Visions of Gumdrops
Deb Palmer
509-929-2303
Visions of Gumdrops
In the early 1990’s, Central Washington University bounced with fresh skin, high hopes, gel spiked hair, and me. At least that’s how it felt. A single mom, pushing forty, striving for a degree promising to pay bills. There were others sporting crow’s feet, suited for the staff lounge, awkward in the student hub, but we were few.
The desire to fit in with the puffy banged girls and boys who reeked of beer and Clearasil, faded the first week after overhearing a conversation between two gals in class. I shall respectfully refer to them by the shoes they were wearing.
Doc. Marten: I’m so pissed.
Birkenstock: What happened?
Doc Marten: My mother forgot to pack my lunch.
Birkenstock: That sucks!
Doc Marten: I’m starved.
Birkenstock: I’ll buy lunch. I have Dad’s Visa.
As Birkenstock comforted her shaken friend, I thought over my morning. The gas hog Chrysler Cordoba needed a jumpstart, my son tried to fake the flu, and my daughter surprised me with “today is conference day.” How I longed for a mom to pack my lunch.
I got used to the groans and eye rolls when the professor would slide me into a group project. And I learned to show grace when asked the burning question on my classmate’s minds: “How old are you?”
I just didn’t have time to bother with them. College life as a mom with a full-time job and a long list of new chatty friends calling from various collection agencies, kept me hopping and stressed. One day, I paused, just long enough for a virus to wrestle me into a choke hold. I dragged myself to the on-campus free clinic. Seated in the lobby, hunger grinds at my gut and I regret having no mom to pack me a lunch. Just then, I see a huge bowl of colorful cello-wrapped candy, in the center of the table of the lobby. Grateful, I scurry over, grabbing fistfuls of the rainbow of choices, red, green, blue, yellow. Yum!
Back in my chair, I place the pile of candy in my lap, choosing red as my first delight. Fumbling with the package, I feel stares, the kind that make you check for open buttons, or trailing toilet paper. I stare back at a blonde athlete whose smirk gives me the creeps. Victorious over the stubborn packaging I pop the promise of sweet in my mouth expecting hard candy, but finding it’s chewy like a gummy bear. A few chuckles rise as I spit out the flavorless rubber band like candy.
That’s when wisdom returns to the scene. There in my lap, mocking like a colorful mirage, is a pile of condoms. Now the unnoticed sign on the bowl flashes like a Vegas billboard.
FREE Condoms – Safe Sex
I hear my name. Rise. Stuff the 20-some condoms in my pockets and follow the nurse from the lobby. Before disappearing, with no way out of the embarrassing dilemma, I own it, shooting a smile and a wink to my mesmerized fans