No Longer Leading Ladies

My friend Ellen and I went to see An Education in Berkeley a couple of weeks ago. It felt odd being back on Shattuck Avenue after being students together at the university twenty-five years ago.  

An Education is about a high school girl in 1960s England who has an affair with an older man. They have a wonderful rendezvous in Paris. The girl ends up dropping out of high school because she thinks the man will marry her. Ellen and I connected with the girl’s parents more than the girl. How come they let her go out with him? What would we do if our daughters wanted to do the same thing?

Over coffee, Ellen and I started talking about our own children getting into college. We dissected our kids’ less-than-efficient studying skills, and then ranted about sibling bickering and our spouses’ terrible laundry techniques. We finished our coffee with a discussion of how we are going to pay for our kids’ education.

As we headed back to our cars, we walked under a night-blooming jasmine tree.  The smell sent both of us back to our nights twenty-five years ago walking up the north-side hill from the UC Library. The foggy night air held the flowers’ tropical scent, and made me think of the exotic Eastern countries I wanted to visit, and the boys I wanted to kiss. Suddenly restless when we arrived back at our co-op dorm, Ellen and I would join our dorm mates for a beer or two on the roof. We’d talk until midnight. 

Ellen broke my silent reminiscing by saying “The movies and stories aren’t about us anymore, are they?”

When we sat on the dorm roof, we’d talk about our own lives and interests. We didn’t have to worry about our alarm clocks going off at 6 AM. Instead, we wondered if Brian in my geography class would ask me out. Did he have a girlfriend? Was it possible to appreciate Moby Dick while skipping all the chapters about whaling? Ellen deliberated about where to go to graduate school, and whether to get an MA or PhD.

“Can you believe it’s been twenty-five years since we were students here?” I said. 

“It seems like it has been longer than that,” she said.

“No, it seems just like a couple years to me,” I said, sniffing a tiny bunch of jasmine blossoms.

“All the movies are about twenty-somethings falling in love, having adventures, and starting their power careers. What do we have to look forward to?” Ellen said.

“Let’s see, menopause, our kids becoming teenagers, the deaths of our parents.”

I could see Ellen’s melancholy was rubbing off on me.  I tried to fight it, and changed my tack. “Remember how worried we were back then. We didn’t know if we’d ever find jobs, husbands, or be able to own a house.”

“Well, we did all that, and now we are getting old. We aren’t interesting anymore.” Ellen concluded.

“We’re the quirky side characters in the movie that everybody laughs at, and everybody remembers.” I said, hugging Ellen goodbye.