Limbo, and Beyond

So there I was, back in Haileybury, repeating 2^nd year, even though I’d passed it in Cambrian. It was like 2^nd grade, all over again. I’ll be fair; there were differences in the curriculums. Cambrian was more class-oriented, fewer field trips, with more mechanical and statistical overlaps, while HSM was a more “practical,” hands on, technical course load. Way more surveying, something I was never particularly fond of, having to do circle checks out back in the freezing cold. HSM covered milling, Cambrian did not.

Psycho followed me. For Christ’s sake, is about all I can say about that. James Parisi spread the nickname around when we returned for summer employment, and the Haileybury guys we knew picked up on it. My stereo followed that year, too. The purple palace had oodles more room than did the porch perch I’d had prior, and I’d always been jealous of those guys who’d had the luxury of their own music, so I was not to be outdone that year.

I met Greg early on, and after discovering we both played D&D, he told me that he wanted to get a game started, that he’d already lined up a few players, and asked me if I wanted to play, but only after consulting whether the others were okay with adding yet another player. I spoke to a few of them prior, displaying some enthusiasm, and was shocked and amused when Greg told me they were unsure, saying that they thought I wanted to want to play in a darkened room with black candles or some such nonsense. I burst out laughing, wondering where they got that idea. I asked Greg if I could stick the candles in beer bottles, then asked him where I could buy candles. We played, off and on, then the group split in two after a while. I was somewhat dissatisfied with some of their play, generally goody-two-shoes, one big happy family, let’s all stick together, hack and slash stuff. If you’ve ever played, maybe you understand what I’m getting at. My splinter group (Greg was involved in both) was a grittier affair, more focused on city adventures, politics, roleplaying, and vendettas and the like. I was asked to sit in with the other group on occasion when someone couldn’t make the session, but I didn’t make a point of it. It irritated me how poorly they played.

I’d met another friend in that first month, an older married guy (mid-late-30s) who was on what we used to refer to as the walking wounded program (workman’s comp. was paying his way). I knew Doug’s wife too; she worked at the cafeteria to help make ends meet. Doug heard about our game, wanted to try, and before I knew it, he and his wife were inviting me over for dinner once a month, maybe to get me out of the bars and fatten me up some. What I remember most about those dinners was kicking back to Doug’s album collection afterwards, the beers we shared, the conversations we had. He told me that he knew that my thinning hair was dragging my confidence down, and removing his own cap even though I already knew he was as bald as can be, exposed his own shining scalp. “Bald is beautiful,” he said, his expansive grin brightening his feral beard, “and any woman who doesn’t love your big beautiful bald head is no woman worth your time of day.” To prove his point, his wife bent over to kiss the top of his own, perfectly big beautiful bald head. They dragged Roxanne and Debbie out of me, told me neither disaster was my fault and that I’d get my feet back under me and find another woman when I was ready; I just needed some time to find my centre again. I laughed at that, then, pointing out that the School of Mines was only one step above a monastery. I believe now that they loved me and wanted to fix me, sure that I’d slake off drinking and self-deprecation when I pulled myself together. Had Doug’s goal been to get me back on the road to weekend sobriety (which it wasn’t, considering his love of hops and rye and cokes), he wouldn’t have fed me so many beers that I suffered some of the worst hangovers of my life.

The School of Mines was not really a monastery, despite its overwhelmingly male student body. There were a few females in attendance, if you were willing to join the queue. There were other women about, too, the locals, if you were into high school students, married women, or clingy girls looking for an escape route from the Tri-towns. There were those guys who preyed upon them. I remember a couple of my roommates picking up girls for a romp, only to trade them off amongst themselves mid-night, water them from a pot and not a glass, and send them on their way in the morning, joking about how skanks didn’t deserve a glass. Another roommate dated and sometimes bedded the grade 13 girls. I serenaded their romantic endeavors with the volume control on my stereo. Earplugs were a necessity.

For those of us on the rebound and less inclined to those sorts of romantic pitfalls, there were other distractions aside from D&D. There was the archery club, there were the bands that came to town, there were school bonspiels. I signed up for one, but as the teams were already set, I accepted a spare slot, subbing in whenever someone didn’t show. I had reservations. I’d never curled, and I thought it would be dull, arriving each night only to sit in the observation pub by myself, but one guy never showed, not once, so I curled each and every week. We were the worst! We sucked, but unless we were playing against a team set on qualifying for the Briar, we always had fun. Not one of us had ever curled before, so when consulting our skip (a dapper goateed fellow about my age who affected the country gentleman, replete with tweed and pipe) as to where we thought we should place a rock, the answer was invariably, “I’m thinkin’ anywhere within these coloured circles,” he’d say, pointing with the stem of his pipe. Not that we ever expected that we’d pull off even that lofty goal. We did win one glorious end, not the game, although we had won the occasional end throughout the tournament. We had just one glorious end. There were about six rocks in house (some of them closest to the button ours…a minor miracle), and on the final rock, one of their sweepers slipped, flailed about, and wiped out, somehow causing all of their rocks to be banished from the house, leaving only our three remaining! We celebrated like we’d just won gold.