before, but the woman there didn't tell me what another woman told me the next day, that they weren't looking for day workers anymore, just night workers. Well, I didn't want to walk down that way at 3 in the morning in South Bend. But she told me to put it in anyway, and she'd write on it when I wanted to work; if they wanted day workers they'd get in touch with me. It felt good to get the application in. I'd never done embroidery or shirt work before, and hoped I would just do silk screening if I did get hired, but it was also close enough that I could walk there and not worry about how I'd be able to get there without a car. They never did call.

When summer vacation started, we didn't have MTV but we did have the glorious Q101, with that Brit who talked like Daphne on Frasier (not that I watched Frasier yet). I don't remember her name, but she was a lot of fun. Once, as my parents drove me through Chicago, she said, "I was at this party last night with all men. Now, gehls, these men were just gorgeous! Unfortunately, they were more interested in each other than they were in me."

Back to the summer of 1994. Phil said he wanted to buy me a trousseau for the wedding. I thought that was so cool, because I would love to have some new clothes to wear. I didn't go out and buy much of anything because classy clothes were too expensive and modern-day fashions were too boring, so then as now, it was hard to find anything I liked. So I hoped this trousseau would have what I would like, and that he'd be able to afford such things. (In those days, I'd never heard of Goth, and couldn't just log onto a website to find Goth clothes. Not that I'd be able to afford them, anyway.)

I wrote a letter to Peter during this time, telling him about the engagement. I didn't get a reply, and thought he was ignoring me or mad at me because of the misunderstanding fiasco back in early January. This wasn't the reason, though, as I found out later. I don't believe there even was a reason.

I just couldn't get away from S--. Not only did Indiana and Michigan branches of my family start making brats the summer after I first started going to Roanoke, but now there was an "Enzo Pizza" in the Scottsdale Mall. I didn't know where they got the name from, but "enso" is often heard in S-- ("Yah der hey enso"). Phil and I kept joking about it every time we walked by it that summer.

Memorial Day, May 30, 1994. As usual, we went to "look up ancestors" in cemeteries in Michigan, Dad's favorite Memorial Day treat. This time, Phil came along. In one of the newer and bigger cemeteries--which aren't always as intriguing as the tiny, older one a little ways from Grandma's house--I pointed out a tombstone that said Peter. (Peter's real name is also a last name.)

Mom said, "Good place for him."

Phil and I looked at each other in shock.

"After the things he said to some of the girls at church," Mom said.

I blanched, considering that anything Peter said to girls at my church would have been said while I was still going out with him.

Mom soon explained that she wasn't talking about my ex-boyfriend. Instead it was the music leader at church! He'd recently left the church because of some controversy, which I, being in college, hadn't heard of till now. Apparently he made a comment to a girl in the teen group, who was dressed for something special; the comment was, "You look good enough to eat." I might even have heard of it or been there when it happened, because it seems vaguely familiar. It's possible that it wasn't meant to sound sexual, but it was bad enough. There might have been something else said, too. It came to the attention of the pastor, and then Church Peter and our own Sandi Patti, his wife with the beautiful voice, left the church, along with that brood of cute little blonde-haired girls that had brightened up the church since the 1980s. It was sad to see this controversy come to the church through a respected family.

One Sunday morning, one of our elder members of the congregation gave the sermon. However, he kept saying the same things and using the same stories over and over again. I don't remember how he stopped, but someone may have mercifully interrupted him. My dad said during lunch that the man may have been having a stroke while he was preaching, and this shocked Phil and me. We later heard it was something else, but I forget what.

June 1994