It was approaching Thanksgiving, when I checked out my account, and found it had about $100.00 left. Though it wouldn't be great dining fare, it was enough to get through to Christmas, as I had promised my father I would live on the money I had until I return home for Christmas.

There was one second year student I really enjoyed being around, though she was a combination of awkard looking and homely, I really enjoyed talking with her. Privately, I sort of remembered what was said about Abraham Lincoln, being so ugly he was handsome. In my mind, the same applied to her. In many respects, I found her beautiful, especially her disposition and the feeling of tenderness.

We were due to go to Old Sturbridge Village, in Massachusetts for a field trip and I caught up with the girl in the morning and asked if we could have lunch together. She seemed to like the idea and agreed to join me for lunch.

During the morning, I was walking around with other class members, and photographing the colonial life that the living museum portrayed. Then for lunch, I went to the agreed upon place to eat. I figured we would be sitting with her and her friends, who were already there.

After waiting for her fifteen minutes for her to show up, I went to her friends to enquire. "Mike, she is supposed to be eating with us, but maybe she is still out shooting." I went back to my table and patiently waited ... and waited.

Our allotted lunch time was about over, when one of her fellow classmates and girlfriend walked up to me and said, "Hey Mike, I have a feeling that you should give it up. Lunch is almost over and you don't want to be late to catch up with your class group."

Still, I waited another 10 minutes and ended up running to catch up to my class group. It was during this run that I caught a root, and tripped; sending me face first into the dirt. My camera windmilled around and slammed on the ground also.

With my very next shot, it was obvious that my camera was broken. Needing photographs for my assignment, I asked to use my fellow student's cameras, and not one of them would let me take a shot with theirs.

I was told, "I am too afraid to get our photos mixed up," or, "I need the camera for myself as I don't know when a shot will come up," and to the point, "You aint using my camera, because you broke yours." Once back to the apartment, I rescued the film and the photos that I had, and though a bit lacking, I stretched out what I had to get fair grades for my assignment.

The next day, I walked to the photography store to deal with my broken camera. It was twenty five dollars for them to open it up and take a look. That Monday, I got the battle report; to repair the camera would bring the cost total up to $89.00. Needless to say, I had to pay it.

I called my father, and he got insurance working on it. With nothing else to do, I immediately went to the store and bought a cheap bottle of vitamins and 15 packs of Oodles of Noodles, hoping that they wouldn't have to be stretched into a thirty day supply.

The girl that stood me up was now avoiding me at all costs. Having enough of this treatment, I decided to corner her, so I can figure out what in the hell was so wrong with me that women treated me this way. I caught her going down the back stairwell, and basically pulled a Ninja stunt of swinging down on her.

Cornered she was completely paralyzed with fear. I told her, "I'm not going to hurt you, but you are going to tell me why you stood me up and are avoiding me, before I let you go."

She started crying. "I didn't want to hurt you. I am far from the prettiest girl in this school, and I have a boy friend at home. I was afraid of having lunch with you, because I didn't want to lose that. I'm sorry; I didn't want to hurt you."

"You mean, you didn't want to see me hurt. Look, saying that you didn't want to have lunch with me, only would have disappointed me, not hurt me. Standing me up, and then avoiding me really hurts. On top of it, I waited so long, I had to run to catch up with my class and as a result, I tripped and broke my camera. Because of you, I won't have anything to eat for the rest of the month."

I walked away in disgust.

I got the insurance check about a week later, but having my account at Citizens Bank, I was informed that they will hold the check to mid January. I immediately called dad to let him know.

He replied, "Well then, that's the way it is. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Could you send $30.00 up so I can eat."

"God damn it, Mike! Didn't we have an agreement? What! Is your word nothing but bullshit? No, God damn it! You're going to live by your promise! Got it!" With that he slammed the phone down.

What went through my mind was, "I might have to die by it too."

I immediately started looking for a job in all of the spare time that I had, but it was to become somewhat of a trail of tears. Living on Pocasset Avenue, I was in the Italian community. In fact they had a red, white and green stripe running up the middle of the street, to represent the Italian flag.

Most of the businesses were family run, and there were plenty of excuses not to hire me. The sharpest response was, "We don't hire Nazis." Many didn't like the fact that I was from out of state, or a college student, or the fact that I could only work Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

I even tried the Jewelry sweat shops, and most owners refused to talk to me, but one man was compassionate and friendly. While, the others were suspicious of me, he explained things, "Do you see all of these soldering chairs? They should all be full, but instead, I kept  my two best solders on because they accepted to work at the reduced wages of asn apprentice."

Almost into the downtown area, I found a print shop and asked to apply. I was told that unfortunately for me, they were a union shop and only hired nonunion in the bindery department, "But I have to let you know, in being union, we have to fulfill minority quotas. That's where we put them."

Their attitude bothered me and if I was black, would have been insulted to know I could only be hired as a temporary worker with no chance of moving up. As a white person, it really pissed me off to know that I wasn't the right skin shade to get a job.

My next step was to ask my fellow students for help, and as with borrowing a camera, even asking for a can of food, fell on death ears. I got responses such as, "I can't, as I don't know when I will run out of money," or, "You should have planned better." My roommate David had the worst one, "I better not catch you stealing any of my food!"

I got my camera back, and the teachers did help by letting me hand my assignments in late, but I got downgraded for it. My grades were on the cusp of having to leave the school anyway, but I kept plugging away.

I asked Mr. Falgo, the president of the school, if he could extend a tab at the cantina so that I could have one meal a day. He instantly became angry, "What the fuck is it with all of you? Am I a charity? No, I am a fucking business! No, I am not extending any type of a tab or charity towards you. I don't care, except that you pay you God damn bill to stay in here."

I did apply for food stamps as another student told me there is a food stamp program for out of state college students. In fact, you got a whopping $125.00 a month and those students, ate high on the hog.

I went to Social Services and applied, I met every criteria, but one, I needed a job! I asked him, "If I had a job, I wouldn't need to have food stamps." I asked if it is possible to get $10.00 worth so that I could get some food.

He apologized and said, "I'm sorry, that isn't the way the food stamp program works." It was $125.00 or nothing, and the only students that ever qualified had crooked landlords that gave the student a phony pay stub for a share of the food stamps. They suggested that I find a soup kitchen, but no one could ever tell me where one was.

So every other day, until I could get home for Christmas break, I enjoyed a pack of Oodles of Noodles. Quite honestly, in addition to feeling that no one believed me, I felt they really didn't care. Still I was determined to remain in school, plugging away with the best of my abilities.

It amazed me, how life can change. At Thanksgiving, I was a lightweight coming in at 130 pounds, but solid muscle. But my problem with little fat on me, I was surviving, by my body using muscle tissure as its fuel. While the hunger pangs went away, the muscle pain didn't, and I lost more and more energy as time progressed.

Just before Christmas, Dave made a full box of spaghetti. Not able to finish it, he asked Jeff if he wanted some, then Steve. He walked to the trash can, threw it out, and then looked at me.

The day before the break, the woman who operated the cantina saw me and erupted, "What in the hell is wrong with you, you're not eating?"

I explained the situation and she replied, "All you had to do is to come to me, I would have given you two meals a day."

"I asked Mr. Falgo to extend a tab and he said no, before cussing me out. If you had helped me out, he would fire you."

"I don't care about that. If I got fired for that, it wasn't a good job in the first place. I'm going to make you something and you are going to eat it. This one's one me, so you don't have to worry about my job or assholes."

She made me a cheese steak sub and fearing her, I ate it, but it made me feel sick. I knew my gut wasn't working very well. Later that day, I ran into Mr. Falgo in the hall and he looked at me and was completely shocked. In my opinion, he had looked into the eyes of Jesus. Yet he didn't say anything before he went into his office. He just closed the door.

The next day was Christmas break and I got a cab to make my flight out of Providence. Once back home at the BWI airport, I was greeted by my dad, who couldn't believe how I looked. He was now looking at a 109 pound person with a skull like face.

"Well, I lived up to my word and possibly, I am close to dying by it."

All he said was, "Son." In the car, he didn't say a word, but I knew things bothered him. As soon as I walked through the door, my mother busted out crying. I basically went upstairs to bed.

Mom of course overcompensated and I know had a feast to eat, which made me sick and ended up vomited in the toilet. It would take a couple of days and many nibbles, before I started processing food again.

My sister showed me the, "Michael Bush," which mom had dad plant to replace the grape vine he took down out in the back yard. The, "Michael Bush," represented the spirit of me around the house, she missed in my absence.

While, I had walked through some of the most inhospitable climes because of unrequited love and a broken camera, I now knew myself and the spirit that I possessed. As with Jean's death, it would serve me though other hard times to come, as an example of just what I am capable of.  At this time though, I was just happy to get through it and remain in school.