You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2009.
Leaving Target last night
Me: Thanks for all the vegetarian food and the new shirts.
Mom: Thanks for letting me buy the chocolate cheesecake.
I turned twenty-two driving alone in the rain, listening to Radiohead.
So we’ll see where this year goes. I’m holding out hope for something combining the second half of twenty with the first half of twenty-one. Or something entirely new. Actually, the latter is preferable. Nice.
Pita Pit
Awesome mocha
Mango hookah – LOVED it! 
Incredible show for a crowd of ~100:
Locals, Dot Hongs, Miniature Tigers
Kevin Devine and the Goddamn Band
In the audience: The Get Up Kids, Straylight Run
Drummer of local band giving me a back massage?
Chit-chatting with Kevin
—
The rest of this week includes:
Finishing/submitting my Peace Corps application
Frisbee or sand vball with friends
Going out with my parents for my birthday
Dinner/drinks/hanging out with friends all Friday (also for my birthday)
—
I’m feeling light and happy in a way that has been missing for far too long. It’s good to be back.
In the vein of ridiculously unexpected, I think I might (maybe) want a tattoo?
I’m very, very pleased with the idea of a simple, lowercase and cursive ‘love’ on my left wrist, right below the palm. If I were to do this, I would like the word to face me when I turn my palm up.
Would something like that knock me out of the running for classy and prestigious jobs and such? Am I out of my mind? After all, I’ve been staunchly anti-tattoo for my entire life. Until now….
Thoughts?
(Not really like this. I just like the picture)
1 carpeted dorm floor + 1 girl(kinda boney hips* + usually sleeps on her side) = very few clocked hours of unconsciousness during the midnight hours.
Man, I am exhausted. And my hips are still a bit sore. Someone seriously needs to consider adding at least a little insulation or something between the concrete and scratchy carpet that is the epitome of public locations…especially if said carpet is in a place where people just might, occasionally, maybe sleep on it. C’mon, higher education. Work with me.
*Don’t get me wrong, I definitely have some spare cushioning on other parts of my body. Just not on my hips for some reason, which is the one place I actually wouldn’t mind it!
1. My hair is now more blonde than red. Thanks, Texas sun.
2. I’ve already logged a dece number of hours pool-side.
3. I’m itching for adventure. And for a new piercing or two.
Climbed a sand dune, cheated on Latin homework, attended a concert by The Cure, been a vegetarian, had too much tequila, ridden an elephant, a forward 1 1/2 off a diving board, held a newborn baby, driven all night to make it by the morna, listened to a hippie and a soldier discuss and learn together, accidentally met half of Creed without realizing it, enjoyed being single, been in love, worn my heart on my sleeve, kept my heart under lock and key, chased God passionately, presented to a City Council, been yelled at by the state governor’s PR secretary, written a short story, graduated from college, learned to skateboard, stayed in an abusive relationship, designed a t-shirt, written about Zac Efron in French homework, stood up for myself, baked a layered cake from scratch, been a bad friend, obsessed over a movie star, driven on a Nascar racetrack, ridden a wooden roller coaster, danced with a stranger, won first place, run away from problems and people, rubbed shoulders with fancy-schmancy political figures, done something I said I never would, been the epitome of the things I hate, loved myself deeply, worn contacts, made children cry, held a friend in his weakest moments….
Nobody’s perfect. I love the ride.
Kville was like
Happy reunions
Vegetarian potluck
Dinner on an ice cream tub lid
Scrounging for a spoon
Best yogurt ever
Tons of cute hippie boys
Stand-up comedy
Seeing Adam!!! E>
CAFO dancing
(not to mention sober dancing?!)
Picked up and spun around
Autobiography prof crowd surfing
Dancing with a giant wooden spoon and fork
Even more cute hippie boys (mmm)
Talking on the front lawn
Standing too close
Carried up the porch stairs
Early to bed
Farmers market, awesome grapes
Friendly farmers
Seriously strange coffee meeting
Peach mango tea
Street corner meet-up
Grocery store adventure
ON A BOAT
Picnic ON A BOAT
Paddling, laughing, ‘artsy’ photographs
Switching seats, talking about boys and life
Past and present
Laughinglaughinglaughing
Group nap time
The Secret Room + Torso Boy
Bean penguin
Brian O didn’t call me, because I listened to what he said, not his emotions
Long talk with Rachel, amazing
Concert, balcony, drugs?
Jeremy’s crazy expression and dart to the bathroom
Following trippers
Professor’s house
Grass-petting?
Index girls
Taco Bell
Frustrated/bored
Bar – All You Can Drink
Bubblegum rum and Coke?
Checked out by guys, one ordered my drink
Silly dancing upstairs
First time for everything
But I didn’t like it
Unspoken things
Home alone
Little tears
Ignored phone calls and texts all morning
Conversations with Rachel and Mary in bed
Didn’t wash my hair (!!!???)
Walk downtown with Mare
Il Spazio, mmm
Solitary walks down beautiful streets
Relaxing on the Quad
Hookah (but not me)
Teasing and laughing
Split
Time with Nikki
Nap on her bed
Granola
Taco Bell + Jayne
Amazing talk
Chocolate cake with a giant fork with Zoe and Kent
Animal in the wall?!
Washed Franklin’s dishes
Long talk with Rachel and later Theresia too
Writing and thinking
It has been refreshing to be here. It has reminded me of who I am and what I love. A quiet life, where walking slowly is both okay and ideal. Perfect weather, blue skies, gentle breezes. Afternoons on blankets in the grass just shootin the shit. Taking my sandals off when I walk around campus. Trying new things. Not having set plans and just going with whatever happens. Dancing the way you feel the music and in the most non-cliched way possible, not caring what anyone thinks – because they are all dancing crazy, too.
I know I have a lot of battles ahead of me still. Some of them might be lifelong. But I think I’ve crested the peak of this particular war, and though I might have a few new bruises and scrapes from it, they will turn to scars and eventually fade away. This isn’t over, but I think the worst parts are done. My heart is starting to melt, slowly readying itself to be molded back into something new. The old memories will still be there, but they won’t define it or leave it cracked and broken. I’m excited to see what my refurbished(?) heart will look like, but willing to wait patiently for God to deliver it.
In honor of my favourite childhood holiday (which, when I moved from Nebraska in third grade, I learned basically no one in Missouri had ever heard of), I present my highly acclaimed fall 2007 fiction writing workshop masterpiece, May Day. (That’s right, I said highly acclaimed.)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Marie Anders was dragging on her way home from school, kicking her boots through the small piles of snow that stood sentry along the edge of the curb. Her bag was stuffed with nearly six months of papers, art projects, and forgotten articles of clothing. With the huge pack strapped to her back, the eight-year old resembled a turtle, methodically plodding toward her neighborhood.
She should have been staying late to help the other third grade class officers make plans for the next week’s Valentine’s Day party, but instead she was to head straight home. Today was moving day. Earlier in the week, her entire room, and then the rest of the house, had been boxed up, shoved in a truck, and supposedly shipped over a thousand miles to Atlanta, Georgia. Today was goodbye cold, beautiful Nebraska winter, and hello…Marie wasn’t sure what to expect down south. Her parents said it would be much warmer, and there definitely would not be any snow. All she was sure about was that she had a twenty-three hour car ride to look forward to the next morning.
The last night in the house was lonely. Even her mattress was gone, so she spent the night between her parents in her pink sleeping bag on the living room floor. She lay awake for many hours, listening to her father’s snores and trying not to be kicked by her mother who rolled over constantly in her sleep. By the time morning came, Marie was exhausted. She managed to sleep for almost half of the drive, spending the rest of the time reading and watching Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, and Tennessee slip by outside her window. She wondered if her indoor soccer team had won their game that day, and who had played in her position as center forward.
When the Anders’ grey 2006 Focus finally pulled into the driveway of their new home, a yellow, single story house, Marie climbed slowly out of the back seat, stiff-legged and groggy. The fifty-degree air was warm against her skin, which was used to twenty-degree February weather. She left her coat in the car and walked toward the newly built house wearing only her t-shirt and jeans. Marie wandered inside and into a living room. She turned right down a long hallway and knew the first room on the right, just past the kitchen, was hers. The walls were light pink, and all of her furniture was already set up. Boxes labeled in her own handwriting on the sides lined the wall opposite the door, and a window seat covered with lacy pillows looked very inviting. Marie smiled. She quickly began tearing open boxes, eager to see her familiar stuffed animals and toys, forgetting her weariness and the home she so greatly missed.
—–
“Hey, Marie! In Nebraska do you ever get out of school early to help your parents pick the corn?” Marie ducked her head further into the book she balanced in her lap. She heard three or four boys laughing at the teaser’s joke. Salty tears hovered at the ends of her eyelashes, but she did not let them fall.
Almost three months she had been a student at Grove Park Elementary School, and in that time, Marie had made six friends exactly: her teacher, Mrs. Hollinsworth; Leroy, an eighth grader next door who babysat her on the weekends sometimes; Miss Linda, her ballet instructor; Rachel from her ballet class; Elliott, a boy in the second grade who sat with her on the bus; and the playground monitor, Mr. Ferguson. And she never actually talked to him; she just considered Mr. Ferguson a friend because he kept away the kids who bullied her mercilessly. When she thought about it, Marie realized she had only two friends: Rachel and Elliott. Even Leroy didn’t really count, because he was paid to play with her. When she tried to tell him hello at the bus stop, he pretended not to hear her.
The new school was hard for Marie. She was one of the only white students, destined to stand out. Add in that she sounded different from the other kids and had never heard of half the games they played or phrases they used, and…Marie spent most of her time alone. The only children her own age who spoke to her nicely were Rachel, whom she saw only once a week plus the occasional weekend play date, and Elliott, who just wasn’t old enough to understand much. Seven was a lot different from eight, after all.
Spring in Atlanta was nothing like a Nebraska spring. Marie missed watching the snow melt a little more each day, spreading out into a thin layer over the grass as the puddles froze again every night until finally, the moisture all sank back into the earth. There was no gentle unfurling of tiny green leaves on trees, and no specific morning when the sun finally felt just warm enough to suggest a new season. Instead of a gentle change in season, Marie felt as if she’d been thrust directly from the doldrums of winter into early summer. Already, in the last week of April the afternoon temperatures were in the seventies and the trees around the playground sported full branches. While Marie, out of habit, still wore jeans and sweatshirts to school, many of the other children had already switched over to shorts and t-shirts. Marie was certain she would never get used to a place where shorts could be worn in April other than on a fluke kind of day.
When she arrived home that afternoon, Marie found her mother waiting on the front steps for her. As Marie crossed the yard, Mrs. Anders jumped up and began speaking excitedly. “Marie! Do you know what the day after tomorrow is?”
“Umm…Thursday?” Marie guessed. She wondered if she had forgotten her father’s birthday.
“Yes, but it’s also May first! May Day! It’s your favorite holiday, sweetie!”
Oh, May Day. Marie had forgotten something important. Every May Day for the last four years, she had decorated small baskets with pastel ribbons and filled the baskets with popcorn, chocolate, and flowers. For each close friend, she left a basket on their doorstep, knocked on their door, then ran away as quickly as her little legs could carry her. She had always escaped before the door was opened, a good thing, because if she was caught in the act, the person who caught her had to kiss her.
May Day, always Marie’s favorite holiday. But this time, when her mom announced it was time to make the baskets, Marie’s stomach dropped. There were not very many people she wanted to leave a basket for, and she wasn’t sure her parents knew that. What if they thought she was dumb for not making friends yet? So Marie followed her mother inside, deciding to go along with her so at least one of them would be happy.
The kitchen table was lined with goodies for the baskets, but something was missing. It took Marie a moment to notice the lack of baskets in the pile of candy, construction paper, glitter, and ribbons.
“Mom? Where are the baskets?” Marie asked, confused.
“Hmm well sweetie, I had some trouble finding any cheap ones down here. I could only find one kind, and they store only had four or five of them. I guess they’re just harder to find in Atlanta. But look! I bought these pink Solo cups for you to use instead! They’re clear, see, so everyone can see just what you’ve left inside for them, and the pink is perfect for spring.” Mrs. Anders held up a bag of thirty cups, a smile stretching across her lip sticked mouth.
Marie looked down. No baskets? How could she leave anyone a May Day basket with no basket? “Okay. I’ll just, um, I’ll use some glue to put glitter on the cups, and the ribbon can…tie around the tops maybe?”
“Now you’ve got it!” Mrs. Anders smiled. “I was thinking we could fill the bottoms with popcorn, then a little chocolate? No flowers this year, I’m afraid, since I haven’t had time to start up my garden yet. You get to work and I’ll be back in after awhile to check on you. Will this be enough cups or should we go buy more before you get started?”
Marie stared at the huge bag. She didn’t even know thirty people here, unless you counted all the kids who made fun of her. “I think this will be…just the right number,” she mumbled. Her mother was already in the living room.
“Great! Have fun in there, Marie!”
Marie sighed and reached for the hot glue gun. May Day cups were surely better than May Day nothings, she thought to herself. She cut a length of emerald green ribbon and lined the rim of the cup with glue, then stuck on the ribbon. Marie sat back in her chair and glanced again over the table laden with candy and craft supplies. Thirty cups? No doubt her mother expected her to fill and distribute them all. It would be a long afternoon.
—–
Marie woke up Thursday feeling sick. At school, she was quieter than normal, hoping that if she didn’t draw attention to herself, the others might forget her and would not bother her for the day. She knew her mother had called the front office for a class list with addresses so they could drop off the May Day baskets after school. She hadn’t the heart to tell her mom that she wasn’t friends with anyone in her class.
The day passed faster than Marie expected, and before she was ready, she found herself buckled into the backseat of her mother’s car, a paper grocery sack filled with pink cups of candy rattling at her feet.
The car slowed to a stop in front of a modest-sized white house with a flowering tree in the yard.
“Alright, this is Trevor’s house, Marie. Go on and drop off the basket,” Mrs. Anders said.
Marie slowly pushed open the car door and trudged up the walkway. She set the cup of candy on the ‘o’ of the Welcome mat, lifted the heavy knocker on the door and let it fall once, then ran half-heartedly to the car. Her mother pulled backward into the street just as the front door of the house opened and Trevor stepped out. He noticed the pink cup and glanced up curiously at the car idling in the street. His eyes met Marie’s and a mean grin crossed his face.
“Mom! Go!” Marie ducked below the window as her mother laughed heartily from the front seat and with agonizing deliberate slowness, put the car into drive and finally took off down the street.
The next house, Samantha’s, went about the same. It was at Matt’s house that the trouble began.
Mrs. Anders stopped at the curb in front of a small, beige colored house and Marie again dragged her feet up to the front door. Just as she reached up to knock, however, the door swung open, leaving Marie face-to-face with Matt himself. She tried to hide the pink cup behind her back, but he had already noticed.
“What are you doing, Nebraska?” he asked, a smirk on his nine-year old face.
“Nothing,” Marie mumbled, looking at the ground.
“What’s behind your back?” Before Marie could respond, Matt lunged behind her and ripped the cup out of her hand. “Cool! Thanks, Nebraska, but what’s this for?” He already had a Milky Way unwrapped and halfway in his mouth.
“It’s May Day,” Marie said, looking over his shoulder into the dark living room.
“What?”
“May first. It’s a holiday.”
“So I get candy? That’s it?” Matt squinted. He didn’t believe her.
“Yeah. Well, you’re not supposed to see me leave it. It’s a game.” Why was Marie still talking? She tried to stop herself, but it was too late. Matt had spoken to her without making fun of her, and that was all the encouragement Marie needed. “If you catch me leaving it, you’re supposed to kiss me.”
Matt stared at her, dumbfounded. “Excuse me. Kiss you?” Marie nodded timidly. Matt threw his head back and laughed. “Nebraska! That is the stupidest holiday I’ve ever heard of! You’re really dumb, you know that? I’m not kissing any girl, but especially not you!” He turned around, candy still in hand, and slammed the front door closed. Marie stared at the maroon door for a moment, then turned around and stepped off the front porch.
In the car, Mrs. Anders asked how it went. “You two were just chatting away up there, although I can’t believe you didn’t run away. What if he’d kissed you?” she teased.
“Mom…can we just go home? Please? I don’t feel like doing May Day this year,” Marie said.
Mrs. Anders glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror, noticing her bright red cheeks and watery eyes. “Sure, Marie. Are there any more baskets you really want to drop off first, though?”
Marie thought for a moment, then asked if they could stop by Rachel and Elliott’s homes. Mrs. Anders drove straight to their houses and pulled away as soon as Marie was in the car. No one even came out at either house.
At home, Mrs. Anders went inside to begin preparing dinner. Marie sat down on the back porch steps, her half-full paper sack on the ground behind her. She reached in the bag, pulled out a cup, and dumped the chocolate in her lap. Then she began throwing the popcorn across the yard. “Birds…everywhere…like…popcorn…at least,” Marie muttered, chucking a piece through the air on each word. A few crows flew off a nearby power line and began feasting on the popcorn.
“Hey, what are you wasting that for?” Marie glanced up, startled and ashamed to realize that her popcorn fit had a witness. A large man in his early sixties stood on the other side of the wire fence that surrounded her yard. Behind him was a small neighborhood of condominiums. Marie assumed he lived in one of the condos. She set down the empty pink cup and wandered over to the man.
“It’s not a waste if someone will like it,” she said, stubbornly. “The birds like it. No one else did.”
“Who doesn’t like popcorn?” asked the man, smiling.
“My classmates…and anyone in this dumb state where no one knows what May Day is,” Marie added, pouting.
“May Day? Well I’ll be….” The man trailed off. He looked down at Marie and smiled, a huge, toothy grin that turned his rough face into one of warmth and welcome. “My name is Roger. What’s yours?”
“Marie,” she replied, cautious but polite. “Do you know what May Day is?”
Roger tipped his head back, looking up into the bright green leaves of the trees overhead. “Yes, I’ve heard of it,” he said. “So you’ve been out leaving May Day baskets?”
Marie nodded. “But no one got it. They already make fun of me and now they think I’m even more dumb for leaving these stupid cups of candy on their doorsteps.”
“I’ll tell you what. Maybe you should leave one on my step,” Roger said. “I think my wife might really appreciate it.”
Marie was a little unsure, but nodded. “Maybe. I have to go in for dinner now. See you later.”
All through dinner Marie was quiet. Her parents spoke with extra enthusiasm about their own days, hoping to cheer her up. They were unaware that she had moved beyond her bad day and was thinking about Roger.
After helping clear the table, Marie went back to the porch and reached inside her paper sack for one of the many remaining cups. She walked around the outside of the backyard fence and over to the condominiums. Which one was Roger’s? She walked slowly, looking at the signs and colorful spring flags displayed in front of most of the homes. Suddenly, she noticed a Nebraska Cornhuskers flag flying proudly in front of the condominium just around the corner from her yard. A smile broke across her face. At last, something familiar in Georgia.
Marie ran to the house, set down the cup of candy, and rang the bell. She was only a few feet away in her escape when the door swung open and a woman’s voice cried out, “Stop! I see you, you May Day hoodlum, and I’ll catch you!” Marie laughed and ran faster, hearing the slap of tennis shoes on concrete as a woman ran after her. The chase continued to the edge of Marie’s yard, then the woman called, “Okay! I promise not to kiss you if I catch you! But I would like to see the nice girl who left an old couple a May Day basket.”
Marie stopped her run and turned around, then walked back to the woman. “I’m Marie,” she said, smiling shyly. She didn’t notice her parents standing in the kitchen window, smiling as they watched her meet the neighbors they had met a few days before.
“Marie, I’m Julie. It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for leaving Roger and me this May Day basket. It’s been many years since we’ve had one. No one down here seems to know the traditions of May Day, and it has always been my favorite holiday,” Julie said.
Marie grinned. “It’s my favorite, too! I tried to leave baskets for my classmates, and no one got it….”
“Marie, why don’t you come enjoy a popsicle with me on our front porch?” Julie suggested. “I bet if you’re leaving May Day baskets, you’re from Nebraska. That means we probably have a lot in common, and it’s always nice to find a familiar personality so far from home.”
Marie nodded emphatically. She followed Julie back to her home and waited outside for a popsicle. After a minute, Julie returned with three popsicles and Roger. They sat on either side of Marie and asked her questions about her life in Nebraska and what she thought of Atlanta.
When Marie finally went to bed that night, she briefly wondered what her classmates would say the next day. The thought disappeared quickly though, as she realized she didn’t really care what they thought. At least two people here understood her foreign traditions, and that gave her enough confidence to continue trying to teach her peers. Finally, she was home.
