My first year was a shock to the senses. I was nowhere near college level in any subject and didn't even test into college level math. I was sent to a remedial math class, reviewing algebra with a professor that had the thickest East Indian accent I had ever heard. I still hadn't adjusted to all of the different cultures in California and, having no hearing in my right ear, the variety of accents paired with the large class sizes of undergrad was overwhelming. I flunked that first semester of remedial math.
Shortly after my first semester ended, I received a letter from San Jose State informing me that I was going to be given one more shot at completing remedial math. If I didn't pass this time, I was kicked out of university. This school didn't mess around. When I showed up for my first day of class and was met with another huge class and a professor with a thick Asian accent, I felt that I was doomed.
I reached out to my former high school math teacher, Mike Coutts. He was my favorite teacher who happened to teach my least favorite subject. I'm pretty sure I passed math in high school with pity grades. I explained my predicament to him and he quickly agreed to tutor me through that semester. I passed with a C but I passed. We spent hours on the phone and hours at his house, toiling away at high school math, over and over again. Most of the time I was high, which didn't help.
I was working two jobs at the time and carrying a 12 credit courseload. I was commuting by train twenty-five miles each way. I had no social life and no time for the great college experience. My father had moved out at the beginning of my senior year of high school so I had been deep in the work world for a year at that point. I was making $9 an hour at one part-time job and $11 an hour at my full-time job. I was exhausted.
In my second year of undergrad, I struck up a friendship with a guy named John in my plant biology lab. He was a long haired metalhead who had an affinity for the band Tool. So did I. He did a lot of acid and soon after, so was I. He lived with his parents in San Jose so we'd get together and trip on acid, try to do lab homework and marvel at his collection of pet snakes. He had about seventeen snakes in his room in all colors of the rainbow. I was afraid to touch them but loved to watch them move silently and delicately around their tanks.
I am still fascinated by snakes to this day. Their solitary existence, their quiet beauty. The level of fear that even the most gentle snakes can instill in people, including me, is mesmerizing. Snakes are often attributed to a negative and deceitful person, someone evil. Master strategists, snakes live their days in silent travel, only bearing fangs and striking when necessary.
John and I lost touch after college. He wanted me so bad, but I was still dating my high school boyfriend and never took him up on the offer. He used to draw these intricate fine pen drawings consisting of small circles and lines that would fill the page. Each 8x10 page had to have had at least 10,000 lines on them and the page was filled with brilliant colors done by colored pencil. It was an artful manifestation of a brain on acid. These gifts were a bone of contention between my high school boyfriend and I and I eventually threw them away to keep the peace. I wish I hadn't done that.
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