Under the Birch Tree

by Nancy Chadwick

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re here,” Lexi, my roommate, said.

  “I see you putting in some hours at the law library.” I found this statement to be a leading one, rather lawyerly.

  “Huh? How do you know that? I never see you there.”

  “Oh, come on now, word gets around,” Mike said.

  “Those guys have loose lips. Aren’t they supposed to be studying instead of watching who’s coming and going?” Lexi said.

  “Well, we all know you now. You’re Nancy Undergrad,” Mike said.

  “Huh? I’m who?”

  “We call you Nancy Undergrad, cause you know everyone and everyone knows you, kind of like a mascot.”

  Though it was an endearing term, I was embarrassed. I had no business hanging out with grad students; I had overstayed my welcome. But I pretended to be blind and loved every minute of the attention. I became anxious when I wanted someone to like me in a way other than as a little sister. I looked at “Nancy Undergrad meets male law student” as a pairing where both sides benefited. The few friends I made were intoxicating and awarded me validation in exchange for stroking their egos, filling their empty places. I learned I could have male friends who were not boyfriends, but I remained an anomaly, an unexplained something they didn’t know what to do with.

  My graduate circle of friends expanded to include the dental school. Only this time, I had no interest in dentistry and did not even consider studying where the dental students studied. Lexi and I were regular dinner buddies in our dorm’s cafeteria, where we’d find the dental students also eating.

  “God, just look at that round table over there,” Lexi said.

  “They’re always there, up close to the front.”

  “So they can see all the girls walking in for dinner,” I said.

  “Yep, that’s it. They are the Knights of the Round Table,” Lexi said loudly. She wanted them to overhear her words.

  The Knights acted upon their belief that the women of the dorm were “fresh and young” and rather in need of male companionship. Lexi laughed at their assumptions only because it became them. Their egos and wild partying and thinking they were the dorm’s gift always gave Lexi and me something to scream about. Conversations among us stirred provocation.

  “Got to watch those pounds,” John said with a chuckle.

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” I said more loudly. The table of three erupted in laughter.

  I was lucky. The “freshman fifteen” never invaded my body. In fact, I lost weight. Since I was on a prepaid meal plan, I had to eat cafeteria food. The broccoli was over-cooked to army green. I chewed pizza, tomato-flavored cardboard. I drank a lot of milk, had the salad bar for dinner, and topped my meals with vanilla ice cream for dessert. My circumnavigation of campus wiped out most of the calories I consumed.

  One of the Knights, was a short Italian who Lexi nicknamed “exhale” because he looked like he needed to, with his beefed-up upper body and muscular arms that couldn’t hang close to his torso. I wanted to know more about his quiet and reserved nature, so unlike his dinner companions, whose loud conversation and dramatic body language demonstrated otherwise.

  “Hey, you guys, can I join you?” Diane, a third-floor RA asked. “What’s so funny?”

  “We were commenting about some of the scenery,” I said, pointing to the round table.

  “You know the Knights of the Round Table, Diane?” Lexi asked.

  “I’m familiar with them,” Diane said.

  “You are? How … I mean, who … are they?” I asked.

  “The dark, short one, he’s got lot of friends but you never really see him with anyone. He’s shy, quiet. He gets around, though.”

  “One-night stands?”

  “You could say that,” Diane said.

  Our suspicion was confirmed one Saturday night when I saw him in O’Donohue’s Pub. I purposely walked around the crowded, dark bar to meet him. He was alone, but maybe he wouldn’t want to be leaving that way. Small talk progressed to honesty as he dampened my fantasy.

  “I just can’t,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “No, no I can’t.” He gazed over the bar to the crowd on the other side.

  “Huh? I don’t think I’ve asked you for anything.”

  “No, you haven’t, not really. Do you know why I’m here or what I’m doing?”

  The conversation was odd, confusing, and abstract.

  “No, haven’t any idea. Maybe you are waiting for someone, and they haven’t showed?”

  The bar’s volume increased as louder shouts from students ordering refills traveled from one side of the bar to the other. We stepped closer into each other as our conversation became serious.

  “No, no, that’s not it. You see, I can’t take you with me tonight, home, with me.”

  Huh? I was shocked. I wanted to dash from embarrassment.

  “I … I … but … I never asked … I mean, how about …”

  “You are just too innocent and nice. I can’t do that to you. I mean, I could, I could ask you to come home with me, and you would, and the next morning you’d expect something. But that would be it. I wouldn’t be giving you what you want. And I can’t do that to you.”

  “Okay, then, well. I’ll be going. Have a nice night,” I said as I plowed through the crowd to reach the front door and burst outside.

  I heard a shout. “Nancy, wait up.”

  My embarrassment kept me walking.

  “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.” He took my arm.

  “You don’t have to, really, you don’t.” I was getting angry. I was mad at … him? And why? I wasn’t a girl to be picked up, and I was angry to think he thought I was available for just one night. My anger stemmed from my awkwardness that my interest in him was so obvious that he felt he needed to push back, a result of miscommunication. We stopped in a dark corner in the parking lot next to my dorm, leaning up against the building. He took my hands in his, stepped closer to me, and kissed me gently on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry. That was bad what happened. I didn’t mean it for you. You are so nice.”

  Okay, so I melted at his apology and subsequent compliment. I wasn’t mad anymore. I let the whole thing go. We had cleared the confusing air.

  I was on a slow track, experiencing in college feelings and emotions what most other women my age had already weathered through in high school. It wasn’t a bad thing. Right?

  When I returned to my dorm room, the dialogue in my head was replaying itself continuously. I couldn’t find Lexi, but found Nancy, who was awake and willing to listen.

  “Look at all the male friends you have now. You’re always talking about the guys at the law school and now those dental students. You’ve said you’re interested in a couple of guys in J-class. I’d say most women around here don’t even know as many guys as you do,” she said.

  Her objective observation was correct. However, I tried to defend myself with a different spin.

  “But that’s just it. I don’t go out with them. I’m a little sister to them. They want to slap me on the back and say, ‘Here, have another beer.’”

  “And most of those guys are in grad school.”

  “And I have a lot of fun with everyone in my J-classes, too. They’re good and smart and are great to hang out with, but none of the guys look at me as someone to go out with.”

  My anxiety wasn’t about boys and dating. It was the effect that boys and dating had on me. I felt bounced from one bumper to another in a never-ending game of pinball. I couldn’t reconcile being happy, anxious and frustrated at the same time. Perhaps it was because I had immediate expectations. The highs and lows continued to circulate in my head. “I can’t believe someone like you doesn’t have a boyfriend,” was a consistent comment by most of my male friends. The pressure to have a boyfriend was consuming me, and I didn’t understand why “someone like me” couldn’t get one. But I admitted that even if I were ever to be a girlfrien
d, anxiety and torment would still exist. It wasn’t meant to be; I wasn’t ready. My quest to increase my friendships and their connections was very complicated.

  My birch tree gave me a focal point to refer to, a kind of meditative bull’s-eye to hit every time I stood in front of it in greeting, contemplation, or conversation. It kept me centered and reminded me that there would be times of difficult growth, but the sun would shine on me the next day, and I would be renewed in spirit.

  I deferred to taking long walks, inviting my mind to wander and my heart to become peaceful. My personal field trips took me to downtown Milwaukee and over the bridge to the lakefront. The grassy canvas invited me closer, to touch the whitewashed boulders and see them lumped in stacks, to hear the waters rush and crash against the shore. The dimming sunset as it met the horizon and fell with a rhythm to the water’s music comforted me. When I returned to my dorm room late in the afternoon, my journal witnessed the scrawls of constant ink flow, with adolescent-sounding confusion, pangs of frustration, and turmoil of love in motion, coloring a white space. The dialogue between my journal and me was honest and open, just like best friends. I wanted a best friend.

  During my study nights at the law library, Grover usually made it a point to stop and talk with me. As if impressed with himself, he did the talking while I listened. At the end of the school year, he gave me a peach-colored rose and a note card for me with his full name imprinted on the top of the card. He apologized if any of his actions had offended me throughout the year. He said he’d found me “refreshing” and he’d enjoyed “being friendly” with me. That same year, another law student sent me a “Deepest Sympathy” card, a sarcastic take on “thanks for being friends.” Nancy Undergrad was confused.

  relationships

  One Saturday night, Lexi and I made a lasagna dinner for three dental-student friends—more big brothers. Why we decided to make dinner for a bunch of dental students is beyond my understanding. I had no desire to be a dental-student groupie. I also didn’t want to be looked at as a sister who was so fond of her brothers that she was willing to make a home-cooked meal for them. My attraction to Brad, a mix of curiosity and the need to know why he continued to stare at me in silence, was relentless. I didn’t know what to make of my new speechless friend. Jeff was our neutral intermediary, an interpreter for confusing dialogue between grad student and undergrad, and an all-around good buddy.

  Lex and I landed our plates in front of us on the table after serving the boys. After bites were consumed in silence, Jeff piped up.

  “Hey, we still have time to catch Apocalypse Now at the Varsity. Let’s go.”

  Lex and I looked at each other as if the evening had been fast-forwarded and we were still reading the opening credits. We yielded to the unanimous decision. Off we went.

  While two of the boys walked ahead of Lexi and me, I looked over my shoulder to see Brad at my heels.

  “He didn’t say anything at dinner, just stared and nodded his head. Didn’t you notice?” I whispered to Lexi.

  “What’s his problem? He’s shy? He didn’t want to be there?” she said. “It’s starting to make me think he’s just weird.”

  Brad ushered Lexi and me into the aisle, followed by the boys, with Brad on the end. Brad and I were bookends. I guess he didn’t want to sit next to me.

  Lex and I continued to take advantage of any opportunity we had when crossing paths with the dental students, which was usually on a Friday night in the usual campus bars. One bitter cold Friday night at the Gym was no exception.

  “Hey, you know what?” Jeff said. “You two ladies really need to relax a little, you know, let loose.”

  “Huh? We couldn’t be more relaxed. It’s a Friday night,” Lex said.

  “Another beer would certainly help you,” Jeff said.

  “Jeff, you know I don’t even like beer …” Lexi said.

  “And one is my limit, I’m a lightweight. Okay, maybe two, but that’s it,” I said.

  Lex and I turned away from Jeff to face the bar and see a pitcher of cold brew under our noses.

  “Drink up, ladies,” Jeff said. “It’s for you.”

  A couple of Jeff’s friends soon joined us, and Lex and I were relieved from our prescription for relaxation when the dental students grabbed the pitcher for their own consumption.

  I was not much of a beer drinker. In fact, beer made me feel worse—sick, tired, and not wanting to be with others. I would start to feel loopy from staying up till 1:00 a.m., not from overindulging alcohol. I didn’t need it to unwind or relax. Just being with friends loosened me up.

  That winter evening, we closed the bar. Lex and I never finished that pitcher—it was done for us, I think. I had been ready to leave hours before; I was tired.

  “It’s time to go. See those lights blinking? Did you hear the bell, Jeff?” I yelled. “God, we’ve got a walk back, Lex. Let’s get going.”

  “Hey, where you goin’?” Jeff asked.

  “Back to the dorm,” I answered.

  “Hey, no, not yet, it’s still early,” Brad’s roommate, Bart, yelled. “Come on over to our apartment. It’s a lot closer than walking back. We’ll put on some music, wind down, you know?”

  Lexi and I looked at each other in mutual contemplation.

  “Well, if we’re going, let’s go,” I said.

  Piercing high winds accompanied our walk. There was no turning back.

  “What’s the front desk going to say when we walk in early Sunday morning, looking like the night before?” I asked Lexi.

  “We just got back from church,” she replied as a statement and not a question.

  When I walked into Brad’s apartment, I anticipated a burst of heat but was not granted the relief. Even though I was bundled in a white turtleneck shirt, red wool sweater, and a short white quilted ski jacket, I was still shivering. The sparsely furnished apartment reflected a temporary stay and limited hours in residence. Scratched wood floors reflected the sliding of chairs and tables to fit their preferred positions.

  To help us settle, we sang to the guitar strumming of Harry Chapin playing from the turntable. A well-worn and overstuffed fuzzy brown couch, a couple of chairs, a beat-up old coffee table, and stereo equipment sat haphazardly in the room. Lexi insisted the top of a threadbare rug would be a fine place for her to recline. Brad followed me after first inviting me to the couch.

  “I’m okay, actually, just fine. I’m wedged in here good. You sure you got enough room?” I asked. “You can hold me, you know. It’s okay.”

  I looked at Brad’s face. Yep, just staring at me with a smile.

  No one stirred until the wee hours of the morning, when Lexi and I slipped out unnoticed.

  I thought how sleeping next to a guy could be so innocent, comforting, and familiar. Like home.

  One Saturday, Jeff’s friend Butch, Lex, and I were at Jeff’s apartment listening to the Beatles’ White Album while engaging in adolescent discussion.

  “So, what’s going on with Brad these days?” I asked.

  “Brad? Oh, I guess he’s been busy, haven’t seen him much,” Jeff replied.

  “I see. I haven’t either,” I said. “I don’t get it. We go out and see you guys every once in a while and have a really fun time. But I can’t seem to be with just Brad, alone.”

  “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you and doesn’t want to hang out with you. He just doesn’t have the time,” Butch chimed in. “Look, you guys are great, and you’re a lot of fun. I’ve never really gotten to be friends with undergraduates before. Just relax. Don’t push. Have a good time with undergraduate school. Let it happen, man.” He bobbed his head and sang with Paul McCartney’s “Rocky Raccoon”: “… but everyone knew her as Nancy.”

  Lexi waved her hand with a laugh. “It’s just all too weird.”

  Brad and I never dated. We finished the school term, and Lexi and I didn’t see the guys again. I was still reminded of the feelings Brad had invoked in me and questioned how I could r
eally like someone I didn’t even know and why I was trying to make something of nothing.

  I realized I already had what I’d been yearning for. I had a group of friends with whom I could talk about what was going on in my head, and they would listen. I recognized their patience and reassurance and was grateful for it. They did not dismiss me because I was an undergrad who was exhibiting a bad case of growing pains, but accepted that as just who I was. They taught me that true friendship is accepting people as they are and that the connections are unconditional.

  I moved into the Belmont Apartments on campus for my junior year. The dark, drab concrete exterior matched the dinginess inside. I positioned my daybed along the longest wall to give me a view of the entrance to the main campus, brightening an inherent somberness. A table and pair of chairs sat in front of a picture window in my kitchen, adding to my dining pleasure. I did my own cooking and so did not have to partake in a meal plan at the dorm’s cafeteria. A stuffed chair and ottoman, centered in front of a large window overlooking center campus, gave me the reflective space I often required at the end of the day after a full class load. An old metal desk was my television stand, and a small wrought iron plant stand served to hold my limited book collection. My independence and sense of place with my apartment as home, a microcosm within my larger home world, was important, giving me confidence and a way to discover more of who I was becoming. Dad would call maybe once a month; I never thought of reciprocating.

  “Hiya. How’s it going?” he’d always ask.

  “Going okay. It’s hard. So much studying. Lots to read, and there seems to always be a test.”

  “You got enough money?”

  “Yep. Not a problem.”

  I remembered Mom’s words to me: “He was always a good provider.” I didn’t think to chastise myself when I considered that Dad’s provision was limited to money when it should have included emotional support and personal interest. It was just the way he was and continued to be. I remembered only talking to Mom as necessary.

  “I was out last night and … I kind of … lost my wallet,” I confessed to Mom on the phone one Saturday morning.