Sometimes a person doesn’t understand himself. For example, this happens to me a lot. You want to pour out your heart to someone, but you can’t find the words to say, only the right words. But you’re full of pain, pain… You think how to get rid of it, but you can’t find a way. You want to cry, it’s hard in your throat something is stuck. Wait for tears to flow from your eyes. But unfortunately, you will not shed tears. You will suffer a lot. Right now you are looking for a close friend – a confidant. Unfortunately, everyone is busy with their own pain; and they take your words superficially. They even forget after a few minutes. Because when someone tells you about the pain of a date, your heart won’t break. Unfortunately, in a few minutes, you will forget the pain that overturned his whole world. Of course, pain and feelings are not interesting and important to anyone. You realize that you don’t understand and put your head on the pillow with pain. Your soft pillow seems to harden with the pain. You get up and open your phone. You try not to get distracted. Unfortunately, none of this helps…
Basically, these pains accumulate during the day and give you excruciating pain in the evening. Sometimes these pains accumulate for years. At worst, I don’t feel or understand what is causing this pain. Your conscience, your heart knows, but the date cannot be expressed in words.
But don’t be afraid! It doesn’t hurt every day. Some are every 2 days, some are once a week, some are once a month, and some are even once a year. That’s when you fall asleep. When you wake up in the morning, you will find that everything is fine and everything is better…
Laylo Bakhtiyorova was born on 11.10.2000 in the Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Currently, she is a graduate student of Tashkent State Pedagogical University. Currently, she is a member of the organizations of Argentina, Russia, and India. She has been helping many young people to enter the international arena.
Napkin Notes (Dawn’s Daylight Discourse and Osho) for Raquel
The Old Timer
Loud, but grew on me. Osho said the belly laugh is disappearing from the world and once it is gone the world is basically done. He has the belly laugh. People pause and look. I offer my seat to an elderly couple and he notices. He stands up. What does he want? He approaches. He announces that, ‘I can see there is one last gentleman in the world, and you are it,’ and he points at me. I tell him thanks. He goes and sits back down and continues reading his paper, while I notice not many people read a newspaper anymore.
The Sleeping One
She is dressed well, from shoes to all else,- business attire. And she sleeps every time. Then suddenly wakes up, takes a look around, uses the washroom, comes back, and leaves. She never orders anything or talks to another soul. Maybe she works night shift and day shift,- or has a sleeping disorder, or likes to rest. It’s okay. For instance, Osho told his university teachers that he napped every afternoon at a certain time and would be sleeping in class, and not to disturb him during that time.
The Crossing Guard
Upbeat. Happy. Aged. Looks a bit like Henry Miller with his bald head. walks far he tells the others. Still, a solitary sort. Kind. Good hearted. Much energy. Reads. Writes. Is focused. Seems healthy. Balanced. Miller lauds Gurdjieff, who is Osho’s favourite. These things I think while staring out windows at the new sun.
The Reader
A bag of books. He is a veteran of a war. Pauses to stare in the air I suppose to think about a passage he just read. Subjectively and personal experience must be valid or there would be no book or writer or just one book and that’s it. Or, maybe he is reading history or about architecture or something. Osho in real life arrived at the library every morning before the librarian and waited to be let in. He was dedicated to reading.
The Missionaries
These ones pretend to be your best friend right away. But they are not that different than telemarketers as they follow a basic script. First they introduce themselves. Then they talk and go in steps trying to get you to go to their church. They are allowed some leeway to meet again if necessary with two more of their ilk present. That is, if they think you are worthwhile mark, meaning they can get you to church. once you state disinterest,- they will not speak w/you again. why not? Because they never liked you in any way to begin with, therefore why would they? God’s people it seems, don’t believe in internet, music, reading, friendship, movies, or much else. there is a dress code, and they can only be separate while using a bathroom and at other time. Their God is a micro manger, a strict task master. Cults are interesting. But only for a few minutes. Osho said if that particular group that they kind, but had strange beliefs.
The Vacant
Three and they do nothing and talk about nothing. If one has had a mini-crisis- the one will cry briefly and the other two will console her. They arrive in high end Mercedes and other. There is not a scuff on their shoes and they are over accessorized. They look a bit like clowns. What they add to the world is beyond me. Osho used the word, ‘somnambulist’ a lot. May I get struck by lightning but, c’mon…
The Proletariat
Van. Boots. Coffee. Shift. No nonsense. That’s about it. A city worker. Smart though. Osho says that it is a mistake to think that there are only hands and heads,- because heads have hands and hands have heads. This is the impression I get also.
The Asshole
He buds, cuts in front of other people. I wonder if it’s me being too analytical but the two he budded in front of sit beside me. One leans over and mentions to the other, ‘That guy is plain mean.’ And the other nods. The asshole is so self involved I don’t think he even cares on any level. He’s not ‘being’ an asshole. He ‘is’ an asshole. Probably all the time,- like a way of life. He is probably also a person who throws his garbage in the street. Osho said don’t treat the earth as your garbage can.
The Hockey Captain
He wants to talk to me because i am wearing a New York Rangers wool winter hat. But I tell him it’s really just because the hat is comfortable and I do whatever I want that way. He thought for a second I might have played for them, as he did, because why would a Toronto resident wear that? He is nice. A bruiser. He was the captain. A long time ago. He wears a hockey ring. I don’t like hockey anymore. I played too much. It’s all I did when everyone else was at the movies or working part time jobs or studying. And the ring. I guess to each his own. But Osho says even winning a beauty pageant can be a curse, because you were once Miss Wherever and might never get over it, might keep that idea in your self your whole life and not be present. Osho says he used to jog every morning and then stopped. That the people said he had lost it. But he didn’t need it anymore. Had found a better ‘it.’
The Super Rich
These two are from another planet. Totally silent. They don’t even say a word to one another. Unlike the faux world though,- they don’t flaunt, but ARE. There is nothing wrong in their aura and atmosphere it is their path. But how boring. They must have no story to tell at all. I don’t know why they go there, and not somewhere else,- but there must be something they like there. Just looking at them makes you want to fall asleep. Osho says the truth can wait a long time because it is the truth. Maybe they are good. Who knows?
The Homeless
He keeps his cans outside. In bags. Talks to everyone. He’s okay overall. He only goes in there in the summer months. Has a bike. Healthier looking than anyone and more tanned. Older now. Where he goes is a mystery. Very awake, perceptive. His eyes look absolutely everywhere all the time. On alert. Has developed almost a sixth sense for survival and life. I’ve seen this before. Probably a better judge of character than any psychologist or councillor in the entire world. through hard fought experience
and actual living. Osho says what you want if you can get it is the look in the eyes of that person you saw that for whatever reason has become disengaged from society.
The Europeans
They gather and talk. It used to be like that in the malls, moreso when there was smoking. Nice enough. Sometimes one paws a rosary or other prayer bead on a string. I like their sweaters. Sweaters only for warmth. Olden days. Before me even. Kind of hermetic that group,- but all groups are I suppose. They understand one another deeply on all levels more than they even know. Osho says to enjoy the group if it is there and also solitude if it is there.
The Nigerians
These are the hardest workers and the smartest or tied in smarts and work ethic with others. I like them very much. There is a toughness and a kind hearted way that live somehow meshed together. I don’t know them anymore but used to work alongside them. Strong in body and spirit and mind. Osho talks of Zorba the Buddha, a phrase he coined to express the marriage of opposite temperaments into one wholistic unified consciousness. Earth and sky.
The Narcissist
There is nothing you can say to that one. They will just relate it to themselves. Impossibly narrow, more narrow than narrow,- more like a child than even children in their outlook. And the narcissist is Selfish. Dark. Materialistic. Manipulative. It’s best to stay away. Even small brief interactions are bad. They only see others for what they can provide for them. They are actors. They are not communicating out of any sense of genuine self,- but from a false self. They are ugly. They have such a bad atmosphere. Like poison. Or garbage left out somewhere on a hot summer day. I suppose Osho would call the person unconscious.
The Empath
Their plight is difficult. They can sense the others and hardly turn the perception down or off. Oh well. Hopefully the whole or source or god will heal and/or guide them. But it’s good to remain in the light as much as possible while navigating a dark world. Osho says he can be silent for four years so that those who truly know him will stilll know him in the heart.
The Narc
He tells people he parks there to get away from his wife. But he asks people strange questions. He is a cop all the way. I knew by looking at him from twenty feet away. There is a set of people he is following, keeping tabs on. Three people actually. Two close together and a third more loosely affiliated. It’s interesting. When they disappeared, he disappeared. They always pull the narc from an area really fast if there is no use for them. Osho is not for marriage. Perhaps the narc knows most people also aren’t, even if secretly against it.
The Techie
Quiet. To himself. Kind of a hipster. A strap that keeps the glasses on. Thirties but fully grey hair. Happy. Regular. Just living. Many computers and phones. No drama. Could probably fix any problem like that in minutes. Osho says to plant a rose garden and the world will be for you. Such is methinks finding a passion.
The Drug Dealer Wannabe
He’s dumb. He reads all the labels of the bottles he stole or bought but thinks nobody is watching. Someone comes close and he scrambles to shove them in a bag again. He is not sure what some of the pills even are. Darting eyes. Osho says the problem with stealing something is only half you might get caught. The other half is that a cloud comes over the thief, a certain sense-aura- atmosphere-, and settles around him. This one is like that. His energy is completely messed up. Osho says many are stumbling around.
The Bible Group
These ones are different than the other missionaries. Same religion but they just study to themselves. They are actually deep. In love and with and dedication to the meaning of scripture. And they have each other. The Good Book, the church wherever it is, and yes,- their larger community and smaller group. They have their mind and heart on more profound things than most others. Good for them, I think, though am no one to say. Jesus comes to a devotee of Osho and says to leave. The devotee tells Osho and Osho agrees right away, that the devotee should leave. Osho gives his greatest discorse on his favourite gospel, the apocryphal Gospel of St. Thomas, and provides esoteric and deeply textured insights into Jesus and his followers.
“Things Unintelligible but Understood”:
lines from Wallace Stevens, a found poem
Consider the odd morphology of regret
Note the decline of music
The grapes are here and now
Starry voluptuary will be born
At least the number of people may there be fixed
There is no such thing as innocence in autumn
Machine within machine within machine
The cabinet of a man gone mad
No man shall see the end
Naturalized: Lines from Hala Alyan’s, The Moon Turns Back:
a found poem
He plays devil’s advocate.
May father plays soccer.
In dreams I am in Nevada.
Half-life in exile.
I’m not your side bitch.
Those fucking K-Mart towels when did we
give them away?
I loved them.
Pink as slaughter.
You can’t put a corpse back together again.
I type all the metaphors I can.
I can’t keep pretending to love.
Patti Smith Photo Album #1
Mundane objects imbued
with deep, personal meaning:
Bolano’s writing chair,
Hesse’s decrepit writing machine,
Virginia Woolf’s tarnished
walking stick,
Jim Carroll’s narrow, single bed,
Fred Smith’s recovered childhood toy;
all their owners gone. A woman
with a camera remembers.
736-
Spy of the First Person. Patti Smith
and her day book. Sam’s Old KY home
Adirondack chairs on the back lawn
facing the hills. Empty now.
737-
Patti Smith punk rock star or
stay at home mom. Surrealistic
pillow maker or Rimbaud re-
incarnated. As a woman
Collector of memories. Just Us
Kids or a museum of dead things.
On the M Train. Or off.
Babel or Coral Beach. I. She.
Contains multitudes.
Patti Smith Polaroid Sequence Nov/Dec
Pasolini Monument: two doves intertwined in stone
Genet’s A Man Contemplating Death on Mapplethorpe’s
Birthday: A Still Life
Editing Sam Shepard’s last manuscript
A white horse head in Wales
Dylan Thomas’s grave with plain wooden cross
Rimbaud’s elaborate headstone
Sharing coffee with ghosts of Camus, Sartre, and Simone
in the Gallimard garden
A solitary bird sings of the death of Proust
Jim Carroll’s well-thumbed Penguin paperback of Schulz’s
Street of Crocodiles
The bound twig broom used to sweep dying leaves from
Mishima’s grave
Sam Shepard’s Depression era Gibson
Puccini’s composition piano
Photo of Rosa Parks Dec 1, 1955
Joan Didion: pure writer
The guardian angel near the grave of Bertolt Brecht
Patti Smith at the interval contemplating Tosca:
“ I have lived for art, for love.”
A letter in the hand of Emily Dickinson
Dante’s headstone
Zappa’s ‘Hot Rats’ album cover
Ralph Fiennes on the set of Coriolanus
The ruins of Hadrian’s library
After Reading Burchfield: December Moonrise, #8
Flat saucer shaped clouds in gray
blue sky are pocked by puncture wounds
shining bright as fallen stars or creatures
like birds of another species. Irradiated
seeds sprout plants that only bloom at
night. Moonrise over distant hills make
the landscape more unreal than it already
seems to be.
Blistered cones of light
where the moon
should be
Moon of All Shining Desire
Moon of all shining desire
Rapture laden sweetness of orgy and fire
Suspended in brightness tipped Earthward,
A path through the night
Unraveling the stillness
Achingly holding the light.
Radiant your pathway –
Enchanted and new
Tangled with stardust and spangled with dew
Reflecting the light of the cosmos
In the shimmering stars on your gown.
Moonlit hours are fleeting...
And in dreams your light I recall
Delicate and wispy like a dress
Worn to a debutante's ball.
Drape this silhouette once more
In your soft silver light
With Earth's music playing waltzes
Some magical night
Dance my moon-tipsy shadow, lightly
Around the deserted ballroom floor
Then out through the open
French door
Whirl me in breathless ecstasy
Onto the terrace of night.
GOING HOME
Going home is an echoing tune
Whistled down the sunbeams
In the corridors of the wind.
Going home is climbing the cherry tree
Of the mind
With the golden legs of yesterday.
It's roaming mentally
Through the windless places
Where tragedy was bubble gum hair
Or a B-B through a window.
Now I stare at my reflection
In that long-ago wounded window –
Did I see the young girl shadow pass
Over the woman in the glass;
Did she reach out and touch my face;
Or was that the wind upon my cheek?
I HAVE WALKED THE MORN IN MISTS
I have walked the morn in mists
And trodden down the valley lily white
And run the gantlet sunshine fair
Robed in silken webs no woman ever wove,
Shod in sandals light -
Airy, as death is weightless
And left youth and gaiety high and dry
At the entrance gate of responsibility
And entered therein
To lie face down, child of marble, wayward
On the dew-drenched lawn of forever,
Crying tears of stone
To the unveiling of a statue, ageless.
I have reached reverently out to touch
The alabaster agony of space without time
To carve the precious light of existence, sweet
With flawless line, chisel
The wrinkles of age and time away
Layer by layer to the stone's heart,
Newborn, in beauty glowing, translucent
With hands of steel, a sculptress
Kneeling to whisper, "It is good."
Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.
My tongue that entered my ear as lullaby,
My valiant tongue in the bosom of the ages,
I will write you every moment,
My blood, my language, oh, my motherland.
Come strolling, meaning my language,
Always sing like a nightingale my tongue,
He has the spirit of Navoi, he has Babur,
Let every dialect be beautiful, my language.
Every word has a hundred meanings in my mother tongue,
Every flame is a fire in every heart,
Everything ripples in this language,
Endless treasure, legend in my tongue.
This is my language, which the whole world respects.
This is my language, inherited from my ancestors.
Understanding the culture and background of a language is part of learning it; it goes beyond studying its grammar and vocabulary. The inclusion of cultural material in English language instruction gives students a greater grasp of the language and its cultural intricacies enabling them to communicate more effectively and sensitively from a variety of cultural perspectives. The article starts by emphasizing the value of cultural material in language instruction and how it helps students become more linguistically and culturally competent. It stresses how cultural understanding helps learners grasp the subtleties of language, such idiomatic phrases, social customs, and cultural allusions, which are crucial for efficient communication. It also addresses several methods and tactics to include cultural content in English language classes, including the use of real resources, cultural exchange projects, and multimedia resources. Additionally, incorporating cultural activities, such as role-plays, debates, and discussions, encourages learners to engage actively with the language and cultural concepts.Teachers must use a learner-centered approach when integrating cultural material into language training. The interests, backgrounds, and ability levels of the students should be taken into consideration by teachers when selecting pertinent resources and activities that connect to the learners’ experiences. The importance of technology in accessing cultural information for language acquisition is also emphasized in the paper. The availability of internet resources makes it simpler for students to obtain authentic materials from many countries that speak English. This makes it possible for the classroom to hold a wider variety of cultural events.
Nowadays, majority of the people around the world consider English as a lingua franca, and they are learning it. However, those learners sometimes complain to have inefficient level in English despite putting more effort to learn. Many linguists and scholars claim that one of the main reasons for this is learning the language outside the context and cultural features. Neglecting cultural aspects while teaching English might result in misunderstandings, cultural insensitivity, insufficient language competency, restricted access to authentic materials, decreased intercultural competence, and a weaker relationship to the language being learnt. For the purpose of promoting successful communication, cultural sensitivity, and a well-rounded language learning experience, cultural training must be incorporated into English language teaching.
Language learners are highly likely to face these challenges because of absence in cultural competence in a foreign language:
1. Lack of Context: Language is employed in contexts that are determined by culture. Learners may find it difficult to understand the meaning, usage, and connotations of words, phrases, and idiomatic expressions without having a thorough understanding of the cultural context. Without understanding the origins and meanings of expressions like “break a leg” and “raining cats and dogs,” for instance, they may be difficult to understand.
2. Miscommunication: Communication techniques are influenced by cultural conventions and beliefs. Learning how to express oneself and understand others may be difficult for students who are not aware of these cultural quirks. If cultural differences are not taken into consideration, miscommunications may result because of differences in directness, politeness, and nonverbal indications.
3. Understanding Humor: Cultural metaphors and comic idioms in English can make it difficult for learners to understand humor, which has a strong cultural foundation. Because jokes, slang, and wordplay sometimes need cultural background, it can be challenging for language learners to completely understand and engage in humorous dialogues.
4. Social Integration: Learning a language involves assimilating into the culture of the target language as well as developing linguistic abilities. Learners may find it difficult to deal with social situations, form relationships, and interact with others in English-speaking societies without knowledge of cultural norms, conventions, and social etiquette.
If cultural values are not taught when teaching English, these are just a few examples for unwanted results to arise.
Here are some strategies you can use to incorporate cultural elements into your English language lessons:
METHODS
Cultural awareness should be integrated into the curriculum in a way that encourages critical thinking and encourages students to question assumptions about culture.
Introduce authentic materials: Use authentic materials such as newspapers, magazines, books, movies, TV shows, and music from English-speaking countries. These materials expose students to the language as it is actually used in real-life situations and provide insights into the culture.
Discuss cultural topics: Include them into your lessons. Explore the festivals, customs, traditions, and cultural occasions observed in countries that speak English. This can be accomplished through presentations, group projects, or in-class debates. Encourage pupils to also discuss their particular cultural experiences.
Teach idioms and expressions: Idioms and phrases should be taught since they are an important component of any language and frequently indicate a society’s cultural values and views. Idioms and phrases should have their origins and meanings explained to pupils, who should then be encouraged to use them correctly.
Comparative analysis: Comparative analysis: Compare and analyze aspects of the native cultures of the pupils with those of English-speaking people. The comparisons are not meant to undermine any of the cultures being studied, but rather to enhance the learning process and to inform students that although certain aspects of culture are becoming more worldwide, others remain local. Because of this, students are inspired to consider how cultures differ from one another as well as how they have similar values. This helps them to comprehend diversity better.
Use multimedia resources: Take advantage of multimedia tools: Use multimedia materials to introduce pupils to many facets of English-speaking cultures. Showcase sites, cities, or cultural traditions via movies, documentaries, or virtual tours. Students may do this while improving their listening skills and seeing the culture visually.
Role-playing and simulations: Involve students in role-playing exercises that simulate real-life scenarios in countries where English is the language. Set simulating a situation in a restaurant, a job interview, or a cultural event. Students may do this to improve their English while learning about cultural conventions and expectations. Also, Have your pupils join in on the festivities. Learn about the history, importance, and traditions surrounding these occasions, and take part in activities like crafting or preparing traditional foods.
Virtual tours and field excursions: Take your pupils on field visits to historical places, cultural centers, or museums that are relevant to English-speaking cultures. If actual visits are not feasible, explore these locations electronically via virtual tours and online resources.
RESULT
Overcoming Communication barriers: Communication obstacles can occasionally be caused by cultural differences. By giving students the information and abilities to understand and react correctly in various cultural situations, the teaching of cultural concepts in English language schools aids students in overcoming these obstacles. It improves their capacity for suitable and successful communication with native speakers.
Increasing Motivation and Interest: Including cultural content in language instruction may make learning more interesting, relevant, and thrilling. It introduces students to many cultural facets, including literature, history, art, and social conventions, which could stimulate their interest and inspire them to learn more. Additionally, it facilitates the development of a link between the language and its cultural setting, enhancing the learning process.
Our Future Will Benefit from the Teaching of Cultural Heritage: If high school students are taught about their cultural background, they will start to appreciate both their own culture and the cultures of the people around them. In the past, students might have wondered where we all come from, what life was like for those who came before us, what they ate, and what they did for enjoyment. These kinds of questions let students take both an internal and an outside view. Students will be motivated to create and study as people in the past did before us because as humans, we don’t want to be forgotten when we’re gone. Learning this information will assist our future generations because they will be able to pass on the cultural heritage that they value and adore, as well as the thoughts, ideas, books, and beliefs they have acquired from those who came before them. As long as we keep in mind to pass on these customs, learn from them, and develop new ones to connect with them, they will endure. Every of history contains sad moments, things we feel guilty and ashamed about, but by learning about the past we can be sure to prevent the future from repeating the same mistakes, and by doing this we can protect people from being hurt when they shouldn’t be, and we can also go back and reconsider our past choices, try to understand what went wrong, and then move forward into the future and do things new.
Facilitating brain processing: Reading comprehension and mathematical reasoning both benefit from leaning on students’ cultural knowledge and norms, according to earlier research. Neuroscience research suggests that this is partially due to the fact that everyone learns new knowledge more effectively when it is connected to what they already know. In other words, by utilizing students’ preexisting brain connections, employing texts, resources, and examples that draw from students’ cultural schemas and past knowledge facilitates learning. That’s not all, though. Neuroscientific studies have shown that culture influences how the brain processes information; for example, pupils from cultures with strong oral traditions are more likely to acquire new material effectively through music and storytelling. Because of this, culturally sensitive teachers are also enhancing brain connections when they employ repetition, rhythm, movement, and images during education.
DISCUSSION
The reason for learning a foreign language is to know how to communicate in the target language, to know whether the customs and traditions of the speech community, and to develop one’s study and work.
Additionally, McKay (2003) asserts that culture significantly affects language education in two crucial ways: linguistically and pedagogically. Culture has an influence on the semantic, pragmatic, and discourse levels of the language, which is significant from a linguistic perspective. Because the cultural content of the language materials and the cultural foundation of the teaching approach must be taken into account when choosing the language resources, this has an impact on pedagogy. Therefore, Mckay (2003) contends that in order for pupils to properly acquire a language, they must master both the linguistic and cultural norms of that language.
In a similar mindset, Stern (1992) suggests that the purpose of teaching culture should be:
• Providing students with knowledge of the target culture.
• Knowledge of the target culture’s traits and distinctions from the learner’s own culture.
• A mindset that values research.
• A focus on comprehending the sociocultural effects of language and language usage
• Affective objectives, including intellectual curiosity, empathy, and interest.
Conclusion
Students can benefit from a more thorough and real learning experience when cultural components of English language education are included. Traditions, conventions, history, literature, art, music, and other things are examples of cultural aspects. These components can help students comprehend the language and how it is used in various situations on a deeper level. Additionally, it aids in the development of intercultural competency, which is crucial in the modern, globalized world. The objectives and preferences of the instructor or educational institution may influence how much cultural content is incorporated in English language instruction.
Promoting intercultural competency and encouraging pupils to have an accepting and respectful attitude toward many cultures are both achieved by including cultural components into language instruction. It promotes empathy, global citizenship, and cultural sensitivity.
As he sat back in the pastel plastic chair in the hospital waiting room, Rob’s mind drifted back many years, through the wind-swept memories of his youth, to his one great love. Amy was the first girl who had ever paid any attention to him. She was not only his first, but his last love as well, if truth be told, for he had never found a woman who could replace her.
. . . . .
Rob didn’t realize it at the time, but Amy had set her sights on him, as predaciously as a falcon. Rob hadn’t stood a chance. Girls had never paid Rob any mind before. He was tall and skinny and awkward and his complexion not so good. So when the terminally cute girl walked up to him in the cafeteria at the college where they were both freshmen, he had no clue.
“Wanna go out some time?” she asked without preamble. He blinked at her with surprise, then actually looked behind him to see if she was talking to someone else. “You,” she said, punching him in the chest with a forefinger. “Do you wanta see Patton?” which was the hottest movie of 1970.
“Um…” he stammered.
“S’matter, can’t you talk?” she teased. “That’s okay,” she said. “I know sign language.” Her hands were a blur as she signed something or other; he was confused. What did this girl want? he wondered. She sighed. “Okay, let’s start over. I’m Amy.”
“I’m Rob,” he confessed, finally finding his voice.
“I know who you are,” she told him. “I asked the guy you were talking to yesterday.” Rob’s mind scrambled. Who could that be? He hardly talked to anyone on campus. “Kevin,” she added, solving the mystery for him. Kevin was his lab partner in biology class.
Rob just stood there, confounded, first by being confronted by a pretty, silken-haired girl who showed an interest in him, and second, by finding he had nothing to say. He just stood there, like an idiot.
She sighed. “Look,” she said, scribbling in her notebook and then tearing off a sheet of paper. “Here’s my number. If you ever remember how to talk, gimme a call and we’ll check out George C. Scott, okay?” She held out the sheet, and when he didn’t reach for it, she shoved it into his hand, and then bounced away. Rob stared down at the paper and read aloud: “Amy Ferguson.”
. . . . .
“Hey Rob,” said Kevin, approaching their work station in the biology lab. “You want to come to a party tonight?” This was a Friday and Rob had eventually summoned the courage to call Amy and make a date.
“I…got a date,” said Rob, the unfamiliar words spilling out of his mouth.
“Right on, man,” said Kevin with a grin. “What are you doing?” When Rob explained, Kevin said, “Come after. The party won’t be getting started till after ten, and the movie will be over by then.” Kevin gave him directions to the party house and told him he’d see him there.
Although Rob was in college, he had never actually been on a date before. In high school, he had been preoccupied with studies and had found little time for girls. He was also shy as a maiden aunt. Amy had offered to drive this evening, so Rob wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet of meeting her family. He stood at the window of his on-campus housing and waited. Suddenly a vintage green Kharman Ghia pulled up and a horn blared loudly. Rob stared at the vehicle and its occupant. The horn blared again and then again and he ran out of the apartment.
“S’matter,” quipped Amy, from behind the wheel. “You deaf?” Rob ran around the front of the car and climbed in.
“Hi,” Rob greeted his date breathlessly.
Without further adieu, Amy reached around behind Rob, grabbed a fistful of his dark red hair, and planted a big kiss on his lips. “Hi yourself,” she said. Rob thought he saw spots before his eyes.
In moments, they were clear of the campus and putt-putting down the highway leading into the tiny college town. That was, for Rob, his first kiss. He took a great breath and released it. As they motored through the suburbs encircling the town, Amy turned to Rob and asked, “Do you really want to see this flick?”
“What else do you have in mind?” he asked.
“There’s this hot new band at Casego’s,” she told him, referencing a bar where college kids hung out. “You up for it?” she asked.
Rob shrugged. “Sure. And if we get tired of that, I know where there’s a party tonight.” Rob had never been to a tavern before.
She grinned. “This date might not turn out to be a disaster after all.”
At the tavern, they were both carded, but as the drinking age in Wisconsin in 1970 was just 18, they passed inspection. Once inside, Amy seemed to know everyone, greeting others with a hip bump or a high five or a shoulder squeeze. Rob knew no one else.
In the two hours they spent at the tavern, the teens got only a little gassed. Rob had been drunk one time before: at a wedding when he was fifteen and he had gotten hopelessly ill. But he had been trying to get drunk then, and tonight it was less forced and more natural. They each had a half dozen beers. And they danced. Rob’s only experience there was also at weddings, when he’d been forced to dance with his aunties and grandmas and so on. He had never really done a slow dance before.
But, after an hour of cutting a rug, the band, which Amy characterized as “groovy,” broke into a slow number, a sixties tune by Jackie Wilson, called Higher and Higher. Rob relaxed into the arms of his date and Amy’s curvy body molded into his. Rob felt himself become aroused and he panicked.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she whispered into his ear. “It’s natural.” And they danced on. Eventually, the tempo increased to a frenetic pace and Rob and Amy pulled apart and danced with abandon. Finally, she leaned into him and whispered, “Let’s blow this taco stand.” And they left.
. . . . .
The ride to the party was a wild one. Barely sober, Amy steered wildly, crossing the center line several times. And Rob, unaccustomed to alcohol, fell asleep in his seat. At length, they arrived at the party house, which was a huge old farmhouse, dating to before the American Civil War. Nudging Rob awake, Amy and her date staggered into the house, where the party was in full swing.
There must have been more than a hundred partyers, in various states of obliteration. Rob winced at the sudden bright light, and Amy took him by the hand and led him to an array of iced kegs. In short order, they were both armed with foam cups of beer. Rob tasted his libation; it was cold and delicious. There was a live band playing, too, in the backyard. The couple were drawn almost magnetically toward the music.
“It’s a tribute band,” proclaimed Amy, nodding to the beat.
“What do you mean?” asked Rob, who had never heard the term before.
“They play the songs of some famous band,” she explained, taking a sip of beer.
“Who’re they supposed to be?” he inquired.
Amy furrowed her brow and stared blankly at Rob. “Led Zeppelin,” she replied, as if speaking to a slow child.
Rob nodded. He’d heard of them, if memory served.
Once again, Amy seemed to be acquainted with almost everyone. A man, almost as tall and skinny as Rob, placed a hand on Amy’s arm and drew two fingers to his lips evocatively. She nodded, then grabbed Rob’s hand and followed the new man across the living room. They exited a side door and Rob shivered at the sudden cold of the November night air. They’d left their wraps inside. They came upon a forest of chrome and fabric lawn furniture and took seats among a half dozen other students, one of whom was in the process of rolling a joint. The joint roller, a young blond woman introduced to Rob as Misty, looked up at the newcomers and, recognizing Amy, smiled engagingly.
At length, her task complete, Misty inserted the joint between her lips and lighted it. The air was suddenly redolent with an acrid smell that even Rob recognized as the aroma of pot. Accepting the cigarette from her friend, Amy inhaled, held the smoke in for a long moment, then loudly expelled the fumes. She handed it to Rob. Thankfully, thought Rob, he didn’t spasmodically cough or vomit or do anything untoward. Like Amy and Misty, he held the smoke inside. By the time he let it trickle out of his mouth, he was, for the first time in his life, stoned on his ass. They stayed until they had both consumed two additional tokes apiece, at which time Amy took Rob’s hand and led him away. The couple walked the grounds surrounding the farmhouse for some time, hand in hand.
Finally, Amy murmured to Rob, “Hey, you okay?” Rob started. Someone was speaking to him. He discovered it was Amy. He listened. “You alright, Rob?” she asked again.
“Yeah,” he said a little too expansively. “I’m really great.” Suddenly his head felt too heavy for his shoulders and he had difficulty in keeping it upright.
“Columbian,” said Amy enigmatically.
“Huh?”
“The dope,” explained Amy. “It’s Columbian. Good shit,” she said tersely.
Rob only nodded, trying to come to grips with being profoundly stoned.
“Good shit,” he parroted.
They continued to walk, until they came upon a green-painted bench, as one might find in a park. They took a seat, then sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Next, Amy began rubbing the muscles of Rob’s neck. This felt wonderful, he thought. Rob felt like he could fall fast asleep, until which time as Amy leaned in and kissed Rob on the lips. Expecting the unexpected now, Rob instantly reciprocated and ardently kissed her back. Amy rubbed the inside of his thigh with her fingers and he gasped. Rob pushed his fingers into the nether regions of Amy’s tight, faded jeans and it was her turn to gasp. Taking Rob’s hand once again, Amy led him back into the huge farmhouse. Picking their way through the humanity that was haphazardly strewn everywhere, it was as though they were the only sentient beings in the place. Amy, thought Rob, seemed to know where she was going. Had she been here before?
Coming to a steep staircase, they climbed upwards. Rob felt lightheaded. The second floor was divided into at least six bedrooms; choosing one at random, Amy knocked softly. A muffled voice emerged from within.
“Sorry,” she murmured contritely. Moving on, this was repeated twice more. Finally, they came upon a room which door was ajar. Peeping inside, they found it blessedly unoccupied. Drawing Rob inside, Amy turned on the light, fastened the lock and extinguished the light again. Without a word, they collapsed upon the bed.
, , , , ,
A full week transpired before Rob was able to reconnect with Amy. He called several times, but met with no success. In one instance, he was questioned by an older woman.
“Is this Troy?” she asked sharply.
Rob blinked into the receiver. Who was Troy? he wondered. “Um…no, this is Rob,” he said in reply. At various times, he was told that Amy was “unavailable” or “indisposed” or “away from the phone.” Finally, she called him.
“Hey,” she greeted him. “How ya doin’?”
“I’m good,” he replied. “Where you been?”
Silence. Then, “Out of town. I have a cousin who had a medical procedure,” Amy said.
“Medical procedure? Is he alright?”
“She,” Amy corrected. “And yes, thanks, she’s going to be alright now.”
“Where does she live?” Rob asked next.
Another brief pause. “Chicago.”
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
Once again a pause.
“Hey,” said Rob, “is everything okay?”
“Of course,” she replied at once. “How about Sunday? We could go to the park, feed the swans.”
“Okay. Do you want me to drive this time?”
“No, I’ll pick you up. Eleven okay?”
He agreed.
. . . . .
When Amy picked him up, Rob remembered to ask, “How’s your cousin?” It took a moment for Amy to remember her perfectly bogus explanation to Rob for being out of town.
“She’s great.”
“We’ll have to go to Chicago sometime; I haven’t been in ages. We can stop in and see her. What’s her name?”
Amy was baffled. She’d thought up the lie on the spur of the moment, but the enormity of her prevarication seemed to be just expanding. And she liked this boy; she didn’t want to lie to him anymore. “I don’t have a cousin in Chicago, Rob,” she admitted.
“Then why’d you tell me you did?” he asked.
Amy took a breath and released it. “Because, I wanted to account for my being out of town.”
“So Chicago was a lie?” he asked.
“No. Chicago was real enough.”
“Then there was no medical procedure?” he pressed further.
Shit! she thought. She’d have to come clean.
“No, Rob, there was a medical procedure, but my cousin didn’t have it, I did.”
Rob grew instantly concerned. “Are you alright?” he asked, touching her arm.
“Rob, I had an abortion,” she said emotionally.
“What!” he yelped. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you.”
“It wasn’t your baby, Rob,” she said. Was this guy really a biology major? she thought.
He paused, then said, “I knew that. But, I still would’ve gone with you, Amy.”
Her heart melted. “Really? Even though it wasn’t your child?” A tear seeped from one green eye. “I knew you were sweet,” he went on, “but I didn’t know how sweet.” She continued to drive. At length, they reached the park, climbed out of the Volkswagen and, with several loaves of bread in hand, advanced toward the lake.
“Was it Troy’s baby?” asked Rob at last.
She stopped. “How do you know about Troy?” she asked curiously.
Rob explained the queries from the call he’d made to her house.
“Did he go with you to Chicago?” asked Rob.
Amy shook her head no. “No, it would cramp Troy’s style,” she replied. “He already has another girlfriend.”
“Did he know you were pregnant?” he asked her.
She only nodded.
“Amy,” said Rob, “can I ask you a really personal question?”
She nodded again.
“Are you in love with this Troy guy?”
She thought for a long and, for Rob, unendurable moment. “I thought I was,” she said slowly, staring at the lake and the swans ambling their way, looking for a handout. “Maybe I still am, a little bit,” she admitted. “I’m sorry if that hurts you, Rob, but he and I dated since our senior year in high school and I don’t fall in love easily.”
Rob had to ask: “Then what was the deal with me, Amy? Were you…just using me, to get back at your old boyfriend?”
She shook her head no. “It wasn’t to get back at Troy. He frankly couldn’t care less. But,” she went on, “I was using you.” Rob frowned unhappily. “I wanted to do something crazy and wild, so I picked up a cute guy that I knew I could boss around and…you know.”
Rob thought about this for a moment, then looked Amy in the eyes and with a crooked grin, said “Cute?”
. . . . .
Several months later, Rob and Amy were still dating. Things continued apace, but Amy’s behavior had changed. No longer did she get high or drink alcohol. However, she did begin to gain weight. Hoping against hope, Rob asked her one night, “Baby, are you pregnant?” A child by the woman he loved above all others would be frosting on the cake of life for Rob.
Amy drew a deep breath and released it. “Yes, I’m pregnant.”
“Yay!” shouted Rob excitedly. When she didn’t respond in kind, he asked, “This is good news, right? I want you to have my baby,” he exclaimed.
“It’s not your baby, Rob,” Amy told him for the second time since she’d known him.
Rob was stunned into silence. Then he asked, “Then whose is it?”
“It’s Troy’s,” she said, staring at the floor.
“You’re back with Troy?” he asked incredulously. “You know what that was like. How could you see him again?”
“I haven’t seen Troy in months, Rob,” she said. In answer to his unasked question, she went on, “I never had the abortion.”
“Chicago?” he asked.
“I went there, with my sister, but I changed my mind. I couldn’t kill a part of me. You understand, Rob?”
Now Rob was subdued. He had set his sights on being a father to Amy’s child some day, and for a moment it looked like the opportunity was in the offing. Now it seemed like a treasured Christmas present had suddenly been snatched away.
“You’re going to keep the baby?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ve only one thing to tell you, Amy.”
Staring straight ahead, the loaves of bread now gone, Amy shut her eyes and said, “What is it?”
“I want to help raise the baby with you. Will you let me do that?”
A tiny smile played over Amy’s pink lips.
. . . . .
“Dad?” asked Alisson, stretching out a hand to touch Rob on the arm. “How long have you been here?”
“I got the call from Brad about two hours ago,” he revealed, referencing the husband of his granddaughter.
“I was in surgery,” Alisson said. She was still clad in blue-green scrubs. “She wasn’t due for three or four days,” she added, “or I wouldn’t have scheduled any procedures till after Maddie delivered.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” replied Rob, smiling at his daughter. “Your first grandchild,” he observed mildly.
“And your first great-grandchild,” she answered back at him.
Suddenly, into the room emerged Maddie’s OB-GYN, telling the family that all was well with mother and child — a granddaughter for Alisson.
Alisson regarded Rob with concern. “I know you were nervous, Dad.”
He shrugged.
“It happens every time. I’ve had four kids and you were a basket case every time.” She rubbed the muscles on his neck, the way that Amy used to do.
“You understand?” he said simply.
She nodded. “You lost Mom when she gave birth to me. I wish I could have known her — as a mother and as a person, you know what I mean?”
Rob nodded. “You would’ve loved her, Alisson.”
“Why didn’t you ever marry again, Dad?” She’d asked him this question many times, but always enjoyed his answer.
“The sequel,” replied Rob, “is never as good as the original.” Rising to his feet, he accompanied his daughter to see his new great-granddaughter, where he would be told, as he had every time before, that the child favored him.
