A Taste of College

Aedin's Fresh, Bumpy Start in School

“Wake up!” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Wake! Up!”

Aedin’s suitcase is laying on the bed, empty. We’ve just discovered that his three-week-long bridge program for college begins in an hour. Nothing is packed. Nothing prepared.

I was in the middle of building a ramp to Nelson’s dog door when Aedin just walked up and showed me the school’s email from earlier in the week on his phone like, by the way… And we’re supposed to be on the road heading there right now.

Oh, my God.

He’s had nothing but broad swaths of time to prepare. We’ve reminded him, but with a tornado, and a massive tree falling on the house, and the chaos that’s followed, we took our eye off the ball. Now, he’s unwittingly confirmed our worst fear: If we aren’t there to stop him, Aedin will just go sailing off into the abyss.

Our biggest worry about college for him is not that he can’t do the work, but that he will simply forget to. I picture him hermitted away in a dorm room, blissfully unaware his classes are going on; unaware of the unread emails with red exclamation points. I imagine him looking at his shoes, his shoulders rounded in defeat, saying, “Apparently I was supposed to write a paper for my final exam.” It will send him into an unbreakable tailspin of depression, self-loathing, and rumination. And we will all lose our minds.

Aedin and I stand face-to-face beside the empty suitcase. He’s been staring off into space, unable to explain why the bag he claimed to have packed is actually empty.

“Do you want to go to college? If the answer is no, that’s okay. Just tell me. Is this something you even want?”

Aedin’s face is wooden. He’s retreated into his shell. “Yes. I want to go.”

“Then move your ass.”

I rattle off a list of articles for him to pack then walk out to regroup with Gayle who is recovering from a bout of dry-heaving on the lawn. It’s anxiety wracking her body, shredding on her last nerves like the strings on a thrash metal guitar.

She forgot to worry about tornadoes and her dream house is smashed. Now, the start of college feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster. She’s furious at him. At us. At herself for daring to have a weekend day to relax when she knows full well the universe is out to destroy her best laid plans.

We’d made a date to have brunch out with Gayle’s parents. They’re driving down from Virginia right now.

She puts Aedin’s box of pills and toiletries out on the kitchen counter. I wind a piece of plastic wrap over the whole thing; seal it up and toss it in a bag.

“You meet them.” I say. “I’ll take him.” There is going to be some fast driving involved.

Aedin’s bag is in the back of the RAV. There’s a bin with blankets and mismatched sheets. Charging cables. Meds. Hopefully, we didn’t miss much.

The RAV eats up the blacktop, doing 85 at the top of the onramp and accelerating into the merge. A startled North Carolina driver blares a horn and I give a little wave. Objection noted. L.A. Jeremy is back behind the wheel.

Looking down at the clock, I realize we’ll make it with plenty of time but I’m still whipping past cars in the fast lane. I don’t know where else to put this feeling of urgency.

Aedin’s phone rings. It’s Gayle. She’s moved on from anger and into a deep sadness that she won’t be there to see him off on this important day. She’s sorry about getting mad. She’s just worried. Worried if he’ll be able to step up and handle college. Worried that he’ll fall into his Eeyore routine and mope his way through this golden opportunity to meet people and start again, fresh.

She leaves him with an admonition. “You will reply when I text. You will stay in touch with us and tell us how it’s going. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“But you will not tell us any bad news. I only want to hear good news. If there are bullies or you aren’t safe, you can tell me that. Otherwise, your job is to have fun, do your homework, and tell me what?”

“Good news.”

We wind our way around the labyrinth of streets criss-crossing the campus, looking for a certain hall, but all the brick buildings and their white columns look the same.

We finally get oriented and I park. We lug the bags around the front of the building where a security guard sits on a golf cart feeding squirrels. “Are you lost?”

“Maybe. I think this is Founders Hall? We’re here for the Bridge Program.”

“This is Founders Hall but aint nobody in there. You need to be at Binford.”

“Binford? Son, you read Founder’s on the email, right?”

He tilts his head back and exhales. Another screw up.

“Don’t stress. Y’all can ride with me. Just put your bags on here.”

And like that, we’re whisked along brick paths, traversing wide lawns under the spreading arms of ancient trees, right up to the doorstep of Binford Hall. Our fairy godmother dismounts from her cart and opens the door, addressing a counselor inside, “I’ve got another one.”

After Aedin is signed in and settled, and his bags are on his new bed, we step back outside. “Let’s give mom a Facetime call. Maybe we can give her a tour and make her feel like she’s here?”

“Sure.”

Gayle doesn’t pick up. While we wait to try again, Aedin turns to me, putting both hands on my shoulders; looking me square in the eye. “You know, y’all are the most stressful people in the world to be around. My blood pressure is like, a thousand beats per minute.”

I smile. I like it when Aedin shows a little spine. My fingers tousle his hair.

“Right back atchya, son.”

Gayle calls back and I hold the phone up, framing Aedin as he tours her into the building… down the hall to the kitchen… around his dorm room… and, finally, he uses his new badge to swipe us into a pretty outbuilding with a music system and projector. Throughout the tour I can see Gayle smiling, taking it all in. The stress leaving her. Her boy is at college. It’s a good call.

A counselor asks Aedin how he’s feeling. “Cautiously optimistic,” he says.

I give him a look. “How about just, ‘optimistic’?” He gives me the wry smile.

Back home, Gayle and I lay in bed comparing notes. It’s still early but since the tree took out the upstairs AC, it’s the only room that’s cool.

Gayle texts Aedin for an update while I tell her about laying the groundwork for accommodations with the counselors, and advising them on his severe nut allergies. “Oh, and I found a big jar of Nutella in the kitchen.” She looks at me, concerned. “Don’t worry, I took it.”

“You took it?”

“Wrapped it up in a grocery bag and dropped it in the trash.”

“Jeremy.” She smiles. “You should’ve brought it home. I could use some Nutella right now.”

“I heard somebody in there later, like, “Wasn’t there a Nutella in here?” We laugh.

“What are the odds we’ll get a call to come get him?” I think on it. “Mmm. Fifty-fifty?” She frowns and nods her head. “I was thinking eighty-twenty.”

I tell her about putting my foot in his ass. How I hope it’s the jolt he needs to wake up from his stupor, not a debilitating blow. It’s so hard to find the balance. I’m pretty sure endless empathy and kindness are not the right response either. If he doesn’t somehow internalize the urgency of this moment, he’s sunk.

“He texted back.”

“What did he say?”

“I asked how he rates his day on a scale of one to ten. He says eight.”

“Eight. Okay then.” This is progress. I mean, he has dyscalculia so we’re not sure how much credence to give this eight but we’ll take it. We are cautiously optimistic.