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On Guilford Pond
by Phillip B. Smith
Dear Penelope,
Sweet thing, how are you? Fine? Me...
I'm 0k... I just wanted to write you a letter,
say he 11... I know I write too much. Sorry...
am I wasting my time? If so, tell me...
don't let my affections blabber on. Tell
me. Do you like me? I thought you might,
after a while, after the few times we went
out (I had fun, and you... I can never tell for
sure). And when I try to touch you, just a
hug, or even my hand holding yours...
something is wrong. Is it you? Or me?
Oh well. I can only imagine you now, in
that black dress full of pink flowers, or in
those baggy pants... in your quiet space, on
the run, in the woods, sitting, by the pond...
thinking of me? But can I imagine all of
UFEIH
HELL
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THE GUILFORD LAN October 8, 1990
8
you? Am I leaving something out... arc
you wearing your glasses today? Or maybe
that paisley brassiere? (Thought I hadn't
noticed...)
But enough of you! I must talk of me...
and only hope you get my letters...
Been a tough day for me—got back a
paper that I have to write over... teacher
didn't understand me, didn't understand
ALL that was going on in the paper... my
fault. And in class, and in his comments to
me, I don't understand him...his fault? But
I guess it doesn't matter whose fault it is,
just that 1' m pissed off, real uptight. There's
something infuriating about NOT under
standing and something more infuriating
about NOT BEING understood!
Sooo MAD. I am sitting on the bricks,
above the steps to the left of Founders.
With the ants and squirrels. Thinking of
you... I frel a bit better. But really, it is the
bag of cookies—my lunch. The grill room
is closed, counting money... I can't buy a
bacon cheeseburger. So I buy the bag of
cookies, the ones with the lemon cream
sandwiched between two vanilla halves.
First time for eating sugar in two weeks...
oh well, I got to calm down. MAD. 50...
POP... POP... and POPPOPPOP... down
the chute, the sugar soothes, calms my
nerves. POP. Pop. Gives my stomach
something to bite, other than itself. Pop.
All 18 cookies are gone. And I can rest. A
squirrel scurries close, a visit. Hello, I say.
It wants crumbs... I shoo it away.
Later in the day: Back in my apartment.
To chill by the TV. Watch M*A*S*H.
Laugh. TV... funny the way memory vis
its... did I ever tell you about the time I was
in the Seatde airport, waiting at three in the
morning... oh yeah, huh... I forgot, I was
waiting for you, wasn't I? To fly in from
New York. But I don' t think I ever told you
about this crazy fella, the long-haired hip
ster in jeans, with holes. What happened
was... I'm sitting at one of those pay TV's,
the tiny black and white ones in plastic
©1990
By MATT"
(pRoeNING
boxes, watching a blank screen —I don't
have a quarter (if I did I could watch about
15 minutes of —WHAT at three in the
morning?), I stare at the blank screen,
content in my daze, when this hipster in
jeans appears. He comes right up to em,
and says, "You got the TV with the worst
reception" (they're eight TVs in a row)...
then he corrects himself... "No, no, that
one, that one there, two TV's over... That
one's got the worst reception... The best is
at the end." And he sits down at the end of
the row, with a row of quarters three hours
long. I thank him, the advice being impor
tant, coming from a connoisseur.
I know the hipster was wobbly upstairs,
but I could also tell that he was serious.
That he really cared about my reception,
about whether or not I was going to be
watching a lot of fuzz... and that's impor
tant.
Well love, this letter has rambled on
long enough. And I want to get it in the
mail before the post office closes... so you
can hear from me by the start of the week.
P.S. GOGOREDSOX!
Bungee
>- continued from page 7
Lee found out about bungee-jumping
from a friend and decided to try it over the
summer. His friend's parents had been
given a 25th anniversary present of a bal
loon-ride, which is how they learned about
the bungeeing in Charlotte.
The origin of the sport can be traced
back to the rituals practiced by the land
divers of Penecost Island in the South
Pacific. Each spring young men leap from
wooden towers, with cords made of vines
bound to their ankles. Success is a sign of
courage and manhood.
In 1979 Oxford University's Most
Dangerous Sports Club began jumping
from the Golden Gate Bridge, wearing
tuxedos and top hats. This impetus helped
the sport become popular in California.
Bungee Adventures of Palo Alto operates
much as the Charlotte company does,
charging $99 per jump.
The future of bungee jumping looks
promising. Entrepreneur Stone of Bal
loons of Charlotte and his partners are
hoping to market a complete bungee sys
tem, with balloon attachment and promo
tional materials to hot-air balloon opera
tors. The proposed price tag of SSOOO may
seem steep, but if enthusiasm for jumping
continues at a constant rate, the investment
may soon pay for itself.
David Lee has already turned at least
one other friend on to the idea of jumping,
and he would definitely do it again. He
says, "It's an experience no person should
be denied."
Missing you, Phill