Dreaming in German by Claudia Poser

Author:Claudia Poser [Poser, Claudia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Memoir
Publisher: Triple Water Press
Published: 2013-02-19T05:00:00+00:00

Most undergraduates at Clemson lived on campus. The few of us that didn’t had limited options between classes. I discovered the Canteen, because I had to eat lunch somewhere. The Canteen was a large coffee shop. Along one length, old ladies in pale green smocks, their hair covered in spidery nets, stood behind a counter frying up short order sandwiches. Glass opened the view toward a courtyard on the opposite wall. In between sat rows of Formica-covered tables surrounded by wooden chairs. A jukebox filled the room with endless rounds of The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down, Maggie May, and The Day the Music Died. I’d sometimes startle those old southern women by ordering French fries with mayonnaise, though most days I had a fried ham and cheese sandwich. It came on white - in 1971 no one in Clemson had heard of other options. I had it with coffee, because I needed to stay awake. I’d carry my tray to a table near the window, extract a five-pound textbook from my shoulder bag, and settle in.

Gradually, I noticed the table of regulars near the jukebox. One of them was Gordon who graduated from Daniel two years ahead of me. I remembered him for two reasons: his Canadian accent and the erudition he flaunted. He vaguely remembered me, possibly because I hung out with the same crowd as his little brother. Gordon chatted me up and invited me to sit at his table, where he surrounded himself with an entourage of intelligent girls and a sprinkling of male foreign graduate students like Amin whose main occupation was trying to keep his student visa valid so he wouldn’t have to return to Libya and serve in Qaddafi’s army. As the fall settled in, Gordon took to wearing a forest green wool blazer with suede elbow patches and smoking a pipe as he provoked us into ever more intense political discussions. He was passionate about foreign policy. He always had a final statistic or quote up his sleeve that would leave his opponent stuttering. I loved the intellectual stimulation, even if I squirmed when Gordon settled back in his chair to smirk victoriously. It was through Gordon that I met Deborah.

I remember Deborah swirling into rooms, surrounded by wispy fabrics, her bright eyes ready to delight in every detail of the world. She appeared perpetually ready to admire. Her hair was long, wavy and brown. I loved telling her stories. She focused totally, reacted to it all. She too, had stories to tell. She had spent the year before in Holland with Gordon, and was filled with admiration for everything European. She had come back hating big American cars, sprawling towns without sidewalks, rednecks who weren’t informed about world politics, and militarists. We spent hours reading Newsweek to each other, spitting with disgust at Nixon’s arrogance. Another thing we had in common was our determination to study science and force our way into ‘male’ careers. She wanted to go to medical school, a long shot when the only one in South Carolina had a restrictive quota for women students.

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