The Color of Heaven by The Colour of Heaven (html) Page B
Authors: The Colour of Heaven (html)
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cave I had retreated into, and back to a world where I was once happy and productive.
It was hard to imagine now, but there had once been a time when I rode the wheel of life as wel as anyone. In fact, I rode it like a rol er coaster at a theme park. It had not been a fairy tale.
On top of that, I had survived my worst nightmare. I was stil here, wasn’t I? Megan stil believed in me. She knew I could fix this. She wanted me to.
So off I went, with a measure of hopeful determination I had not felt in a long time. I crossed the street and approached the gate, never taking my
eyes off my mother’s, while my heart began to pound in a curious, eager rhythm.
The Deep Blue Sea
Chapter Thirty-two
Cora
It was early October in 1968 when the monstrous wave crashed and exploded onto the coastline of my life, changing my future forever.
I had just turned twenty and was in my sophomore year at Wel esley Col ege. Peter and I were stil together. He was working ful -time at his father’s pulp and paper plant in Augusta and was being groomed to eventual y take over the business when the time came.
In my senior year of high school, I had applied to a few col eges around the country, and as a result of my academic record and volunteer work, I
was accepted into Wel esley with a ful scholarship. I was so happy when I opened the letter from that il ustrious school and read the news. I believed it would be my greatest achievement.
It wasn’t, however. There was something else far more important in my future, but I knew nothing of that yet. I was only twenty-one.
For two years, I studied cultures and humanity throughout the world, with a focus on Africa, Latin America and Asia. I completed courses in cross-
cultural studies of family, gender, law, and economics, and in the fal of ’68, I looked forward to graduating with a liberal arts degree in cultural anthropology.
Where life would take me after that, I had no idea. Most of the Wel esley women settled into married life not long after graduation. Some of them
made quite spectacular marriages, in fact, for it was, at that time, the customary ambition for a woman of my age to become a wife and raise a
family.
Perhaps that’s why I was so distracted in my final year. I wasn’t entirely certain I was ready to take that path.
o0o
On a very drizzly Tuesday afternoon, I remember sitting at my desk in my dorm room with a textbook open in front of me. I couldn’t keep my mind on
my studies, however. I kept glancing toward the window, where shiny raindrops pelted against the glass and streamed down in clear, quivering
rivulets onto the stone sil . A wild wind outside was whipping the leaves off the trees and rattling the windowpanes.
Sitting there by the dim light of my flickering desk lamp and watching the violent weather outside put me in a pensive, reflective mood. I thought of Peter. I missed him, of course, but at the same time, al kinds of unsettling images of traditional domesticity began to flash in my mind like slide
photographs on a screen.
A wedding dress. A three-tiered cake. Dinners, dusting, ironing, laundry soap, a burnt chicken in a roasting pan…
My heart began to pound as I sat there, trying so hard to study. I was aware of a growing sense of panic – a panic that quickly turned to desperation.
Frantic thoughts raced through my brain: I was too young. I hadn’t really lived. I wasn’t ready to close all the doors in front of me and cross that matrimonial threshold.
Peter, on the other hand, had no reservations about the future, not a single one. He doubted nothing, questioned nothing, and was simply counting
the days until my graduation, when he assumed I would be ready at last to strol down the aisle with a pretty bouquet of flowers in my hands.
He would have married me straight after high school if I hadn’t had my heart set on col ege. He’d agreed to wait, only because he knew I needed to
see and experience some of the world before I settled
It was hard to imagine now, but there had once been a time when I rode the wheel of life as wel as anyone. In fact, I rode it like a rol er coaster at a theme park. It had not been a fairy tale.
On top of that, I had survived my worst nightmare. I was stil here, wasn’t I? Megan stil believed in me. She knew I could fix this. She wanted me to.
So off I went, with a measure of hopeful determination I had not felt in a long time. I crossed the street and approached the gate, never taking my
eyes off my mother’s, while my heart began to pound in a curious, eager rhythm.
The Deep Blue Sea
Chapter Thirty-two
Cora
It was early October in 1968 when the monstrous wave crashed and exploded onto the coastline of my life, changing my future forever.
I had just turned twenty and was in my sophomore year at Wel esley Col ege. Peter and I were stil together. He was working ful -time at his father’s pulp and paper plant in Augusta and was being groomed to eventual y take over the business when the time came.
In my senior year of high school, I had applied to a few col eges around the country, and as a result of my academic record and volunteer work, I
was accepted into Wel esley with a ful scholarship. I was so happy when I opened the letter from that il ustrious school and read the news. I believed it would be my greatest achievement.
It wasn’t, however. There was something else far more important in my future, but I knew nothing of that yet. I was only twenty-one.
For two years, I studied cultures and humanity throughout the world, with a focus on Africa, Latin America and Asia. I completed courses in cross-
cultural studies of family, gender, law, and economics, and in the fal of ’68, I looked forward to graduating with a liberal arts degree in cultural anthropology.
Where life would take me after that, I had no idea. Most of the Wel esley women settled into married life not long after graduation. Some of them
made quite spectacular marriages, in fact, for it was, at that time, the customary ambition for a woman of my age to become a wife and raise a
family.
Perhaps that’s why I was so distracted in my final year. I wasn’t entirely certain I was ready to take that path.
o0o
On a very drizzly Tuesday afternoon, I remember sitting at my desk in my dorm room with a textbook open in front of me. I couldn’t keep my mind on
my studies, however. I kept glancing toward the window, where shiny raindrops pelted against the glass and streamed down in clear, quivering
rivulets onto the stone sil . A wild wind outside was whipping the leaves off the trees and rattling the windowpanes.
Sitting there by the dim light of my flickering desk lamp and watching the violent weather outside put me in a pensive, reflective mood. I thought of Peter. I missed him, of course, but at the same time, al kinds of unsettling images of traditional domesticity began to flash in my mind like slide
photographs on a screen.
A wedding dress. A three-tiered cake. Dinners, dusting, ironing, laundry soap, a burnt chicken in a roasting pan…
My heart began to pound as I sat there, trying so hard to study. I was aware of a growing sense of panic – a panic that quickly turned to desperation.
Frantic thoughts raced through my brain: I was too young. I hadn’t really lived. I wasn’t ready to close all the doors in front of me and cross that matrimonial threshold.
Peter, on the other hand, had no reservations about the future, not a single one. He doubted nothing, questioned nothing, and was simply counting
the days until my graduation, when he assumed I would be ready at last to strol down the aisle with a pretty bouquet of flowers in my hands.
He would have married me straight after high school if I hadn’t had my heart set on col ege. He’d agreed to wait, only because he knew I needed to
see and experience some of the world before I settled
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