To: Laurie
From: Charlie
Re: Anniversary of Graduation
It is the last night before they graduate; the house has become a bizarre composite of bright eyed adults dancing and soon to be graduated students wandering, a little shell shocked, through the rooms. My cousin and I are waiting for the second table to be set up, and I shamelessly listen to the earnest conversation going on next to me. It's not, the girl is explaining seriously, that I know what I want. I just know what I don't want.
Oh sweetheart, I think, as I help wrestle the table on top of the air hockey setup, you'll be so more than okay. You're already well on your way to figuring this shit out if you know what you don't want.
Later, another girl brushes by me to scoot up next to my cousin. She looks upset.
I don't want to graduate, she tells him as she clutches her solo cup a little too tightly. Her boyfriend is hovering next to me, with the half embarrassed, half resigned look that tells me my cousin is not the first person she has approached like this.
Aw, we'll be okay, he says reassuringly, and pats her on the shoulder. Her chin does that wobbly thing that only happens when you're trying not to cry, and he notices.
Come on now, he says gruffly, don't cry.
She does anyway, and he enfolds her into a rough hug, and rocks her a little, with his cheek resting on the top of her head. We'll be okay, he says over and over, until she hiccups and says, I didn't even cry at a funeral, why am I crying now?
I didn't say anything, but I couldn't stop thinking about the two different girls all through the night, and the gabajillion hours it took for everyone to filter into the stadium the next morning.
I wasn't upset when I left college. I remember being bewildered by my lack of sentimentality, particularly since as a general rule I tend towards maudlin. But it felt like a natural progression, and, despite the crushing awfulness of getting that terrible job rejection the morning of graduation, it felt right to cede my place on the hill to next year's class.
And anyway, I had already said my goodbyes to the school, in the weeks of finals, when I would lock myself in the oldest parts of the school, and spread my books around me under the eaves, and I would leave smelling like old books and filled with an odd, all encompasing affection for everything, but particularly the school.
When I was a freshman and miserable and wanted to transfer, I only called my parents just to hear their voices once. It was a late weekday afternoon, probably around five, I remember the thick yellow light that comes right before it sets, with people wandering all over campus, so when my father answered and my voice disappeared and I started to cry, I had to tuck myself under the old lilac bush that grows next to the library so no one would see me. There are old columns that terrace the hill the library’s built into, and when you sit on them you’re completely hidden from everyone walking by, with the added bonus of an amazing view of the hill and the city beneath it.
Four years later, coming out of the library after it closed, and before I went back to the eaves, I crawled back into those bushes and onto the little columns and spent a good hour, just breathing in and looking at the orange city lights (and I’ll say now I was realizing that it was time to move on and begin Life After College, but to be honest, I probably wasn’t thinking of much of anything besides 'thank god that's done' or 'only ten more pages').
Despite my Zen attitude towards leaving, when I first got out of school, I sort of lost myself. Theoretically, I could do anything I wanted, which was the problem since just about everything interested me. Except that paralyzed me and besides, I wasn't feeling so hot on account of going through seven rounds of intense interviewing and getting rejected at the end while someone else from school got the job instead.
And I took some time off, and I realized all the stress I was feeling –panic along the lines of: NEED TO GET A JOB, NEED TO KNOW WHAT I AM DOING, WHAT DO I WANT, THE REST OF MY LIFE NEEDS TO BE ORDERED RIGHT NOW, HOW CAN I DO THIS, HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE GETTING MARRIED I CAN'T GET MARRIED, EVERYONE HAS A JOB AND THEY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING WITH THEIR ENTIRE LIFE AND I DON'T – was all in my head. Granted, with my ups and downs, it's taken me practically a year before I managed to get myself sorted into anything resembling alright, but it's been kind of exciting.
I'm not going to lie, the real world kind of sucks. You can't blow off work because you had a late one the night before (and while I'll admit I haven't blown class since sophmore year, there was always the possibility), and everything costs so much and work sucks pretty much the whole day from five to seven out of you and meeting people is hard and they're different and play by different rules you don't know and there's not a lot of buffer space between you, your actions and the consequences. You're tired all the time and there's no summer break and Mondays will always be Mondays and it's awfully hard to find someone to pick apart the newest news about the findings on the Dead Sea Scrolls without people thinking you're some sort of fundamentalist, or dissassemble this book or that book intellegently.
But for all the reasons it sucks, the real world is also kind of awesome. You're finally out there and you have the opportunity to learn things and see their application in real time, rather than just academically. There's new people to meet and so many things you can do -- you're not stuck in one place, and going to the same places over and over again -- you can finally dress up in the clothes you have and no one's going to think you're overdressed, and there are so many opportunities if you just look and are open to them.
And I still don't know what I want, not really. I want everything, and some days that overwhelms me. But more and more I know what I don't want. That's the best place to start. And I'm beginning to find out definitely some things that I do, and what is really important and which things are both
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
all men have secrets
To: Laurie
From: Charlie
Re: Four Snapshots of Life At Home
1.
I like being under the covers with my sister, with my cold feet curled up under her hot knees, and her hands tucked under my head. Most nights there isn't much talking - we're too tired -- but some nights she'll ask a question that's a lead in to a much bigger issue. Take last night:
I wonder what so and so's doing now, she muses.
(So and so is one of her favorite topics of discussion. He made seventh grade sort of miserable for me and I don't know why we couldn't get along at all. He was one of those incredibly cool kids who had most people either hating him or wishing he would like them, or both, because he was mean and funny and quick. I think he was a jerk to me a couple of times, and instead of scrambling to make him like me, I didn't hide my distaste for him. For the longest time, he was the only person I would get in fights with, and the reason I learned to raise one eyebrow.)
Probably being some hobo, she continues in a satisfied tone, shifting in bed until the pillows are right where she wants them.
I wouldn't want that, I interject mildly.
Which then leads to a talk about how people can change and, speaking of jerks, there's this one kid at school making her life miserable sometimes and suddenly it's clear why we're talking about so and so.
2.
It’s been a good day, but a long one. By eight, I am sprawled on the bottom half of the couch, barely staying awake. I’ve finally, finally gotten into the book that I’m reading, mostly through sheer bloody mindedness because when do I ever have a hard time getting through a book?, so I read a chapter of that before I really start to drop off.
Except, my phone rings. There’s a stupid little flutter in my stomach I can’t squash, even though I know it’s probably just Caleb calling to say hi.
I knew it wasn’t going to be him, but it’s not Caleb either. It’s my sister.
She is down the hall, and her voice is soft, snuffly.
Can you come in, she asks.
I don’t answer, putting the phone down instead, and creep down the hall into her room.
I slide in; her shifting is the only acknowledgment. She is buried under the covers and her head is turned away from me, towards the wall. This isn’t like her. I wait, quietly, and turn gently so I am on my stomach and our legs are twisted together. She is hot. I begin to worry.
What, she begins and then stops. She tries again.
What happens to us after we die? Science says- and her voice is still sticky from the scared tears she won’t show me, but the words come faster now- science says we’re just made up of atoms and particles and when we die we break down into just atoms and particles again.
I take a breath, unsure. This is a little harder than when someone’s making fun of her at school. She interrupts before I manage to get myself together or say anything.
There’s no proof of anything, she says miserably, and – and –I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to be without Mum and Daddy and you-
When her voice breaks, I recognize the same terror of the unknown future as the one that used to keep me up at night and I know what I need to say.
Even though I normally leave once her breathing becomes regular – she’s a terrible kicker and she has exams tomorrow morning – this time I don’t leave. Especially not after Mum comes in and tells me, with unusual gentleness, to get into my own bed; under the hot covers my sister clutches at my arm with sharp desperation.
We spend the night leaning against each other, her body tucked safely against my side.
3.
The manager who sometimes works behind the coffee counter starts chatting with my dad, as he's ringing up the afternoon coffee.
Man, you're awesome! he says to my dad. Walking around all the time with beautiful women!
There is a pause.
That's my daughter, Dad says finally.
4.
Coming in from dinner with Scott, I creep into my sister’s room. She is asleep, and I will be too, soon. Compared to the hours I used to keep, it is hardly late at all, but times are changing and I am tired. She has kicked off all of her blankets, again, until there is only a corner of one hanging over her foot. The rest are on the ground. I shake them out one by one and lay them over her, until she is covered, and tuck the snoring little dog in next to her. Leaning down to kiss her forehead, I whisper what I always whisper, and instead of rolling over or sleepily responding, she puts her arms up for me to hold her, a sign that’s been the same since before she could talk. I take off my shoes and slip quietly under the covers. Uncharacteristically, she throws one leg over me and clings with both arms to mine, and buries her head into the space between my chest and my shoulder. She does not let go.
From: Charlie
Re: Four Snapshots of Life At Home
1.
I like being under the covers with my sister, with my cold feet curled up under her hot knees, and her hands tucked under my head. Most nights there isn't much talking - we're too tired -- but some nights she'll ask a question that's a lead in to a much bigger issue. Take last night:
I wonder what so and so's doing now, she muses.
(So and so is one of her favorite topics of discussion. He made seventh grade sort of miserable for me and I don't know why we couldn't get along at all. He was one of those incredibly cool kids who had most people either hating him or wishing he would like them, or both, because he was mean and funny and quick. I think he was a jerk to me a couple of times, and instead of scrambling to make him like me, I didn't hide my distaste for him. For the longest time, he was the only person I would get in fights with, and the reason I learned to raise one eyebrow.)
Probably being some hobo, she continues in a satisfied tone, shifting in bed until the pillows are right where she wants them.
I wouldn't want that, I interject mildly.
Which then leads to a talk about how people can change and, speaking of jerks, there's this one kid at school making her life miserable sometimes and suddenly it's clear why we're talking about so and so.
2.
It’s been a good day, but a long one. By eight, I am sprawled on the bottom half of the couch, barely staying awake. I’ve finally, finally gotten into the book that I’m reading, mostly through sheer bloody mindedness because when do I ever have a hard time getting through a book?, so I read a chapter of that before I really start to drop off.
Except, my phone rings. There’s a stupid little flutter in my stomach I can’t squash, even though I know it’s probably just Caleb calling to say hi.
I knew it wasn’t going to be him, but it’s not Caleb either. It’s my sister.
She is down the hall, and her voice is soft, snuffly.
Can you come in, she asks.
I don’t answer, putting the phone down instead, and creep down the hall into her room.
I slide in; her shifting is the only acknowledgment. She is buried under the covers and her head is turned away from me, towards the wall. This isn’t like her. I wait, quietly, and turn gently so I am on my stomach and our legs are twisted together. She is hot. I begin to worry.
What, she begins and then stops. She tries again.
What happens to us after we die? Science says- and her voice is still sticky from the scared tears she won’t show me, but the words come faster now- science says we’re just made up of atoms and particles and when we die we break down into just atoms and particles again.
I take a breath, unsure. This is a little harder than when someone’s making fun of her at school. She interrupts before I manage to get myself together or say anything.
There’s no proof of anything, she says miserably, and – and –I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to be without Mum and Daddy and you-
When her voice breaks, I recognize the same terror of the unknown future as the one that used to keep me up at night and I know what I need to say.
Even though I normally leave once her breathing becomes regular – she’s a terrible kicker and she has exams tomorrow morning – this time I don’t leave. Especially not after Mum comes in and tells me, with unusual gentleness, to get into my own bed; under the hot covers my sister clutches at my arm with sharp desperation.
We spend the night leaning against each other, her body tucked safely against my side.
3.
The manager who sometimes works behind the coffee counter starts chatting with my dad, as he's ringing up the afternoon coffee.
Man, you're awesome! he says to my dad. Walking around all the time with beautiful women!
There is a pause.
That's my daughter, Dad says finally.
4.
Coming in from dinner with Scott, I creep into my sister’s room. She is asleep, and I will be too, soon. Compared to the hours I used to keep, it is hardly late at all, but times are changing and I am tired. She has kicked off all of her blankets, again, until there is only a corner of one hanging over her foot. The rest are on the ground. I shake them out one by one and lay them over her, until she is covered, and tuck the snoring little dog in next to her. Leaning down to kiss her forehead, I whisper what I always whisper, and instead of rolling over or sleepily responding, she puts her arms up for me to hold her, a sign that’s been the same since before she could talk. I take off my shoes and slip quietly under the covers. Uncharacteristically, she throws one leg over me and clings with both arms to mine, and buries her head into the space between my chest and my shoulder. She does not let go.
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