It was love at first sight for me. I was not a fan of stuffed animals - not one remained from the impressive collection I had as a child. But when Georgia showed me her newest toy that Mama had bought her (George is the youngest of eight and the sole girl after three boys, and she is ridiculously spoiled), a fat soft white sheep, I looked into his dark eyes and lost myself. I wanted him. His name was Melon Rind, George said (um - WHAT? Where in the world did she come up with that name? I guess she had to get creative since she had so many freakin’ animals...)
That was the summer I went to DC to intern at the nonprofit think tank, Institute for Policy Studies. Two months I was gone, and when I came back, Georgia had moved on long ago to a new animal. I asked her where Melon Rind was, and she didn’t even know! I found him under the bed, dusty, neglected. I asked Georgia if I could take him with me for the semester to school, pointing out that she hadn’t even missed him when he was lost, and she agreed. So I did!
Melon Rind and I went through a lot together. That was my toughest semester at school, it was the semester I tested positive for Huntington’s disease and my panic attacks returned with a vengeance. I had to drop credits beneath the actual full time load because I couldn’t handle them. 11 credits, one less than what on campus students were required to have. Of course everyone there was so lovely to me, my professors worked with me far beyond the call of duty. Dr. Jackson, our history SIP professor, was the first professor I cried in front of. Dr. Follett, my advisor and favorite professor. The British Romanticism professor, Dr. Ralston, who had me email my presentations to her since the thought of just talking in front of others nearly made me pass out. The student development office was so kind and understanding and assured me that they would make sure I graduated and to let them know if I needed to drop any more credits.
But I was so horribly depressed. I cried all the time. I was frightened I wouldn’t make it through my last semester and was angry at God for allowing me to live my dream of being at college only to not be able to experience it fully and maybe not even get my degree. The humiliation of my bad grades never ceased to sting. Just the possibility of having to say something in class made me sick with terror and made me break out in a cold sweat. That happened more than once in Brit Rom, where Dr. Ralston appreciated plenty of student participation. I naturally really enjoy public speaking and class discussions, but of course I wasn’t myself anymore. I was a shrinking shadow of myself. One time in particular Ralston was going around the class and having us share what we had written in the journals we were required to keep. Dabney and I always sat at the back of the room, so we were always last to be reached. I was shaking like a leaf and my heart was going crazy. Dabs was gazing at me with concern and whispering if I was okay. I told her I was leaving and slunk out of the room, red with shame. I knew when I opened the door, the eyes of everyone in the room were on me, inquiring. Out in the empty hall, I sank against the wall and covered my face with my hands and cried.
And then the same thing happened in Dr. Follett’s senior seminar, Modern Europe, which all of us history majors were so excited about. That class was all about talking, but of course Dr. Follett knew what was up with me and didn’t press me. It was hard to get through a Socrates style seminar, however, without saying a word. At first I would do my presentations with dear Christy, who would take over all the talking part after we had researched together.
There was one night though that Dr. Follett made a casual remark about us having to talk about some required reading after our break, at the beginning of the second half (it was a once a week 3-hour long class). I obsessed about this piece of information for the entire hour and fifteen minutes before the break, on the verge of bursting into tears the whole time. Of course Dr. Follett would probably not force me to actually discuss it, but he’d probably ask if I had anything to add, and I would have to say no and feel utter humiliation, and that sounded horrible and I was sure I’d start crying. So during our break I managed to convey to Christy that I was leaving - apparently I couldn’t even speak normally to her. She offered to come with me, but I said no, that I was going to take a walk, which I did. I walked and walked. It was like a flashback to being a freshman - walking soothed me somewhat and I needed much soothing.
It didn’t work this time. I kept crying and was still full of helpless rage towards God. So I headed back to the dorm, hoping fervently that no one would see me in my wild state. Jess was in the elevator. She was understandably surprised to see me since I was supposed to be in class. I stammered something, and Jess eyed me and said, “Let’s go for a drive.” Oh, Jess.
The seminar was the class I ended up dropping, but I still audited it, which was amazing because I didn’t have to stress about it and didn’t have to fret over getting by in a senior seminar on the generosity of my professor and classmates.
Poor Melon Rind soaked up so many of my tears that semester. He was just so huggable and fat and soft! I doubt he knew what he was in for when I decided to take him with me. I had no idea! My last junior semester had been fine! Now when I look back I can see I was undergoing the first signs of depression the summer in DC and it really set in during the fall. That was not fun.
Little did I know how soon I would be tragically parted from my beloved sheep. I asked Georgia about transferring her ownership to me over Christmas break, and she was game. Then I made the mistake of telling Jewell that Georgia had officially given me Melon Rind, and she was furious. Why, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure she was mad at me anyway and was using this as an outlet for her wrath. She informed me that Georgia was just a little girl! and had no idea of what she was doing! and she was telling Mama! Little vixen...and tell Mama she did. I wasn’t worried in the least because I had reason on my side.
Yeah, I was wrong. Mama said I couldn’t keep Melon Rind, and when I reminded Mama of George’s countless other animals and how she had already gotten over him when I came home last summer, she told me I was behaving like 5-year-old, which was how old Georgia was. I was so livid. It was all so unnecessary!
I think Mama might have been having similar feelings, because for my birthday in February she sent me the most tacky, huge stuffed frog of a hideous iridescent green - she never gives me stuffed animals for gifts, because, like I said, I’m generally not a fan. I hated him from the moment I saw him, as did the rest of the roommates. Only Meghan paid him any attention - she said that Taco Shell - Jess said we should call him that - was not to blame for not being Melon Rind.
Oh, Melon Rind. But I didn’t miss him as much as I expected to. Part of that was because, since my diagnosis, I had been seeing an amazing psychiatrist who put me on a drug, Cymbalta, which he was comfortably sure wouldn’t have any horrible side effects like all the other meds I had tried. It was amazing, how quickly I became a new person. I was radiant and happy and enjoyed sharing my two cents with my classes and had a great time with my senior presentation on the Russian Revolution. The only side affect I noticed was I had less of an appetite and shed a few pounds, which was quite all right with me! Also, I was transferring my affections to an actual living being - well, two actually - Philip and our turtle Bambi. But those are other stories...
One gorgeous spring day as I was leaving the room for class, an ecstatic Meghan appeared in our room clutching a fat stuffed lamb. She had spotted it on sale after Easter at Target. Aw, Megs! He was cute even if when I took him in my arms I noticed he was stiffer to hug than Melon Rind. Others actually mistook him for Melon Rind, exclaiming that he was back, but I always knew the difference.
And then came the day of my college graduation. Mama and Melody and Mama Jean and the kids all came up the day before. When they came up to campus and into our room full of boxes belonging to us four seniors, Georgia’s eyes flew instinctively to the sheep on my bed and she went over and picked it up. She carted it around with her the entire time.
When we were leaving to get dinner, Mama told George to release the sheep.
“Mama, can I have it?” Georgia asked. (I know, she’s a bit spoiled. I don’t even know why she thought that sheep superior to Melon Rind - I guess because it was newer.)
Mama said no. But my mind was racing with the possibilities.
I narrowed my eyes. “You can have it if you give me Melon Rind.”
Of course she said yes. She would have already have given me the sheep, remember.
And so today Melon Rind once again perches on his throne, my bed, and this time he shall never be taken from me again. Which is good because both Bambi and Philip were taken away from me. But those are other stories...
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