It’s always been hard for me to appreciate weakness. Someone
told me that once, and though I denied the accusation, I knew inside that this
was true. I don’t think my lack of appreciation made me any less sympathetic or
empathetic than the next guy. In fact, looking back, I believe my stoic
response to folks flailing their way through life, is perhaps, what both
attracts people and shields me from cracking.
I was in Nome, AK about to board a bush plane for the first
time that would take us 100 miles out over the Bering Sea to the island of St.
Lawrence where I would teach. I was so
outside my comfort zone I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the next minute
would bring. Clothed in my blue jeans, my favorite black Oregon Sea Aquarium
sweatshirt with the white otter on the front, backpack slung over one shoulder,
Danner hiking boots, and a warm jacket, I sat on a cold hard plastic seat at
the minimalist terminal, observing the others who would be occupying the other 5
seats on my plane.
Today, I barely remember who was there. But one person stood
out. She was small, dark, and petite. And she exuded weakness. She made it
known that she was afraid of the flight about to carry us into the
unknown. I never really thought that she
was as nervous as she led everyone to believe. But, because of her childlike
appearance, everyone was cajoling her, reassuring her. I was probably just as ‘scared’ as she. No one was
reassuring me. This was typical in my world. Little petite females receiving
attention, while I was left to my own brave facade.
I think I know when my disregard for weakness began.
Elementary school. Yes, elementary school. Although I wasn’t a big girl, I was
more developed and older looking than many of the other girls in my class. It
was obvious to me that the little girls in the classroom were treated
differently than me. Picked more often by peers in the classroom. Allowed to
chat with the teacher at her desk. Offered help. Received a smile from teachers and peers that
I did not. At an early age I knew my life was not one of cajoling and
reassurance, but of expectations of independence. I didn’t know any more about
the world than my fellow classmates. But I looked like I should. And so, I
decided to take on the role of “self-assured, independent girl” given to me by
my teachers and peers. In addition, my parents depended on me to always make
the right choice as my delinquent older brother drained them of their
happiness. I was the girl the weak could depend on for reassurance, adults for
helping, and my parents for doing the ‘right thing’ always.
Off we flew, the six of us, the pilot, and his copilot. The
view was spectacular. The rumble of the engine makes one’s ears ring. I was
half stunned due to the overwhelming newness of the world and lack of sleep.
Blue, blue, blue, until the dark green island came into view. I could not
recall ever being on an island. This one was 90 miles from tip to tip and 22
miles wide. A treeless tundra, green hills, and a gravel spit that I would call
home for the next 9 months. The plane made a sharp veer to the left and circled
back for landing. The manuever caused me to lean hard against the wall, my face
pressed into the little window. I could
look straight down into the dark water below as the pilot straightened the plane and headed for an empty
dirt strip. The wheels hit hard upon the
tarmac, and we rapidly came to a halt, seatbelts strapping us tightly against
our seats. Without hesitation, the pilot and copilot exited the plane through
their little doors. Through the window I could see a small crowd of the locals
surrounding the plane, standing, or seated on 4 wheelers.
One by one we exited through the small door and down the
shaky metal stairs. Our luggage was sitting on the ground. I had brought a flat
of 42 eggs on the plane holding them on my lap. A woman reached out for them,
and I automatically handed them to her. She took them, laughed, and turned to
walk away. I realized she was planning on keeping them. Before I knew what to say,
she laughingly brought them back to me. Everyone chuckled at the joke, including
me. This was the first of many, “I jokes.” My suitcase and guitar case were
loaded on the front of a 4-wheeler and I, for the first time in my life,
climbed on the back side, legs dangling, hands griping whatever exposed metal I could
find to keep from falling off.
We roared under the gray overcast sky, across the sand and
gravel toward one-story buildings in the distance. The driver sped along,
dodging large white bones, and scrubby stands of plants. I saw sand flying up
in the distance as if someone were flinging it. As we approached, I could see
the tops of men’s heads who were down in grave size holes digging and flinging
the sand up and out. The scene was a perfect beginning to a horror film. After
about 10 minutes we arrived at a boarded-up building. The old school. It was
dark inside but for the gaps in the boards on the windows. There was a faint
stench of garbage and stale air as I walked down the dark hallway to my
apartment which was a converted classroom. The main room was very large with
two windows and furnished with a worn-down couch. One side was the kitchen
counter, sink, and stove. The floor was linoleum throughout. There were three
doors leading off the main room. Two bedrooms and a bathroom. There was a
window in one bedroom. Where, I thought, is the box of kitchen equipment
supposedly left for me by the previous tenant? This was not the one-bedroom
apartment I’d been told I’d have. I had paid a departing teacher to leave me
her kitchen equipment in the apartment I’d been assigned.
The bedroom with the window had a bed. The other bedroom had
no furnishings. And, I had a roommate. Anna, the adorable, petite, girl from
the plane. Both of us were in a type of survival mode and politely confused
about the prospect of living together for the next 9 months. After introducing
ourselves we began to explore the dark hallways in search of others. We
discovered the subtle stench emanated from a large foyer where an accumulation
of several dozen garbage bags was dumped. This had once been the entry to the
school. Now the doors were no longer used, and the space was an indoor trash
heap. We also discovered a bedframe and brand-new mattress leaning against the
wall. As we made our way down the old dark halls I kept thinking about scenes
from The Shining and expecting a couple scary twin girls to be standing off in
the dusky distance. They certainly would’ve fit in with the bazaar shadowy
lighting, empty rooms, and general ominous ambience.
We found a young couple, newly married; he is a fledgling
teacher and she an artist. They informed us that the windows were boarded up to
prevent them from being busted by the local children during the summer months. The
principal was not yet on the island, so there was no one to inquire about our living
arrangements. The guys digging holes were searching for old ivory to use for
carving. And, that the next day, we would be flying out to another village,
back on the mainland, for a district orientation.
Anna volunteered to sleep in the windowless bedroom. We
dragged the bedframe and mattress in from the hall to make a place for her to
sleep. We retreated to our rooms for the night. I crawled into my sleeping bag.
I was exhausted and feeling the onset of claustrophobia from the dark rooms,
boarded windows, and the lurid smell of urine, disinfectant, bug repellant, and
air stale air that had been jailed inside since the last teacher who lived
there left months ago. I considered catching the next plane and going home. I
wondered if Anna was thinking the same. The sunlight seeping between the boards
kept me grounded as I fell asleep in the silence and reveled in an absurd sense
of adventure.
