platform
An old, old story
I was sitting in a sidewalk cafe in Ashland, drinking a
beer and reading the newspaper when I saw her. I knew at
once it was Esme — and I couldn't lie to myself — I had come
to the cafe half in hopes of seeing her. She spread her books
out on the table and began studying. A waitress approached
and took her order. I wondered if it would be what she always
ordered.
cort fernald
sidelong glances
I’d thought that if I ever saw Esme again it wouldn't affect
me. But I was wrong. Seeing her brought back all the
memories of our relationship. “Had it been that long?” I
thought. I had been carrying her so quietly close to my heart
that it never really seemed over for me.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, she was looking from page to
page as the wind gently ruffled the book leaves. Every once
in awhile she glanced up and squinted into the broad
sunlight. Strange seeing old lovers.
It wasn’t one of those comet-type of relationships, all
fiery passion streaking across the night sky, consuming itself
in smouldering heat. Relationships of that sort usually run
their course in three weeks. No, we quite slowly and deliber
ately grew close. I realized some bitterness still burned inside
of me — having been fooled by her deliberateness into
believing there would be more to the relationship. Why are
men and women often so cruel to each other when all seek
the same joy?
I sipped my beer and shook my head — what a lot of odd
and battered emotional baggage I carry around.
The waitress swept by her table and placed a glass of
cafe latte before her. Esme’s tastes hadn’t changed in some
things.
The wind scattered a hank of black hair across her face
She gently pushed it aside her cheek. It was one of those
unconscious movements that I recall so vividly. The ghosts
whelmed into my thoughts. The way she would tilt her head to
the side when listening. The brightness of her dark eyes That
lilt in her voice. The girlish squeck when she cried — once
The small things become so important, perhaps too impor
tant, when the relationship ends
So funny to fall in love and literally be felled when the
emotions aren’t reciprocated. But there are no winners or
losers in love.
It was probably that dark night when all the stern guises
of the macho-male shattered and I broke down, crying out so
much of the pain frustrating inside my soul.
“Writing and writing and writing a million words
scribbled in ink, Es,” I shouted half-mad, “and no recogni
tion.” She was silent, and frightened
Despite all the enlightened rhetoric about a man's
sensitivity it’s not easy for a woman to relinquish her cultural
role, even for an instant.
Perhaps that was the reason she wanted it to end —
she’s never said. I ask too much. I’ll always have a question
for which there is no longer any purpose in answering.
I finished my beer and tucked the newspaper under my
arm, crossing the cafe to her table.
"How have you been, Es?” She looked up, startled at the
sound of my voice. “Cort. . f-fine," she said nervously.
“How have you been?”
I was about to automatically respond when I noticed her
eyes dart to the side. I half-turned and saw a man approach
ing the table I glanced back at Esme and perceived that glint
of optimism alight in her eyes.
The man kissed her and sat beside her. They talked
softly — enveloped in their whispered world with all its secret
knowledge and shared experience
“It was good seeing you again, Esme," I quickly said,
wanting to get the hell out. I didn't wait for her to reply, but
turned and walked off, pursued by shadows. C’estla vie.
Cort Fernald is the Emerald’s editorial page editor.
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letters
Abomination
On Wednesday I was standing
at a campus bulletin board, and
my eye caught a poster for a
workshop by Steven Levine, a
well-known death-and-dying
counselor who has a back
ground in Buddhist meditation. I
had just begun to read the
poster when a young man walk
ing by tore it down from right in
front of my eyes.
I intuitively sensed what
would come next, but I played
out the drama by asking “Why
did you do that? I was reading
it.” The response to my ques
tion was "That’s an abomina
tion against God.”
If this young man was looking
to destroy "evil” in the world, he
really needed to look no further
than his own mind World views
like his are the breeding ground
of hatred, discrimination, witch
hunts, inquisitions, and much of
what is truly evil in this world
Before people like him try to tear
down and destroy what they
don't understand, they would
do well to first tear down the
barriers of ignorance, chauvin
ism, and dogma in their own
minds. A truly spiritual person
would not be afraid of allowing
others to express (or hear) other
opinions Spirituality is expan
siveness of mind, not black
and-white dogma
When people set themselves
up as self-appointed censors for
what others can or can’t learn
for their own personal and spir
itual development, they are de
priving others of the opportunity
to make a meaningful, mature
attempt to understand Truth
and God If there was an
"abomination against God” in
this episode, it was this young
man's attitude of religious fas
cism. Yes, he did "teach" me —
he taught me to be even more
vigilant against the dangers of
his type of attitude in myself and
others.
Or. Wayiand Sacraal
Psychology
No coverage
I am disappointed in not find
ing any Emerald coverage of
Alice Walker, nationally promin
ent author, and Mary Watkins,
reknown jazz pianist Walker
and Watkins' Poetry and Jazz
concert, the ASUO Women’s
Symposium's final event, seems
to have gotten overshadowed
by the articles and clarifications
concerning Professor Barbara
Green's position and the politics
thereof
Because of limited Women's
Symposium funds, we were told
at the Poetry and Jazz concert,
Alice Walker and Mary Watkins
accepted a fraction of their
usual fees in coming to Eugene
to read and perform Alice
Walker, poet, short story writer,
essayist, novelist, and a con
tributing editor of Ms since the
magazine’s conception over a
decade ago, is featured in the
most recent Ms (June '82) She
calls herself a "womanist ", a
derogatory tag she’s turned
around, locating herself in black
culture as a woman who speaks
out. (Marge Piercy speaks out
too, but at her reading last fall
there were over twice as many
people to listen and celebrate
strength with Piercy than were
present for Alice Walker's read
ing in Poetry and Jazz.) KLCC
taped the reading and jazz per
formance so you still have an
opportunity to hear, but next
time, Emerald reporters,
students, be there
Robin Leigh
Graduate, Independent studies
Atiyeh leads
As a student at the University,
I feel I must speak out
With our economy in a serious
slump, and revenues severely
reduced, higher education
could not be granted a total
reprieve from budget cuts with
out intolerable harm being done
to other needs in our state
Gov Vic Atiyeh recognized
that fact and made the only
moral choices he could make
when he devised his budget.
Atiyeh also stepped out in
front to push our higher educa
tion system toward the future
with a new emphasis on training
in "high tech" fields (He asked
the Legislature for dollars to
fund High Tech at our universi
ties and has matching funds
pledged from private industry )
He is pushing our economy
toward the future in the same
way, emphasizing the need for
bringing in "high tech”, and
other clean industry and push
ing for expansion of clean
Oregon businesses
For students, Atiyeh is leading
in the right direction , to give us
the education the future will
require — and the employers
who will give us jobs once we
receive that education
Many of the critics of Atiyeh
are those who are trying to pro
tect their sacred cows They do
so at the expense of Oregon's
future We can’t afford
everything To afford what will
bring lasting help to Oregon has
been Atiyeh s goal
He deserves the support of
students in Oregon who must
face tomorrow's world We need
the skills — and the jobs —
Atiyeh is pushing to face the
future with confidence
John Welch
Graduate, business
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