The Girl Who Grinned at the Sky

I'd just finished a particularly frustrating session of one class, and was trudging along to my least favorite and most dreaded class. No end was in sight, and the wind whipped cruel cold inside my “good” winter coat. The bright sun mocked overhead, shining sarcastically down. I looked up to glare it down, unappreciative of how it mocked my colder loneliness.

The sun remained.

However, my attention was caught by something else. A brilliant azure accompanied the sun, and no cloud was in sight. The pure blue stood beside the sun, silent, yet almost apologetic. It seemed to say, “something will happen soon. And it's always, always for the better.”

Its silent words tugged a half smile across one of my cheeks.

I realized I was still walking, and refocused my gaze to what was in front of me. Instead of being distracted by my looming class, I saw a girl coming toward me, noticing the same thing that I just had. Except she was different. Her lips peeled back against her broad white teeth, and she grinned. At nothing, just the sheer color above us both. She also remembered she was walking, and she looked straight ahead. Our gazes met.

Her gigantic grin only grew.

It was contagious. Now not only half my face was affected. I no longer noticed the wind's chill. She introduced herself and asked if she'd met me before. I assumed it was because we were instantly joined by the bond of sky smiling, and told her no.

She had met me before, I find later. She wanted to date my next-door neighbor. I can't understand why he wasn't interested. Later she and I flew a kite in a park. I haven't seen her since.

conjugating

studying on the floor in front of my open door in the newfound sun.

sending a surprise package to my sister.

sunning myself on the roof of the roommates car while she borrows my shoes and library card to check out the entire movie collection.

failing at eating the heart of an artichoke because I couldn't get past the hair.

trying to fend off a cold.

succeeding.

going to three different pharmacies in search of sudafed.

failing.

running into the best friend's boyfriend buying the best friend food to make up for a fight.

running into said bf's bf while playing -arco -olo in the last store whose pharmacy was closed.

being glad the sun is finally out and the weather is finally warm.

watching it snow again.

crying because the frigid wind is so strong it blasts the moisture out of the eyes and onto the cheeks.

failing at fending off the cold after all.

kicking the trash out of the dreaded presentation.

cooking Sunday dinner for ten.

sleeping while sitting up on the couch three nights in a row because of the cold I failed at fending off.

meeting a girl who grinned at the sky.

grinning at everyone else because she was grinning at the sky.

teaching boy from upstairs to cook fried rice.

talking about dating with two olderish single men for an hour.

cooking super-hot mexi rice and stuffed peppers.

being accosted on facebook about me not being myself.

hearing that the rice was too spicy.

being accosted via text that i was upset and worrisome.

sneaking food into a movie theater with a dear friend.

feeding super-hot mexi rice to a real man.

realizing the real man knew the grinning girl.

being accosted on facebook for dating advice about a different girl i never really knew.

eating an entire bag of peanut butter m&ms between midnight snack and breakfast.

going on a date with a guy i never really knew but with whom I wouldn't mind seconds.

kicking all my roommates out of the apartment.

bumming a ride home from a girl i still don't really know.

sitting in the apartment alone.

wondering if the sister ever got her package.

being glad the sun is back just in time for spring break.

wishing something would happen around here.

retracting that wish.

wondering how the trashcan got that full in my absence from my bed.

Billy Jim and the Absence of Hermeneutics of Given Names

My senior year of high school I was walking down the halls of the rival across town and came across a poster with a little quote on it. I laughed, pointed it out to a friend, they laughed, and we continued on.

Somehow that quote has always stuck with me. Maybe because of its strange failure to say what it tries to say, or maybe because I couldn't help but recognize the power in the haphazard words.

The quote?

Act as if what you do makes a difference.
~William James

Now, don't you see what I'm saying? It carries a connotation that what you do WON”T matter. Ever.

For quite some time I'd felt that way – that nothing matters in the end. That everything will work out the way it's supposed to, regardless of your role in it all.

This week, a good friend posted almost the same quote. Almost. She included a two-word tag line that I'd never seen before. Her inclusion? “It Does.”

Now it says, “Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.”

I'm not saying that anything I do has made a difference in other people's lives, maybe it has but sometimes I just don't want to know. But I know that whenever I try to make a difference in someone's life, the difference has been made in mine.

Earlier this week i was reminded of this by an unwitting friend. He'd alluded to a painful Monday, I offered some solace. Instead of turning his day around, he turned my entire week. All we did was share a cup of hot cocoa and some words of empathy and encouragement. But afterward I was reminded that there is hope in my life as I expressed hope in his. That things aren't as bad as they seem now. That I don't have to be caught up in myself.

This wasn't the first time either. I went to Romania to hold babies that needed love. I wanted to make their lives better if only in a small way. While doing so I held a one year old girl whose functionality was as advanced as a newborn's. She couldn't even control her eyes. As i sang to her, trying to soothe her fussing, she'd only respond to the primary songs of my own childhood. I sang one line: I am a child of God, his promises are sure. Celestial glory shall be mine, if I can but endure. As the phrase ended, her eyes flipped up, gazing into mine. Peacefulness spread through my chest and tears sprang to my own eyes. She knew.

Because of this one little girl and my two weeks of holding her close, I've taken classes I'd never have thought about before, I've chosen a major I'd never considered, and I have direction in my life.
I'd not have all of this if it weren't for my trying to make someone's life better. Someone's life was bettered. Mine.

Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.

He'll if I Know

It wasn't bitter cold, it wasn't snowing. It wasn't a dirty slush day either, the one you have to dance the slosh to come home without frostbite but you're still soaked and freezing.

It was stay-at-home because you want to weather. It was a watch-a-movie-alone day. It was a clean-out-the-fridge-with-your-face-because-you-have-to-and-you're-leaving-tomorrow-anyway day.

I walked through the cemetery to drop off a Christmas present. There were two groups of people there: one, a group of undertakers placing the marble monolith over a fresh grave. The other, a large group of mourners under a blue polystyrene canopy all in black and driving vans. Apparently people die the week of Christmas too.

My friend wasn't home, so I left the present on the doorknob and walked back, avoiding the mourners and their eerily subdued children. I avoided the cemetery gate against which my once-boy-now-best friend had pushed me to kiss me harder than I wanted. I avoided the memory of the cushion of the chainlink against my back, I avoided his remembered whispers of apology and remorse after I pushed him off.

I walked past the basketball stadium, avoiding the two players coming out. I didn't ask them if they could give my friend a Christmas present: A date with one of their teammates. I didn't even stand up straight to my full height as I usually do when tall boys walk near me.

I got home and curled up on the couch with a blanket that smelled of new, hoping to avoid the draft by the window. It didn't work. Instead I turned on a girl-power figure-skating movie and drank the last of the bubbly in the fridge.

Except it wasn't bubbly. But I drank it straight from its long necked bottle. And threw out rotten avocados. And old cheese.

I also misread the words “three pair” - i thought it said “knee pad.” As these were in reference to socks, I didn't think it was too far of a stretch. Wouldn't you buy knee padded socks? I wouldn't, but that's just because no matter how long the socks are, they never reach my knees.


In other news: The definition of Thoguh (not though, THOGUH) derived from the Urban Dictionary.

(Drumroll, please)

....

clears throat

“Hell if I know.”


Thank you, thank you, please, save your applause for those that actually deserve it. No, seriously. SHUT UP.

Anyway, I like how it kinda sounds and looks like SHOGUN, which, everyone knows is a king-like figure thing in eastern cultures. I think.

Shadows on the Wall

Last night I couldn't sleep, as usual. I was haunted by yet another phantom of my past. Instead of the usual once-boyfriend phantom or the stinging-reply-in-hindsight phantom, or even the what-am-I-going-to-do-tomorrow phantom, it was one whose mere presence was almost ironic.

It was the phantom of my first insomnia.

I was four or five, a young girl still trying to understand the natural world. I was just beginning to understand that objects left unsupported fell. I was fascinated by my shadow in the sunset, that I was taller than my giant father. I also noticed that things looked different in the dark. That colors were still there, but instead of being green, torquoise, and gold they varied in shades of black.

I lay awake in my bed, in the middle of my once blue, now dust colored room. The venetian blinds covering the window were cracked just enough to let the streetlamp's light in from across the deserted street. The stripes gashed across my wall; vibrant, fresh. I reached out a hand to feel the line of contrast, to touch the bleeding light and the lifeless wall.

I was almost surprised to see that I could never touch the light. I couldn't place my fingers on it, there was always a shadow beneath them. I couldn't touch the light, but it could touch me. I lifted my arm higher along the wall, admiring the straight lines cast across my skin and the wall alike. I lay back in bed, my arm still above my head and above the windowsill, the light and shadow still caressing me. I marveled that its touch was nonexistent, but the zebra stripe glove on my skin was as real as the arm shaped shadow interrupting the stripe pattern on the wall behind it.

The stripes would shift position as I did, making the glove as long or as short as I pleased, but however I moved it the stripes never changed shape or angle, the glove always fitting as gloves should.

The next night I was still fascinated by the combination of the streetlight and the blinds across my window. I was for a week, until I realized that I was tired and wanted to go to sleep. By that time it was too late, I was an insomniac. I was too fascinated by the curiosities of a dark bedroom.

I can still remember that night, a week later, as I was playing with my zebra glove. “If only I could just take a nap. A nap would be great. I'm so tired, but I don't want to sleep, I just want to nap.” It was then that I realized something else: When you napped you slept, and neither would be easy for me ever again.

Fifteen years later it's still hard for me to sleep, nap or doze. But it's not often that something as simple as the shadow cast on my wall is the one thing that keeps me up at night. I realized that night, that this was the first time I'd slept under venetian blinds in five years. I was almost glad to have reconnected with my childhood, even though it meant another night of less-than-stellar sleep.

Closure

8 months, 5 days.

January 2nd to September 7th.

We'd endured 5 months of long distance, 3500 miles of driving, 1400 miles in flight, hours on the phone, parent-imposed curfews, a summer of work - not play, finals week, midterms, two moves, family members departing, pleasant surprises, gifts, emergency lunches, thrift shop trips, walks, piggybacks with sisters, a mission call, sushi, picnics - both sunlit and candlelit, slurpees, a first (and second and third) taco, movies, car cleaning, sunsets, moonrises, a roommate's wedding reception, libraries, reading under a trampoline, sunsets, moonrises, hikes, adventures, getting lost, getting found, ward hopping, homicidal mothers yelling EY!, indian food, implications, selfishness, forgiveness, selflessness, miscommunications, falls, band aids, private whispers, screams of delight, exhaustion, promises, plans left undone, plans completed, exhilaration, love.

I've never felt this way about anyone before, and I fear I never will again.

Last weekend as we held each other on my doorstep, it felt different. I loved him, but didn't need him. Things were ending, whether I wanted them to or not.

Last week as I'd walk across campus I'd see couples holding hands or lying in the sun. I hated them. I hated them for having something I couldn't. My Scott was gone, but on Saturday I'd show them.
This week when I see a woman leaning her head on her man's shoulder, her eyes closed; when I see a couple necking passionately in their own owrld in the middle of the bustling hallway, there was no jealousy. There was no hate. My Scott really was gone.

I was expecting to break up with him, not to break up with each other. It was entirely mutual, unlike the inception of our relationship. He was always the first to pick me up, drive me home, put an arm around me, hold my hand, say "I like you," then "I've fallen for you," then lean in and kiss me. At the beginning he invested far more far quicker than I, therefore I wasn't expecting him to be done before me. I was expecting to lay it all out, step aside, and let m stubborn, insistent side carry me through the subsequent and expected waves of misery.
No, he knew it had to be over, just as I did the last night we saw each other.

At times I wish I had my tenacity on my side, but it's lain dormant as of late. Instead there's something else, something deeper. Something that says "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, much less in the next couple years, but it'll be all right." I'm sad, but I'm not morose. I'm not curled in a fetal position surrounded by a halo of chocolate wrappers. It just feels right, and my tenacity isn't insisting that I be wrong.

Scott has been my best (albeit only) boyfriend, but also one of my best friends. He is my best guy friend, and one of the best men I've ever known. Despite his protests, he has been the absolute best I've ever had.

Scott, I love you.

Thank you for teaching me how.

Introspectus

Ever had one of those nights where you're so tired that you flop onto your bed and instantly fall asleep without even a blanket on top of you? And then in the middle of the night you half wake up and realize that you are, in fact, cold. But you are also ridiculously comfortable there, curled up and dozing that you can't bear to move and spoil the immense contentment wrapped around you in the blanket's stead. So you just lie there, wishing you were warmer but unwilling to do anything about it.

That's what I was doing last year. I was too comfortable that I didn't change anything until I simply couldn't stand it anymore. Until I realized that nothing was going to change unless I changed it. Until I realized that my misery was self inflicted.

Last year my misery made me into something I didn't recognize. I didn't even realize that the monster I'd become even existed. My misery made me angry. My anger made me sarcastic, caustic, and eager to inflict pain on others. I was malicious. I refused to meet new people. Since I refused to meet people, I forgot how to do it. I withdrew inside myself, unwilling to come out even around the people I loved the most. I spent my time doing absolutely nothing, making no memories, useful skills, or even talents. I did only what was required, and even then, only the bare minimum.

I contemplated dropping out of high school, even though I only had one term left and one class left to pass. I obsessed over men who brought out the worst in me. I lied skillfully to remove suspicion and bring more on others around me. I twisted words, situations, feelings, arms. I cared for no one, including myself. I did what I wanted, so long as it wouldn't get me in trouble that night. I respected visible boundaries while skipping gleefully around the ones I could easily sneak past. The smallest slights wounded me deeply and I refused to let them go. What once were molehills were now mountains, the mountains molehills. I scorned everything that I had once held dear. I forgot about the people and places and things I had once loved.

I thank God that this is no longer me.

I asked rhetorically last night, “What was I thinking?” The only answer I got was, “Maybe you weren't.”

He was right.

In Retrospect

We do dances differently here. We don't go on dates until we're 16, and even then, we usually go in groups. Two or more couples. I guess it's a good way to learn how to date, it keeps kids out of trouble, and it forces them to meet new people.

My little brother went to Prom this year. He rented a tux (with a bow-tie. I love bow-ties.), bought her a corsage, matched his vest/tie to her dress, and went in a group of five total couples. I don't know where he got his information, but he did it right. I'm proud of that kid.
My boyfriend's sister went too. Scott and I were setting up the family trampoline in the backyard while she was getting ready with a family friend and cousin. We came in muddy, dusty, scratched up, and she was standing there like a princess in her black and white dress. We were scared to touch her, all we could do was watch.

A knock came at the door. Everyone was there: Grandma, Dad, Mom, Friend, Friend's 18 month old baby, Cousin, Boyfriend, Girlfriend, Princess. We crowded out of the entryway of the split level house to greet the poor boy coming to pick her up. Baby was running around behind the cameramen, throwing rocks and getting trampled. All the people, pictures, screaming baby. . . Scott and I left. Even still, I couldn't help thinking of the only time I went to a formal dance.
I was a senior, I felt obligated to go to Homecoming with an acquaintance. Turns out he had almost no friends and spent his days and weekends reading anime at home. He was a temp janitor for a local elementary school. He was huge. I hardly ever talked to him, and the date was no different.

While at this dance, I hardly danced with our group, preferring to panhandle around the high school's gym in search of my friends who were actually enjoying their dates. At one point he thought I'd ditched him. (I hadn't. . .intentionally) I wanted to throw up whenever I looked at my date, and I tried to stay away from him as much as possible, though I couldn't entirely out of politeness.

This year's Prom was Scott and my five-month mark. We've never had a fight, though we have had our problems. We've had the good fortune of being able to work through them and becoming stronger and closer because of it. I'm home for the summer. I don't have to miss Scott any more - I've seen him every single day – a far cry from our once-every-two-weeks-maybe arrangement.

Anyway, Scott's sister, I hope you had fun. You too, Brother, even with my Homecoming date in your Prom group.