54. August 18, 1999

I wake up early. I quickly jump out of bed and put on my jean dress I got from Frankie. Yes, it is too short. It is a sleeveless dress, hitting mid-thigh, and I feel very self-conscious in it. Especially after months of wearing long skirts and dresses preapproved by Silvia. But it is hot in Georgia and this is the best I can do right now. I surely am not going to wear my brown grandma style dress. Not a chance. I put my makeup on and go upstairs to check to see what Mary is doing. Also to make sure she didn’t forget about driving me to school this morning. 

The kitchen upstairs is in chaos. Mary is frantically running around. She is cooking breakfast, including eggs, bacon, and grits. The food  smells wonderful. At the same time, she is watching her nursing home residents, some of them still wandering around in their pajamas and some lounging on the couch. A couple of them are sitting at a big dining table, waiting for their breakfast. 

I walk into the kitchen, unsuccessfully attempting to get Mary’s attention.

“Mary,” I say but she doesn’t see or hear me. She is in her own frantic stressed out world right now. 

“Mary,” I say louder. Nothing. She runs out of the kitchen, right pass me, attending to a patient who is needing her assistance. She leaves all of the food unattended in the kitchen. Oh, it smells so good. I am hungry but it looks like she has already rationed all breakfast food and portioned it on the patients’ plates. I don’t know if there is anything extra left for me. I see a bowl of apples on the counter. They are big and shiny, and look so juicy. I grab one of them and shove it into my bag. Then I go look for Aaron Sr. Hopefully he can take me to school. I find him in one of the hallways. So far he has always been very nice to me and today is no exception because he agrees to give me a ride to school. He is relaxed, the exact opposite of his wife Mary. I don’t ever see him doing much around the house or helping with patients. All the burden seems to be laying on Mary’s shoulders. 

“Call us when you get done and one of us will come pick up, ok?” Aaron Sr. tells me as I get out of his huge truck. Whew, I am on campus now. 

I find my way to the music building where I am supposed to meet with Dr. Jones. His office door is wide open but he is not there. There is a young guy sitting at the grand piano, playing scales. He doesn’t see me, his back is facing the door. 

I quietly knock on the door anyway and he turns around. He is wearing black shiny, satiny looking shorts, a Mexican hooded poncho, and he also has huge glasses sitting on his face. 

“Uh, hi….sorry,” I say. “Have you seen Dr. Jones?”

“No, I haven’t seen him today yet but he must be around. His office was open.”

“Ok, thank you,” I turn to leave, planning to wait outside.

“Wait a minute,” the poncho guy says. “Are you the girl?”

I am not sure. I don’t know what girl he is talking about. The satin shorts guy sees my hesitation. He chuckles and tries again.

“The new international student from Eastern Europe. The one that is supposed to be a star pianist.” 

“Uhhhhh,” wow, unless there is another girl from Eastern Europe, then it must be me. 

“I guess so? I am from Slovakia,” I respond.

“Oh woooow, how cool!” The big glasses guy sounds excited. He seems very enthusiastic. 

“You will have to tell me all about your country and how you studied piano. I can’t wait to hear you play!” 

“Sure,” I agree. “You will hear me soon.”

“I am John, by the way.” He extends his hand to shake mine. “John Woody.”

“Nice to meet you. I am Jarka.”

“What a cool name!” John jumps up from the piano bench because Dr. Jones enters his office.

“Oh hi, Jarka!! So good to see you! Welcome to NGCSU. I see you met John already. A fun guy, isn’t he?” 

Dr. Jones is grinning as John hurriedly leaves the office. 

“He just started playing the piano a couple of years ago and now he is one of our best students in the music program.”

Two years? How could that be? There is no way he can play the piano well enough after two years? Maybe Dr. Jones is wrong. But that doesn’t matter right now. I am here to get my schedule.

Dr. Jones goes through huge piles and stacks of papers on his desk and finally picks up one that must have my schedule printed on it. 

“Here, Jarka. I signed you up for several classes. I tried to make it easy on you until you get acclimated and used to college. So” he points at the list of classes,  “you will have piano lessons with me, of course. And then you will play for the NGCSU Choir as an accompanist. Also the Patriot choir. Both choirs are 1 credit hour each. Easy enough. Then we have Music Theory class, which I teach.” He smiles.

“Ok, sounds good,” should be doable, I think. Lots of music and piano.

“Then I added you to a remedial English class for international students. It is a new class they created just for our new foreign students, English 0099. Aaaand remedial math, since you mentioned you didn’t have math at the Music Conservatory. Math 0099.”

Math, yuck. I guess I can’t avoid it any longer.

“You will also have a group voice class for 1 credit hour. With me, of course. And lastly, to mix things up and to see how things go…..American History. Ok. What do you say?”

Now he hands me my entire schedule. I scan the list and then read it again several times. The only two classes I am worried about are math and American history. I know absolutely nothing about either of these subjects. The voice class should be interesting. I don’t know why Dr. Jones signed me up for it. I can’t sing. I skipped many of my choir practices at the Music Conservatory. I got in trouble for it a few times too. I hate singing. 

“You have your history class in an hour but before you go to it, I need you to stop at the registrar office and then go find your international student advisor. He should know if all your paperwork looks ok and what needs to be done about your visa.”

“Ok, thank you so much,” I get up from the chair and pull my dress down. It seems to be getting shorter by the minute. Maybe the grandma dress would have been a better option after all.

Dr. Jones walks me out of his office and there is….John. 

“There you are,” he says as I walk out and Dr. Jones closes the door behind me. 

“I just wanted to see if you needed help with anything,” he says. 

I stare at him for a few seconds and then show him my schedule.

“Dr. Jones just gave me my new schedule,” I point at the piece of paper.

“Let me see,” John takes it from me, studies it, and says. 

“Looks good. I can help with math or history if you need it. Just let me know. I started out as a math major. But I love music more.”

“Ok, thanks,”

“See you around,” he abruptly says and starts walking, nearly running away. He walks through the door and jumps up to touch the frame at the top. Then he jumps up again, lifts his legs up, and swings off of it like a monkey. Huh, he acts like a child, I think to myself. 

There are a few other students around. They are talking and when I walk by, I randomly get asked, “What’s up?”

Nobody has asked me that before. What’s up? What does that mean? Another person says the same thing and then they start talking. They end their conversation with “Let’s hang out. Let’s chill,” “Word,” and “That rocks.” “Peace out!” 

I am so “out of the loop,” for goodness sake. How will I ever fit in?  I have a feeling my academic English preparation may not have been enough. Once again, there is a whole new different language, a language of young people. And slang. I will never ever learn English this way! 

I walk up to the registrar office and there is a nice lady sitting at the desk. 

“Hi, I am Jarka, Dr. Jones sent me. I need to check…..” I approach her.

“Ooooh yes!” She interrupts me. 

“You are the pianist from Slovakia? We have been working on your file. Let me see your account,” she pauses and shuffles through lots of folders and papers. “You know what, everything looks great on our end but you need to find your international student advisor in the next few days.”

“Oh ok, so I can go? You don’t need anything from me? All is good?”

“Yes, Jarka,” she smiles again.

I am leaving the office and I hear her whisper to her colleague sitting at a desk right next to her. “This is the piano star,” and then someone answers in a quiet voice. “Oooooh is that right? Is that her?”

I am out of the building and the same thing happens outside. I hear whispers. 

“This is the piano star.” or “This is the new Slovakian girl, the piano prodigy.”

Wait, what? I don’t understand what all this is about. I am no star, please. I am just a plain Jane. Call me Plain Jane, I want to scream and tell everyone. Nothing special here, people!

I decide not to go looking for my international advisor today. I sit down on a bench by the music building and eat my apple, which is my meal for the day so far. Then I go find my American history classroom. The class terrifies me. I have a textbook that Dr. Jones purchased for me. And I understand nothing. The history professor keeps talking and talking and I don’t even know what she is talking about. I try to keep up but it’s all so overwhelming. I look at the first chapter and all I see is blurry letters. I don’t understand half of them. 

“For next week, you will need to read pages 5 to 50, alright?” the professor announces. My eyes become even more blurry with tears. As soon as the class ends, I go to the library and try to read. None of this makes sense to me. This is no Dean Koontz book. 

It is now 4 pm in the afternoon and I am exhausted. Besides the apple I grabbed from the kitchen in the morning, I have eaten nothing. I feel weak and my stomach is growling. I hurry to the campus phone and call Mary. My first school days is over and I need  her to pick me up. 

No answer. 

I try a few more times. 

No answer. 

I sit on a bench for 30 mins and then try again. “Hello,” Mary sounds out of breath.

“Hi,” I say. “I am done at school.”

“Oh, right. Someone needs to come get you?” Her voice is not very pleasant. 

“Yes, please,”

I hear a sigh on the other side.

“Oh, shit,” she mumbles. “Ok, I will be there in 20 mins,” Mary doesn’t sound happy at all. ”Just wait by the big tree.”

I slowly drag myself to the big tree and stand there. It feels like I am waiting forever. It must have been an hour since our phone call, at least! I am tired so I finally sit down in the grass and rest my back against the huge tree trunk. I adjust my short dress again and close my eyes.

And then…I am waiting. And waiting. And waiting.