June 7, 2004

  • JEREMY invited the whole gang to his R.O.T.C. convention in Utah this past weekend.   The only person interested, surprisingly, was Thea, so we flew there together.   (Half her family's in the military.)    It was the perfect getaway before finals.   The guys and girls were put up in separate modern dormitories.   Thea and I were assigned a suite with a gal named Clara.   At first I thought:   Oh, another spoiled, overacheiver Kevvie type heading for Park Avenue and the Junior League.   Norweigan blonde, has everything, and Mummie calls night and day to make sure.   Then her mother revealed Clara has systemic lupus.   She's gets attacks of excruciating arthritis,  and is not expected to live past 30.   Her family just wants her to live life as fully as possible before it's too late.   We were in shock; the girl seemed so carefree and vivacious, not at all delicate.   But there were all her medications, arranged in a line nearly 2 feet long on the formica console.    They reminded me of Noni's bookcase headboard, which looks like a shelf at the pharmacy.   Hell.   So we tried to feel sorry for her, not envious.   It was hard, though, when she smelled of suntan lotion and never missed a midnight swim.  


    The weekend began Friday evening with a special conference.   After a complimentary pancake breakfast Saturday morning, it was event after event, ending with a huge pep rally last night.   Go-Go-Go-Go-GO!!!    It was fun.    Everybody slept like logs afterwards.   I must admit I was impressed.    But not enough to surrender my life to the armed forces, even though I could skip boot camp and go right into an officer's program, get stationed overseas, see the world on the government ticket--well, something to think about.


    As for Cyndria, I tracked down her folks on the internet and had them come pick her up when she got out of the hospital after a two-week hold.    Diagnosis:  borderline psychotic reaction.   Just when I was feeling like I did the adult, responsible, proper thing, Cokie called and said I was a real prick.  


    "That's the last thing the poor girl needs!    Her parents probably caused her to be that way."   


    "How could we trust her!   She could be from anywhere!"


    "Oh, Tina.  You know where she came from.   Didn't you just look it up?!?"


    Um, yeah.   According to the idealistic, grandiose Cokie way, we're supposed to adopt her into our merry clan, clean her up, get her a job, and set her on the path to well-being.   Like we're licensed psychologists with plenty of money and big orderlies like bouncers we can buzz should we get physically assaulted.    Taylor's brother was a schizophrenic in remission, and still pulled a knife on their Dad once cuz he imagined he was a gila monster.   Before that, he was standing over him like a zombie while he was asleep.   Why should we put ourselves at risk?   We don't owe Cyndria anything!