I have a small shoe box of mementos from my first university. During the four years there, I received four Valentine's Day cards from Peter. So did most of the my friends in university residence. Peter was handsome, brilliant, humorous, athletic, creative and schizophrenic. 

Early in the first term of freshman year, I had heard of Peter. He was somewhat of a legend at the university. No one knew exactly how many years Peter already had been a student. He was becoming a professional undergraduate and most people knew him. It was easy to recognize Peter. Sometimes, he would wear all black clothing. Other times, he would be a blaze of colour and often there was a clash of hues. It was a reflection of Peter's mood, his state of mind and how well his medications were working.

Basically, Peter was shy. He would never initiate conversations. He would not say 'hi'. However, if someone greeted him, it started a torrent of conversation. That was true for all the years that I knew Peter. He waited for that perceived invitation to interact. Then, he would talk and talk.

My very first contact with Peter happened near the end of first term. I was thoroughly confused with calculus. The classes were a struggle to understand and meetings with the professor, during his office hours, were unproductive. English was his second language. Perhaps English was his third language, if one considers mathematics as a language unto itself. Although the professor must have known his material, he struggled to communicate it well. The number of people attending his classes dwindled. 

I knew that I was in trouble with the material. Several of the people in residence suggested that I ask Peter for help. Thankfully, I did. I approached Peter and introduced myself to him. He was glad to help me. That evening, he spent hours in a study hall with me, explaining in minute detail what were the salient points of the mathematical concepts. I was still confused but I had made some progress. The next evening, Peter and I met again and he had brought along coloured, glass beads. It was his way of demonstrating a concept in a very easy to understand manner. We spent hours in the carpeted hallway, where the beads would be stationary, and Peter explained calculus concepts to me. He was a magnificent teacher; he understood the material and could share his knowledge. Furthermore, he made certain that I understood the concepts. I was so thankful for his help.

Whenever I saw Peter after that, I said 'hello'. Sometimes he would remember my name and, at other times, it was a struggle for him to recall how and where we had met. I sometimes had to remind him. Nevertheless, if I had said 'hello', he felt free to talk. The range of topics always varied. Perhaps Peter would talk about the need to colonize space and research food production plants in outer space. He wanted to be an astronaut and save outer space from corporate greed and exploitation. The possibilities of zero gravity food production would benefit the poor and hungry. On another day, the topic might be how to create self sustaining buildings and recycle a building's waste water into a hydroponic system. Other times, it may be a discussion of a movie script that he was writing and how he was keeping it a secret. He would write it in a secret code until it was finished. It was a different code from the one that he thought dolphins used. He wanted to decipher dolphin language too. Peter thought he had the elementary steps resolved but he was too busy with other ideas. 

The bizzare touched on brilliance and often defied conventional reality. 

On the first Valentine's Day of my freshman year, I received a card from Peter. It was the type of Valentine's greeting that a school child would use. It was from a perforated sheet of cards, with a picture on the front and a "to - from" notation on the back. On the back, Peter always wrote "we love you" and signed just his first name and last initial. It is the same for all four years that I received a card from Peter, through the residence mail. Every one whom Peter knew in university residence received a Valentine's Day greeting card. Valentine's Day was a very important event for Peter. 

No one knew where Peter lived or how he survived. There were rumours that his parents were wealthy. Perhaps it was his grandparents who were wealthy. Other rumours were that he had access to street drugs and that was his income. Some thought he was on a disability allowance. Conjecture followed Peter because he did not talk about himself. Peter talked about things, about concepts and about futures. In my second year, Peter contributed to an art exhibit. He built a scale model of a little community, with a running model train and station. There were small trees, cars, signage and even well placed fire hydrants. There were no people. It was spectacular and must have required hundreds of hours of meticulous, detailed work. After the exhibit, Peter gave the huge art piece away. In materials alone, it must have been thousands of dollars. For artistic value, it would have been difficult to assess. Peter could have sold the exhibit for some financial gain. His interests, however, had moved on to other things. The miniature fictional town, along with the railway, no longer had Peter's attention.

One year, I had a class with Peter. During registration week, I had been talking with him and had told Peter that I was taking organic chemistry. He asked me the course number and what section I was taking. To my surprise, he registered for the same class and appeared for the first lecture. I didn't see him in that class again. When the final exam was approaching, I asked him if he had withdrawn from the class. He hadn't. 

For the next couple of days, Peter was in the library. He studied organic chemistry. He borrowed my text book for a few hours. I offered him my notes, which were very detailed and complete, but he said he didn't need them. On the day of the exam, Peter was there. He wrote and was the very first person to leave the exam room. I distinctly remember thinking that perhaps Peter could pass the exam, but only with a minor miracle. If the class did poorly, perhaps he might survive on a grading curve. When the results were posted, Peter had one of the top two grades. I don't know how he did it. To this day, I still think that was an impossibility. Organic chemistry was one of my toughest undergraduate courses. No one finds organic chemistry to be easy. There is a universal unwritten law to that effect. Peter should have failed. He didn't; he excelled.

By the time that my class year graduated, Peter still lacked the sufficient program credits to finish. I am told that he finished the year after my class year graduated. In the fall of 2009, one of my school friends, Lynn was on campus again. When she was near one of the student activity buildings, Lynn recognized a man dressed in lime green shirt and green pants. He was difficult to miss. It was Peter and he was standing there holding religious material. Lynn said "hello" and spoke to Peter. He did not remember her. During their conversation, he told Lynn that he was working and stocking shelves near campus. It was in one of those outlet stores, where everything is price limited, a dollar or less. Lynn offered to take him to lunch and continue their conversation. Peter declined. He had promised that he would be handing out religious material all afternoon.

As Valentine's Day approaches every year, I think of Peter. I think of those perforated Valentine's greetings that would appear in our mail boxes in residence. I hope Peter is well and as happy as he can be. I hope that somehow he remains connected to a few people and that he is continuing to hand out those Valentine greeting cards. Perhaps there are days when he looks to the heavens and conceives of new ideas and creative dreams for outer space. Maybe Peter clings to the dream of wanting to be an astronaut. Sometimes, I hope he still does want to be that invariant space traveller. 

Catherine Forsythe