The Painted Table(44)
Later, when alone, Saffee examines her own reflection in a mirror and says quietly, “Hello. My name is Sapphire Kvaale.”
Amazing. Her old life is still written on her face, but something of promise shines in her eyes. She resolves to believe the words she read in the confirmation Bible.
College propels Saffee, a quirky, small-town introvert, into a culture quite foreign. But, from orientation week on, the girl who from childhood has said, I can’t, I won’t, I’m afraid, decides to plant a tiny seed of confidence. However, for some time, as she hurries to and from classes along the crowded mall that flows with a great swell of humanity, she feels empowered, not by confidence, but by her own imagined invisibility. She can’t help but wonder what others might notice about her, if anyone bothered to look. Does she bear a physical stamp of her sterile, crazy upbringing? What expressions or gestures reveal her dullness to those who make slight, friendly advances in classes and the cafeteria? She chooses to be polite, but wary.
October 14, 1959
Dear Family,
What should she write? That she is thrilled to be away from the vacuum of her former existence? So thrilled that she has been “beyond words” for almost a month and therefore has been unable to write? It is duty that prompts her to write now; after all, her dad is paying.
I love it here! The campus is full of wonderful people and everyone is so nice to me.
Should she write that after days of observation she does not yet know how to embrace the new, exhilarating life around her? In the past, boredom was so easily obtained. But here, one can hardly be passive; participation is required. In her heart of hearts, how she would love to be swept up in the myriad of activity, the frivolous as well as the seriously academic.
I have a roommate. Her name is Gloria Karson. She’s from the suburbs, obviously well-to-do, and has a great personality. I’m sure we’ll get along fine, even if she is a Lutheran. She reads the Bible every morning before she even gets out of bed!
For roommates, Saffee has gone from bubbly, extroverted April to bubbly, extroverted Gloria. April, Mother’s little pet, Saffee resented. Beautiful, self-assured Gloria, with curly red hair and porcelain skin, she admires and yearns to be like. Gloria’s advice on makeup—“That gloppy cover-up makes you look like death warmed over”—was said with humor, not ridicule. “Let me show you what real makeup can do for you, Saffee.”
Seeking approval on all fronts, Saffee doesn’t want her roommate to think she’s a heathen, so she tells her that years ago she tried to make sense out of the Old Testament. Gloria suggests Saffee try the book of Psalms and the accounts of Jesus in the New Testament.
Gloria thinks my gray tweed suit is quite appropriate.
“Well, if we ever have to go to a funeral, you’ll be all set!” Again, her statement held humor, not sarcasm, her dimples deepening as she laughed. “If you’d like, you can borrow some of my pleated skirts and sweaters until you get more of your own.”
She doesn’t write that Gloria thinks it’s funny that Saffee’s every possession is labeled. “Did you think your roomie was going to steal your underwear?” she teased, putting her arm around Saffee’s shoulders with a friendly squeeze.
Down the hall is a nice girl named Kathy. We are in some of the same classes, so we sometimes walk across campus together. Across the hall are Charlotte and Jillian from Atlanta, Georgia. I’ve never known Negroes before. They sure have accents! But that hasn’t hindered them from already making a hundred friends! They know some university football players from their hometown. I guess coming from Miller’s Ford means I’ve got a lot of learning to do about different kinds of people.
Saffee considers that she represents a sort of minority on campus—an outsider by personality and deficient in life experience. One reason she is drawn to Charlotte and Jillian is that they too are from a minority, albeit a different kind. She has been surprised how easily they have assimilated into activities and relationships. Under the influence of Gloria and these other new friends, Saffee begins to discard her insulated, egocentric tendencies.
The best thing: Robert Frost was the convocation speaker yesterday—in person! He’s pretty old, with a shock of white hair, just like his pictures. His voice was weak until he started reading “Birches.” He actually read “Birches”! (Thank you, Mother, for making it one of my favorites.)
As she listened to the revered poet, Saffee imagined the little old man, once an impish boy, clinging to a bending branch, whooping and hollering, bouncing through the air, then dropping to the ground to watch it spring back. A poem about risk. A poem about fun. A poem that did not at all resemble her own childhood.