Back in January of ’78 when I landed in the girls’ dorms in Florida, I was clueless about many things. The English that I thought I had learned in Iran, which made my parents proud, was at best minimal in real life, especially at our campus dormitory. I could not always find the meanings in my portable dictionary, especially when they said it in a variety of accents.
It was one night in February, I noticed the unusual energy, even for a Saturyday night, among my suitemates. I could not for the life of me figure out why they are all dressed in pink or red. Or why the wall phones were constantly ringing their obnoxious rings. In my painful shyness I approached my roommate Susan Johnston, who began the semester by telling me she had no idea why I was sharing her room, “Excuse me Susan, what is going on tonight?” She put her mascara down and stared at me for a moment then offered “Don’t you have Valentine’s Day where you come from?”. What Day?! No we don’t have it, not bothering her with my stupidity.
While I was cruising the hallways looking for a friendly face I could ask the same question, I ran into Michael, a goodlooking blond boy who was in my Macro Econ class. He smiled and asked me what I was doing? I said I was going later on to the campus movie theatre. He asked me what they were showing. I had no idea. I liked the campus cinema because it was dark and no one could see me looking in my dictionary while I bent down under my backrow seat, with my little flashlight.
Michael asked me if I had a Valentine. Who is that again? I did not tell him that I was on my way trying to find out where or what Valentine was. But instinctually by hearing the giggles and tones, I had figured it had something to do with naughtiness and sex. Where I came from, we did not talk about those topics publically. End of discussion. Of course unless we were sluts.
Perhaps Michael noticed when I felt hot in my face. He then said “Do you want me to be your Valentine?” I was speechless! My head was spinning. I felt totally confused. So after a long pause I answered: “Thank you Michael, get your own Valentine”. What?! What did that mean even? I was sweating profusely when he reached to kiss me on my cheek, after he cracked up at my response. I was no longer oriented to place or time. In that weird dimension, my eyes followed him in the hallway toward a door. He knocked on that door and when the girl shouted at the sight of the red thing he took out of his pocket, I was still confused.
That night I thought and thought. Somehow, I related Valentine to a cortisan-type symbol. I had all the evidence too. The girls in their short tight red outfits, high heels, exaggerated makeups and hairdos. Yes they were all over my dorm. I did go to the campus cinema and had a great time, as for some reason it was empty. Later on when I came back to my room there was a piece of paper on my bed “Manda Happy Valentine’s Day!” in red ink. Signed by SA. I was confused again, I needed to find out who SA was so I could thank her.There was Susan and a Sarah in our suite. And I didn’t know Sarah’s last name.
