I got the day off for Memorial Day, so I did what every self-respecting American does on this day: I hung out by my apartment complex's pool and read a book on presidential assassinations. It’s called Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell and it’s excellent. She starts out explaining how she relates her world to all the presidential assassinations, out of habit or intrigue. There were a lot of get-togethers with friends where I didn’t hear half of what was being said because I was sitting there, silently chiding myself, Don’t bring up McKinley. Don’t bring up McKinley. I thought about what I relate to my day-to-day experiences on a constant basis.
This weekend, three day weekends sometimes do this, has felt like a month. Maybe it’s because of the upcoming changes that could take place in my life, or the actual time I’ve had to sit and relax and read. My dad just called to arrange travel to LA in August. I feel like I can’t say anything because I don’t know anything yet.
A month after I graduated from college, I met my college friend and boyfriend to go backpacking through Europe for two weeks. They had both been studying abroad for the semester in England, so we met in London and headed to Paris right away. Looking back I had known all along, like most people know when things are too good to be true.
My boyfriend and I broke up in Venice. After the semester abroad things had changed. We still had a majority of the trip left so it was almost impossible to recover immediately. In fact, it would take months of not talking to each other in Boston, then our two best friends from college (one was on this trip) wedding, before we really found a place in each other’s lives again.
After a couple of tense days in Italy, finding some quiet in a couple playing the violin and cello on the streets of Florence, we headed towards Marseille on our way to Barcelona. We arrived in Marseille at the beginning of dusk, and using my newly ex-boyfriends broken French, made it to the right bus on our way to the hotel. We had made this our only hotel reservation, thinking it would be a nice break from all the people and hostels. He asked the bus driver where exactly the hotel was located and the driver kept pointing and speaking in French.
When we got off the bus he revealed that he didn’t really understand the bus driver but that maybe we should just start walking. In the tired, dusk heat we lugged our packs up the countryside hill for about an hour, back and forth. When we walked too far we doubted ourselves and turned onto another street. We hadn’t eaten anything in hours. Cars passed by us; the sun was setting and we were lost in the outskirts of the unfriendly city of Marseille. Then we finally found it.
When we got to the front steps a middle-aged Frenchman greeted us with a warm smile. He helped us into the hotel (which turned out to be more like a bed and breakfast. There were only about five rooms). He offered to drive my ex-boyfriend to a local pizza place, and they had to hurry because it was about to close. I showered while we waited, in what felt like a shower that was created just for me to use at this exact moment. It felt good to finally wash the day off.
We sat in their kitchen eating warm pizza with olives in the middle. The Frenchman’s partner, an American, was watching an Italian movie with French subtitles. He laughed and said: only in Europe. We told him about our upcoming moves to Boston and Chicago, and he told us a story about freezing on the T in mid-March. His partner cooked dinner while we talked. It was around 10 p.m. by the time we excused ourselves so they could eat their dinner alone.
Even then I knew. I knew there would be years to come before I found the peace they had found in the mountains of southern France. Before I could even begin to recapture what I felt in the mountains in Boone. What I hadn’t thought about before then was how much it would be worth it to go through everything to get there.
In the morning we swam in the pool and relaxed before our train ride down the coast of France. The Frenchman checked us out of the hotel, saying good-bye for his partner as well; he had been up late writing and was still asleep when we left. He wished us luck on our journeys, and we left: walked up the path to the road to catch the bus back into Marseille.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
some sort of noise
Sometimes, before you even know it, things just change. And you sit wondering how you got somewhere; how if years before now someone had told you this is the life you would be leading you would have laughed in their face. You still wonder.
It’s become that sticky-hot summer weather here in Charlottesville. It’s the kind of weather where you can feel the pollen crowding into your nose and face; the kind where things seem out of focus by mid-afternoon. It’s where you sometimes feel exhausted, like you are constantly moving and walking underwater. Like your body is holding its breath and all you can do is think about the moment you will come to the surface and breathe. It’s haze and soft breezes blowing through my long, white blinds. They clap together.
The fan above my bed is creepily quiet. Almost like it isn’t moving at all, just hanging in the air and pushing it so that it absorbs into the walls. I want to hear it, sputtering around above me doing its job to cool me off, but it continues its silence. Maybe I just want some sort of noise to cover up my thoughts.
I hope to never have regrets for the choices I make, but when they hurt people I care dearly about, I can feel it. Though to say we got much hope, if I am lost it's only for a little while. It’s harder when you are thinking that it’s just the beginning of the end. That you have to give back the record player you just got him for his birthday, and that even when you think caring about someone is enough, it’s a hard truth to find out it’s not. People live like this for longer, accepting graciously what has been given to them, without question. I was not born with this ability. Only with the ability to try and change, which I have been unsuccessful at doing.
I don’t understand how these things work. I only know that when my fan isn’t loud enough I will put on the record player, for the time that it is mine, stare at the empty shelves that will never carry his books, and think about what might have been, but more importantly, what is to come.
It’s become that sticky-hot summer weather here in Charlottesville. It’s the kind of weather where you can feel the pollen crowding into your nose and face; the kind where things seem out of focus by mid-afternoon. It’s where you sometimes feel exhausted, like you are constantly moving and walking underwater. Like your body is holding its breath and all you can do is think about the moment you will come to the surface and breathe. It’s haze and soft breezes blowing through my long, white blinds. They clap together.
The fan above my bed is creepily quiet. Almost like it isn’t moving at all, just hanging in the air and pushing it so that it absorbs into the walls. I want to hear it, sputtering around above me doing its job to cool me off, but it continues its silence. Maybe I just want some sort of noise to cover up my thoughts.
I hope to never have regrets for the choices I make, but when they hurt people I care dearly about, I can feel it. Though to say we got much hope, if I am lost it's only for a little while. It’s harder when you are thinking that it’s just the beginning of the end. That you have to give back the record player you just got him for his birthday, and that even when you think caring about someone is enough, it’s a hard truth to find out it’s not. People live like this for longer, accepting graciously what has been given to them, without question. I was not born with this ability. Only with the ability to try and change, which I have been unsuccessful at doing.
I don’t understand how these things work. I only know that when my fan isn’t loud enough I will put on the record player, for the time that it is mine, stare at the empty shelves that will never carry his books, and think about what might have been, but more importantly, what is to come.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
A Graveyard on a Hill in Vermont
As a child, I made a list of all the names I knew
and had ever known.
Lois and John and Howard, Gage and Maude
There were two Margaret’s and one Mildred.
After each name I paused, guilting the ink from
my half-melted black pen, hand clammy-wet,
then shaking it hard onto the bright, white page,
ink splattering like leaves, dropping slowly,
all old and brown, from having stayed on the
tree for far too long.
And then I remember Vermont, on a hill, black
metal fence caging us in the day we scrubbed
Names from charcoal and thin, chewy paper
rain falling whenever we pressed and later
hot summer sun rising and breaking through
thick clouds whenever we stopped to break.
Wondering if they wanted to be remembered
or simply left alone.
and had ever known.
Lois and John and Howard, Gage and Maude
There were two Margaret’s and one Mildred.
After each name I paused, guilting the ink from
my half-melted black pen, hand clammy-wet,
then shaking it hard onto the bright, white page,
ink splattering like leaves, dropping slowly,
all old and brown, from having stayed on the
tree for far too long.
And then I remember Vermont, on a hill, black
metal fence caging us in the day we scrubbed
Names from charcoal and thin, chewy paper
rain falling whenever we pressed and later
hot summer sun rising and breaking through
thick clouds whenever we stopped to break.
Wondering if they wanted to be remembered
or simply left alone.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Re-freakin-union 2007
There’s something about being up at 5 am on a Saturday night, drinking High Life and listening to birds waking up behind Tom Waits’ Closing Time. There’s something about hanging out with a group of college friends until the sky begins to get that black-blue-gray shade. There’s something about knowing that staying up and hanging out will make you tired the whole week but you stay up anyway, waiting for a real reason to go to sleep. Waiting for something to give.
When I feel like I’ve explored a place for long enough, I know immediately that it’s time to move on. And I’ll do anything to make that possible, because change is inevitable, so why not make things happen. What I’ve realized is that the older one gets, the harder it is to make these sudden changes. You can’t just move to Prague and start a whole new life because in this scenario Prague doesn’t even exist. Things become planted where you are and roots begin to grow without you even noticing. It takes something, like a weekend with good friends, to realize how firmly these roots are planted in. And if you even put them there.
On Saturday it was one of those crisp sunny days you would expect in September. We went to the bating cages and then the four of us hit some baseballs on a field out in Maryland. The last time I played baseball was with these guys and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
One of my friends is moving to Las Vegas at the beginning of August, another to Nashville maybe, and another is still deciding. Plans change every week and don’t even require solid plans in the end. There’s something about following your instincts that is inevitable in these situations, but sometimes it seems impossible. Because it costs too much money or there isn’t a job set up. Sometimes I wonder how anyone makes any decisions at all because we create so many barriers.
Is it something about me? Or is it everything? Would you change a few pieces? Or forget the whole thing? ‘Cause there’s something about you, keeps me coming back. I know things will be fine. Fall into line. You’ll still be mine. -Caitlin Cary & Thad Cockrell
I always feel like no matter where you go, you keep circling back. That things never really change, only recycle. But something was different about this weekend in a way that I can’t explain. There was an uncomfortable change that had occurred, while we were all living in our separate cities. I only really felt it as I got ready to leave to drive back to Charlottesville. Where you are sitting around wanting to talk about something important, but you are too tired to really start that conversation. And time just passes by until it’s getting to be dusk. The sun was a huge, orange circle that settled over the Virginia mountains as I drove out of D.C. I was not really feeling like I’d left anything behind. My toothbrush and face lotion were packed in a bag in the trunk of my car. I just listened to Caitlin Cary and Thad Cockrell as I drove back to Charlottesville, my mind filled with disappointment and exhaustion.
When I feel like I’ve explored a place for long enough, I know immediately that it’s time to move on. And I’ll do anything to make that possible, because change is inevitable, so why not make things happen. What I’ve realized is that the older one gets, the harder it is to make these sudden changes. You can’t just move to Prague and start a whole new life because in this scenario Prague doesn’t even exist. Things become planted where you are and roots begin to grow without you even noticing. It takes something, like a weekend with good friends, to realize how firmly these roots are planted in. And if you even put them there.
On Saturday it was one of those crisp sunny days you would expect in September. We went to the bating cages and then the four of us hit some baseballs on a field out in Maryland. The last time I played baseball was with these guys and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
One of my friends is moving to Las Vegas at the beginning of August, another to Nashville maybe, and another is still deciding. Plans change every week and don’t even require solid plans in the end. There’s something about following your instincts that is inevitable in these situations, but sometimes it seems impossible. Because it costs too much money or there isn’t a job set up. Sometimes I wonder how anyone makes any decisions at all because we create so many barriers.
Is it something about me? Or is it everything? Would you change a few pieces? Or forget the whole thing? ‘Cause there’s something about you, keeps me coming back. I know things will be fine. Fall into line. You’ll still be mine. -Caitlin Cary & Thad Cockrell
I always feel like no matter where you go, you keep circling back. That things never really change, only recycle. But something was different about this weekend in a way that I can’t explain. There was an uncomfortable change that had occurred, while we were all living in our separate cities. I only really felt it as I got ready to leave to drive back to Charlottesville. Where you are sitting around wanting to talk about something important, but you are too tired to really start that conversation. And time just passes by until it’s getting to be dusk. The sun was a huge, orange circle that settled over the Virginia mountains as I drove out of D.C. I was not really feeling like I’d left anything behind. My toothbrush and face lotion were packed in a bag in the trunk of my car. I just listened to Caitlin Cary and Thad Cockrell as I drove back to Charlottesville, my mind filled with disappointment and exhaustion.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Sick Day
The day before my ninth birthday I had my appendix taken out. I don’t really remember the pain or the flowers, just little things like my best friend visiting and sitting on my hospital bed and lifting it up way off the ground and then back down. And my brother walking our dog below my high-up window, me waiving down to it as she just jumped and looked around at the ground for a treat. And my mom, staying by my side and sleeping uncomfortably next to me so that I wouldn’t get scared. As a sick child, you don’t really remember the urgency of those around you, just the thoughts of wishing things would get better and knowing that at some point you will be able to go home.
There were many occasions when I tried to fake a sickness so that I didn’t have to go to school that day. When really all I needed was a break from it all, my mom saw it as one more day that I would be behind in school. That I had to keep up with things in order to be successful later on in life. So each time I take a sick day I always feel this pang of guilt that I really could go in to work and get something done. That life doesn’t stop moving even if your body forces you to.
Whenever I get sick I always try to deny it, then I get really angry like something is getting in the way of me. And I assume that things will settle down and if I drink enough water it will go away. After being sick for a week I finally gave in and went to the doctor for help. I had a cold which turned into a sinus infection. I stayed at home and watched movies and slept all day. Just like any other sick day it forced me to really sit back and take a look at my life. I was unable to relax and try to get better because growing up I never really thought that was necessary. Because if you wait long enough, anything will fix itself.
One summer, two of my best friends and I were shopping in a consignment store in downtown Leesburg. Everything was going fine; we were typical middle schoolers trying to waste away the summer time in a growing but small town. I remember feeling this surge of energy, and instead of turning to my friends to talk about it, I just left. Without telling them anything. And I walked back to my house. I really don’t know why I didn’t want to be standing there anymore, in that thrift store, with my two best friends. I just couldn’t shake this feeling that nothing made sense anymore. That without school and other obligations that tied me down I would just drift away.
Recently, my dad also had his appendix out. He called me the day after his surgery to apologize for not being more empathetic of my pain when I was sick in third grade. How he wished he had been more understanding and that he loved me. The funny part is I don’t really remember not feeling supported during my trip to the hospital. I just remember how he carried me into the emergency room after fainting in the bathroom.
All day I’ve been looking up cities like Asheville and Missoula thinking I could just pack my bags and leave Charlottesville. That there are more exciting and peaceful places in the world that I’m missing out on by staying in a commitment. That there’s no use in dreaming anymore because people never really make decisions based on what they really want. They just wait things out until the next thing comes up, hoping to find some sort of peace with where they are at the present moment. This has never been good enough for me and it eats at me each day. I feel like I’m waiting for the moment when I will get up and walk out, without telling anyone.
There were many occasions when I tried to fake a sickness so that I didn’t have to go to school that day. When really all I needed was a break from it all, my mom saw it as one more day that I would be behind in school. That I had to keep up with things in order to be successful later on in life. So each time I take a sick day I always feel this pang of guilt that I really could go in to work and get something done. That life doesn’t stop moving even if your body forces you to.
Whenever I get sick I always try to deny it, then I get really angry like something is getting in the way of me. And I assume that things will settle down and if I drink enough water it will go away. After being sick for a week I finally gave in and went to the doctor for help. I had a cold which turned into a sinus infection. I stayed at home and watched movies and slept all day. Just like any other sick day it forced me to really sit back and take a look at my life. I was unable to relax and try to get better because growing up I never really thought that was necessary. Because if you wait long enough, anything will fix itself.
One summer, two of my best friends and I were shopping in a consignment store in downtown Leesburg. Everything was going fine; we were typical middle schoolers trying to waste away the summer time in a growing but small town. I remember feeling this surge of energy, and instead of turning to my friends to talk about it, I just left. Without telling them anything. And I walked back to my house. I really don’t know why I didn’t want to be standing there anymore, in that thrift store, with my two best friends. I just couldn’t shake this feeling that nothing made sense anymore. That without school and other obligations that tied me down I would just drift away.
Recently, my dad also had his appendix out. He called me the day after his surgery to apologize for not being more empathetic of my pain when I was sick in third grade. How he wished he had been more understanding and that he loved me. The funny part is I don’t really remember not feeling supported during my trip to the hospital. I just remember how he carried me into the emergency room after fainting in the bathroom.
All day I’ve been looking up cities like Asheville and Missoula thinking I could just pack my bags and leave Charlottesville. That there are more exciting and peaceful places in the world that I’m missing out on by staying in a commitment. That there’s no use in dreaming anymore because people never really make decisions based on what they really want. They just wait things out until the next thing comes up, hoping to find some sort of peace with where they are at the present moment. This has never been good enough for me and it eats at me each day. I feel like I’m waiting for the moment when I will get up and walk out, without telling anyone.
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