The Fifth Season. Kerry B Collison
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in pursuit of her dreams. Then, she frowned as the image of her mother waving goodbye intruded and she recalled with some sadness that there had been no tears, only excitement and relief that she had finally managed to escape her suffocating surrounds.
This brief recollection triggered other memories sending Mary Jo back to early childhood and, as the cabby fell into silence, her mind wandered back in time.
* * * *
Mary Jo had been an only child. The exhilaration of the Sixties and her mother’s determination to maintain her liberated status, had resulted in her parents separating before her sixth birthday. She had remained with her mother in Ohio, the memory of her father’s departure deeply affecting her mind.
Mary Jo had been thoroughly confused by the absence of her father, her mother refusing to acknowledge any questions as to where he had gone.
She missed him greatly, the void in her life immeasurable after he had left.
The memory of him sitting on her bed at night, holding her hand, reading stories of faraway places and filling her mind with wonders as she drifted off to sleep, filled her eyes with tears. Mary Jo yearned for the warmth of his strong, comforting arms she remembered so well and his deep, but soft, reassuring voice.
For months after his departure, Mary Jo had cried herself to sleep at night, brokenhearted that he could have abandoned her so. Alone with her strong-willed mother, she had done little else but cry. Then, after what seemed to have been an eternity, he returned.
On that day, Mary Jo had arrived home early from school to find her father sitting in their kitchen. Her heart had skipped a beat, and she had run across the small room banging her knee painfully against the door of an open cupboard. She remembered throwing herself up into his strong open arms and burying her head deep into his chest, his reassuring words comforting the pain of her bruised limb.
But he had not returned to stay. When Mary Jo overheard her parents argue, she had feared the worst. Suddenly he was gone again, the overwhelming, fearful emptiness which followed even greater than before.
Another year passed, and Mary Jo had come to believe that her father had deserted them forever when, unannounced, he amazingly reappeared.
Against her mother’s vitriolic protestations, he had carried Mary Jo off to the movies, his unforgivable absences immediately forgotten as she hugged him close, in a moment filled with joy.
That night, her father had tucked her into bed and read as he had done so many times before. With his hand gently stroking her head, his voice carried Mary Jo away on a familiar journey, the story of the Great Wall amongst her favorites. She remembered how she had visualized herself as part of the scene, walking hand in hand with her father along the forever-winding, man-made miracle through the mountains, the familiar resonance of his voice a delight, the images of Genghis and Kublai Khan no longer of frightening concern. She recalled begging him to promise to stay, his response, another hollow commitment to return. When she awoke the following morning, he was gone.
Two more years passed before Mary Jo saw his face again; this time, as he was passing through. She found the painful infrequency of her father’s visits bewildering, recollections of how he looked slowly fading in her mind, until his face eventually resembled nothing more than a blur in an occasional dream. Finally, her father disappeared from their lives forever.
Her mother refused all mention of his name, and with time, Mary Jo learned not to care, and accepted that he would never return.
* * * *
At first, Mary Jo had not really excelled at school, lacking motivation and the necessary concentration. Often, as the teacher’s lulling, monotonous tones would cast their spell, her mind would wander, day-dreams carrying her away to distant lands and peoples, whose faces she had seen captured in still-life photographs. Her favorites were those found amongst their neighbor’s National Geographic magazines, the reason she spent more time there than in her own home. Mary Jo would often sit for hours examining their collection, her hands moving across the amazing photographs, touching mountains and valleys as she imagined herself part of the wondrous scenes.
At fourteen, when their neighbors moved to California, Mary Jo joined the local library to satisfy her inquisitive mind. There she discovered an even greater world, the science of photography, her interest in still-art forms leading her to an inevitable conclusion. Having pestered her mother for months, Mary Jo received her first camera on her fifteenth birthday, and her life changed forever. After that, there was no doubt in her mind what she wished to do with her life, already consumed by the dream to become a photojournalist, and travel the world.
As fate would have it, her mother’s timely remarriage provided Mary Jo with the means to attend college. With her step-father’s encouragement and financial support, she applied to attend the Rochester Institute of Technology, and was accepted into the School of Photographic Arts and Sciences, one of the four schools within the College of Imaging Arts and Sciences at R.I.T. For Mary Jo, it was a dream come true. Although her mother was not overly keen about the prospect of sending her off alone, she acquiesced, and Mary Jo bade farewell, moving to Rochester to commence her studies.
Her first impressions of the bleak, red-brick architecture to be her home for the next four years were less than favorable, immediately understanding why students irreverently referred to the sprawling edifices as Brick City. But it was not until Mary Jo first experienced the infamous quarter mile walkway between the dorms and the academic buildings during her first Winter, that she appreciated the derogatory comments regarding the campus architectural layout.
As a freshman, Mary Jo was obliged to share accommodations with fellow students. She elected to dorm with others in what was known as Photo House, as there were special interest floors which provided dark-rooms and studios for the students, where Mary Jo came to spend endless hours, engrossed in the practical applications of her studies.
Mary Jo had selected this college after considerable examination of her own expectations. She had learned that R.I.T. had earned national prominence in her field of choice, and was greatly impressed when she read that so many of the college’s graduates in photojournalism had won prestigious Pulitzer Prizes for their work. This, in association with the fact that Rochester had achieved recognition as the Image Capital of the world, with such established names as Kodak, Xerox, and Bausch & Lomb head-quartered there, left little doubt in Mary Jo’s mind that she had made the right choice.
At R.I.T., Mary Jo threw herself into her studies. The demanding four year degree course program in contemporary journalism provided her not only with practical experience in documenting real-life events, but a depth of knowledge in the mechanics and history of photography as an art.
For Mary Jo, life outside class had also been fulfilling. R.I.T. offered fraternities, sororities and organizations which catered to the multi-cul-tured student body’s interests, and Mary Jo found herself at home within this new, and exciting environment, expanding her interests and circle of friends both on, and off campus.
Her extra-curricula activities in no way affected her studies. If anything, these enhanced her view of the world, providing Mary Jo with a sound perspective of the social and political environment in which she lived. She enjoyed participating in most sports, but her preference for the swimming pool consumed the greater part of her leisure hours.
When her mother visited Rochester, Mary Jo had taken her to the world-famous George Eastman House, the mansion having been turned into an international museum of photography and film. Mary Jo wanted to explain something of her love for this science. Unfortunately, her mother did not share Mary Jo’s enthusiasm, or interest, strolling away out of earshot before her daughter had the opportunity to explain something of what she had learned of the wonders and technological leaps her field had seen in her lifetime. Mary Jo had been deeply disappointed. She had wanted to share, but her mother’s obvious disdain turned the visit into disaster, and they had fought, the exchange raising eyebrows with those within range. Subsequent to this visit, outside semester breaks and an occasional birthday call, Mary Jo rarely communicated with her mother, both gradually growing indifferent to the other’s needs, each content with the waning relationship