The Blog of CRO

The Power of Kindness - A Fairy Tale

2009-09-09T13:38:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, but still extremely foreign to all noble readers, there lived a terrible, nasty, vile, bitter, mean, and evil queen. She called herself Queen Trasu, but the people called her Queen Trashrew. This made her so angry that she ordered every shrew in the kingdom killed, which made both the squirrels and the worms very, very happy.

No one quite remembered how the queen had come to be crowned queen, but everyone was fairly certain that her ascension to power was not committed fairly. A few scholars had attempted to trace Trasu's lineage to determine that she was the rightful queen, but when they rooted her family tree in a cottage that smelled of manure and unwashed clothes, she had them banished to the castle dungeons and all books of history burnt, which did not make either the squirrels or the worms particularly happy.

About thirty years after Trasu had killed all of the shrews because of the negative connotations that their names inspired in her people, she was stricken with a terrible cough. While trying to deliver her morning dictate (which always opened with "I am Queen Trasu, and you are my subjects!") from the top of the castle to the courtyard, she began to cough so loudly and uproariously that those listening started to laugh. "Off with their heads!" She attempted to shout imperiously, but instead only managed to emit a melodramatic wheeze/cough/choke. This caused the people to laugh even louder, so, after a vicious glare that none could see since she was too far away, she swirled and retreated into her castle.

In her room, where she was followed by five of her closest and most trusted attendants (which fluctuated weekly, subject to her flippant notions of trustworthiness and her need to demonstrate what happened to traitors [they were sent to the dungeons]), Trasu climbed the ornate wooden ladder at her bedside and fell both heavily and with flair from the top of it into her bed, which was taller than most of the houses in the kingdom.

From the floor, her attendants nervously exchanged glances as they listened to her cough, cough, and cough from the bed above. "What shall we do?!" One small, rotund man asked nervously. He had been an attendant for nearly three weeks and was certain that his future in the dungeons would come at any time. When he said this he hopped into the air and grabbed onto his silly brown hat with both sweaty hands.

"What we do," began a new attendant, a large, ornery woman who would have been well served by the existence of the word shrew, "is get a doctor." Her statement was so simple and matter-of-fact that the other four should have immediately scurried off and found a doctor, but, by the way she was poised like an overripe fruit just waiting to drop from the tree, the others (rightly) assumed that she had more to say.

"... a doctor," she continued from her previously punctuated sentence, "that will help us kill the queen!"

Her words were immediately followed by a cough from above, a squeak from below (from the rotund attendant), and a thud as the only other female attendant, a young, skinny blond, passed out on the floor. The remaining four attendants stared at one another, silently, and nodded. They then dragged the young girl to one of the queen's thirty-seven wardrobes and stuffed in her in it, where she remained unconscious until the day was over.

In a flurry of activity that proved these four had the right to be called attendants, they quickly rushed across the city and each collected a doctor whom they expected could perform the job. Two of the medical men were rough and scary, unkempt and unclean, and had earned their disreputable reputations in the slums by the river. They were summarily dismissed under the assumption that the queen, sick as she was, would never be dumb enough to let either close enough to poison her.

Of the two remaining doctors, one was wicked and evil, as evidenced by his greasy hair and one wooden tooth. He was, however, well-dressed and boasted an array of flashy equipment that would make any queen's eyes sparkle and heart flutter in momentary trust. The other doctor was soft spoken, quiet, and young, and had only a modest bag of medicines and antiquated tools. He often administered medical care to others for free, so of late he had been forced to support himself by scrubbing the queen's dungeons at nighttime, spending the mornings scraping the filth and bile from his arms and legs, barely having time to sleep before he continued on with a day of goodwill.

At this point in time, a reader may assume that this good doctor would never have it within his heart to kill another, no matter how terrible, nasty, vile, bitter, mean, and evil she was. However, this young doctor had once been married to a young girl of unparalleled beauty and potential. They had been happy together, and many of the young wife's days had been spent happily assisting her husband in his missions of medicinal charity. One day, the young woman discovered she was pregnant. The couple was very happy and picked out dozens of lovely names for the future child, but, unfortunately, this young couple had already used up all of their happiness in the world.

On her designated day to listen to the queen's daily dictate (every citizen of the nation had assigned days to listen to the queen; those in the city were required to attend three dictates a week, whereas those outside of the city only attended one every two weeks), the young woman was forced to stand three hours in the winter morning, waiting in the courtyard for the queen to appear (rumor had it that on this particular morning the queen disliked her breakfast and insisted on a new pig being found, killed, and cooked before continuing on with her address to the crowd). It began to rain, and, as is to be expected, the pregnant young wife caught a terrible cold. She made it home to her husband that day, but, despite his inimitable skills as a doctor, she died the next morning.

The young man was not seen for nearly a month, except when he left the house to bury his wife. He even refused to attend the queen's dictate on his assigned days, but the summoner was an old friend of the man's sister and managed to cover up the doctor's lack of attendance. Indeed, the young man had never been to another dictate again, even though his wife had died nearly three years ago. Everyone knew that he had a perfect right to hate the queen, and all assumed that he did (the fact that he cleaned her dungeons was ignored on the grounds that he secretly provided medicine to the hundreds of poor souls unfairly trapped in the castle's deep recesses).

The four attendants formed a tight line, and, arms crossed, surveyed the two potential heroes of the nation. They murmured back and forth, pointing first to one, then another, their quiet whispers just low enough for the queen, still coughing loudly, not to hear. Finally, as if with much trepidation, the large female attendant stepped forward and pointed at the greasy doctor. "You," she said, "will attend to her."

With a smile that would have made a cowslip shudder, the greasy doctor took his large bag of instruments and bottles and began the arduous climb up to the queen's bed. The four attendants grasped one another's hand and shuffled into a half-ring around the ladder's bottom, eyes growing wider and wider with each step the doctor took. Finally, he reached the apex and stepped out on the small gangplank that sat over the bed.

"Dear Sweet Almighty and Beautiful Queen of our Land," he said, with a barely-disguised sneer, "how may I attend you?"

The queen rolled over in her bed and looked up at the doctor from watery eyes. "I FEEL BADLY!" She shouted. The doctor nodded and made a motherly noise, slowly opening his bag and drawing a square bottle full of dark purple liquid out. "I know just the trick to ease your pain," he nodded, popping the cork off of the small bottle with a flourish.

Looking at the greasy man with no small measure of distaste, the queen coughed. "Get me some wine to mix it in," she commanded with a wave of her multi-ringed hand and rolled over again, facing away from the doctor. He grumbled under his breath and turned about on the walkway, shuffling carelessly back to the ladder.

As he stepped on the first rung, his foot slipped and he fell to the ground below, where he died. Oddly enough, he did not slip because his foot was greasy; it was merely bad foot placement.

The queen ignored the disturbance and one of the attendants rushed through the bedroom door and through a maze of corridors until he caught up with the young doctor who was gravely walking down an enormous flight of stairs. "Come back, please!" The attendant shouted, waving his hands wildly despite the fact that he was a mere four steps behind the doctor.

Without a word, the young doctor turned and led the way back to the queen's room. Again, wordlessly, he stepped over the greasy doctor's body and carefully climbed the ladder. At the top, he picked up the other man's bag, stuffed the bottle of poison in it (after putting the cork back in the bottle), and lightly tossed it over his shoulder to the floor below where its contents shattered.

The young doctor still had not said a word, and did not intend to begin now. He pulled a bottle out of his bag that was nearly empty, save for a few small drops of a pale orange syrup. He then pulled out another, which was missing only one small spoonful of its dark purple, watery liquid. He crawled out onto the wooden plank and sat, letting his legs dangle over the queen's prostrate body, which moved only when a cough dictated it. He picked up both bottles, one in each hand, and quietly observed each.

Finally, he took a bottle and opened it, cautiously pouring only the slightest amount onto a large wooden spoon he had produced from his bag. Recorking the chosen bottle and replacing both bottles within the bag, he readjusted himself so that he was kneeling upon the wooden plank and coughed ever so slightly. The queen, as if she had received an enormous disturbance, immediately rolled over and sat up, staring straight at the doctor.

"You look different," she said and stood up, snatching the spoon out of the young doctor's hand and licking it clean. "It also doesn't taste like wine," she said before collapsing back onto the bed. The doctor put the spoon back in his bag and slowly backed down the ladder, careful to place each foot on each rung and not to fall.

At the bottom of the ladder, the attendants eagerly crowded around him, whispering variations of the phrase "did you do it?" He waited a full four minutes before they finally silenced themselves, then, with a huge breath, made his announcement:

"No."

His words were immediately followed by a cough from above, a squeak from below (from the rotund attendant), and a thud as the young skinny blond female attendant rolled deeper in the wardrobe. Before allowing the attendants to speak, he continued. "I believe that kindness, not poison, is the best cure not only for this queen, but for this country." He smartly clicked his worn heels, spun around and marched out of the room.

"ATTEND ME!" The queen shouted from the bedtop, her cough fully gone already. The woman attendant, face pale and eyes sad, climbed the ladder, her mind full of resentment. At the top, she knelt on the wood and bowed her head at the queen.

"Who was that doctor?" Trasu asked, sitting up in the bed and arranging her many pillows behind her back. "I've never had anything that cured me so quickly."

The attendant trembled. Her queen had never appeared so positive ever before in all of her reign; kindness truly had cured her. "I do not know his name, dear queen, but he gave you naught but kindness!" The attendant was crying now, completely overcome with guilt for her attempted murder and simultaneous stupidity for not attempting the best cure of all.

Her crying was abruptly cut short as the queen slapped her across her face. "Shut your blubbering mouth, you whale," Trasu announced, then, with a vicious shove, pushed the attendant down the ladder where she fell on top of the greasy doctor and also died.

The other three attendants never again made any attempt at poisoning the queen, and all three were thrown in the dungeon within a week. A few days later, the young doctor caught a cold while cleaning the dungeons and died within two nights. The queen continued her reign of terror for a few months more until, one day, she found a body in her wardrobe and caught such a fright that it stopped her heart.

THE END

Well, My Gift Works [FICTION: Short Story]

2009-08-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

Once again I broke down the dam of self-control and let the flood of temptation wash my feeble resolve away. I watched her float in the violent waves, tossed back and forth, under and up again, like a broken body. The worst part about the entire affair was that I did not really need it, or even want it. I was merely tempted to see if it was still an option.

I remember that day well - it has been about five or six years, now - when I used it every day without even the hint of a hitch, then woke up one morning, only to discover that my gift was gone. I had never been so fearful before. I forgot to call the office (and received a stern written warning for it) and spent the entire morning running out of ink, snapping off pencil heads against unconcerned paper, desperately trying to make it work, trying to reforge a link with the world. Two days later, in an all-too-common fit of insomnia, sitting and calmly listening to Bach, the gift resumed. I have no explanation for it.

I don't even know what to call it; "gift" is the word that comes easiest to my lips, but I have called it a "curse" many times as well. I don't know how it works, and I probably never will. Could it be like one of those items that wears down with overuse, giving only a certain amount up before dying off forever? Could it be something that needs to be utilized from time to time in order for it to keep working (like a car battery, which can't be left for months and then be expected to run without problem)? I don't know. I have never understood it, and truly there is not a single person I could ask about who would be able to help me. Yes, people know about it, but no one knows it.

I have a list of those who know, written in careful calligraphy in a gorgeous, ornate book that I treasure dearly. I made an attempt to write the list myself, hoping that since I was rudimentary (at best) when it came to calligraphy, that my gift wouldn't notice the fact that my hand was moving, and would instead let me write. It noticed.

I threw away the $25 book, inscribed with a short paragraph of my former boss' paralytic thoughts, and bought an even more expensive book. I paid a little fee for an old friend of my mother's to fill out the book for me, which ended up working out even better than I had originally hoped, since her calligraphy was striking. Another benefit was that she accepted ludicrously simple excuses to explain why I wanted an expensive book filled out with just one name on each square page.
"It's people that I've promised could be in my wedding," I confided to her in a near-whisper, handing her the typed list of eleven names and settling onto her thick armchair that smelled of butterscotch and cat hair. She murmured joyful surprise at the word 'marriage' and discussed marriageable girls who used to babysit her children for the next half hour while she carefully copied my list of names.

I am often burdened by the lack of knowledge about my gift. Does it still work, nearly a year after I have neglected to use it?

It is in times of doubt such as this when I consult "the book," as I have come to call it. I use the tiny painted key that oftentimes sits lonely in the bottom of a handmade pottery vase that serves as a bookend on my living room bookshelf to unlock the drawer on my metal desk in the office. That drawer contains a few things of import that I rarely need at a moment's notice: a few contracts, such as my loan papers; the checkbook from my savings account; a beaded handbag from Mexico, which holds secret treasures of its own. I used to keep my cigarettes in this drawer, but once I became a bona fide "smoker," I had to move them to a kitchen drawer instead. One of the items in the handbag, snugly resting between thin pieces of foil, is another key.
After locking the drawer and returning the painted key to its pottery home, I take the second to my master bathroom. Under the sink, buried beneath a jumbled plateau of mellow-colored towels, is a small safe. It's reminiscent of hotel room safes with its easy finger-pushing combination, but it's rather smaller and nearly unnoticeable without intense probing. This safe houses the more important items to my life: my passport and my will are two examples. Also in this safe is the final key, carefully wrapped in crumpled, powder blue tissue paper. That paper has another story of its own; perhaps I shall tell it at some point.
This final key also has a story of its own: the second month after I had lived in this house, I paid a relatively decent sum for a man - not a crew, just a man - to install a safe in my closet. It was once a huge walk-in closet, and, indeed, I can easily walk in it still, but he managed to take up a good two or three feet installing the safe and sliding wall. Behind my dusty, rarely used suit coats I insert the key into a small lock at the top right corner of the left wall. This causes the entire wall to unlatch and slide on a groove down to the floor. As may well be guessed, this sliding wall would be easily visible to the casual observer. My dear hire constructed a thick shelf that he braced against the real walls, so that it covers the distinction between the original back wall and the fake one. Instead of being built directly into the wall, it hangs back just enough so that the fake wall panel slides easily to the ground without catching. The gap between the shelf and the wall used to annoy me, so I moved my belts from the shelf to another and corrected the problem; shoes fall between cracks far less commonly than belts do.

Behind the panel is a real safe. It cost me a tiny fortune, but, at the time, I had such available to spend. I refused to get a digital lock, however; this lock requires minute turns and intense concentration to open, which my mind prefers but which my sweaty fingers hate. On the very bottom of the safe is a manila envelope, its clasp long broken. On top of it rests the desired book, never dusty. Piled above are dozens of spiral-bound notebooks, some filled, some empty. Thrown haphazardly within is a bank bag from my old bank in California. Inside of the bag is an assortment of pens, pencils and markers: every writing utensil in the house.

I take every last item to my bed, quietly, almost reverently. First, I always open the manila envelope and slide the birth certificate out. Its corners are crumpled, and it is stained with grief. It does not make me cry anymore; the fact that it does not make me cry often makes me weep instead. Sometimes I flip through the notebooks that are written in; oftentimes I ignore them.
The book is well used. Its spine is worn and cracked, the corners of the pages crumpled and creased over. On each large, square page is written only one name in the old woman's artistic scroll; only nine pages are written upon.

My normal method is to take a click pen in my left hand, feeling the once-familiar grip of the small lover. It never takes long to get back in the habit of absentmindedly clicking it in and out, over and over. I take the book, either on my lap, or lay it on the bed in front of me, and slowly, painstakingly turn each page, letting my right hand carefully trace each and every ornate letter. There is no real reason to read the book, since I have easily memorized the names ages ago. I suppose it is comforting. Everyone in the book knows of my gift, and know it to be true; no one in the book knows enough to help me.

Last night I sat on my bed, cross-legged, the book open in my lap, a blue ink pen in my left hand. I came to the last name, carefully traced it with my index finger, and turned the page. Blankness. Except for the beautiful borders of flowers and Greek columns, the page was empty. I was suddenly struck with how helpless I was in this. There was no one who could help me - no one.

I dashed from the bed and ran down the hallway to the office. Evan sat in my ripped leather chair, fully awake and eyeballing my actions with judicious suspicion. Even in my quick flash of weakness - or strength, as one could see it - I had decided that the notebooks from my safe would not be profaned with such an act. Instead, I snatched a few blank white pages from my printer and slammed them onto my metal work desk.
"Who, who, who?" I said aloud, scouring my brain for the exact right person. My forehead was already covered with a thin layer of sweat, my fingers already trembling with some sick combination of anticipation and dread. With a sudden shock of inspiration I dropped the pen and paper and ran headlong to the kitchen - hilariously enough, in times such as these I find walking completely inadequate; indeed, on one late-night sojourn into the world of my gift I came around the corner of the hallway into my living room too fast, directly into an end table that deposited a glass vase on the hardwood floor and into a million pieces. I did not use my gift that night, though I did use my broom.

In the kitchen my refrigerator sat alone, humming quietly to herself. I invaded her, wrenching open the door with unbridled passion. Among the containers of leftover food that I would never eat, small bottles of expensive juice, and cans of light beer was a bottle of orange soda. I did not drink the stuff, but my nephew loved it and he is going to spend this weekend with me, so I bought it in anticipation of his visit. However, it was an object that I could use to remind myself of who I wanted to write about, so I took it from the refrigerator and jogged it back to the office.

Evan had left the chair, and the room, presumably because he knew I would want it to myself. I rolled the chair up to the desk as I sat in it, arranged my papers on the desk, took the pen in my right hand, and lightly brushed the side of the soda bottle with my left. "I am scared," I thought aloud, and, putting pen to paper, attempted to write it. I wonder if I should go ahead and buy them now appeared on the paper in my own neat script. I shook, though with joy or with horror, I could never tell you.

I wrote for three hours straight. She was moody, and the writing was intense. I had no idea how much I missed doing it, writing someone else's thoughts, how I loved the sensation of having not only a window, but also an open door to their mind. It was one of the best writing sessions I have ever had; it was almost orgasmic. I did not stop for even a moment, though I had needed to pee before I even started reading "the book." Finally, fortunately, the pen ran out of ink. I slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. This may seem melodramatic, or even humorous, but it's true. Writing can be draining.

I became suddenly aware of an awful pain in my hand. My fingers clenched together involuntarily, and a cautious test revealed they did not desire to depart from one another. I let them stay. As if on cue (as he always is), Evan padded quietly into the room. He hopped lithely into the chair, causing it to spin a half-circle. Before curling up, he peered over the armrest at me. "I'm so sorry," I said to him, truly full of regret. He stared at me, his eyes completely and utterly ambivalent, then turned and sat. I passed out.

I woke up nearly six hours later, before sunrise. It felt like the morning after a night spent reuniting with an ex - I cannot find the proper adjective to describe it, but I trust you can pick up on the negative connotation. I silently cleaned up the office, then my room, returning everything to its proper place, safeguarding keys in the exact spots I had found them the night before. As I cleaned, my mind ran a marathon against itself, two angry competitors in a race neither would ever win.

I took a cigarette from my stash in the kitchen and walked out on the back patio. The concrete was cold on my feet, but it did not matter. My neighbor, Russ, was already awake, as his kitchen light indicated. Because he works early on weekdays now, he and I have shifted our daily jogging sessions to only Saturday mornings. My exercise regimen has suffered because of it, but I suspect he still keeps his up to par during the week.

With the light of his kitchen, I awkwardly lit a match, then my cigarette. I smoked it in silence, the cold morning mercilessly beating my bare chest and ears while I tried to hide my poor feet in the long pajama pants I wore. Finally, the cigarette was done. I bent down and burnt it out on the concrete, the wet dew helping extinguish the flame almost as well as the cigarette had helped put out the regret in my mind. Instead of dropping the cigarette butt in my big empty water pot that sits beside the back door, as I normally would, I took it and, with a short run, threw it deep into the woods that were just beginning to come alive with the colors of the dawn. I turned to walk in, then stopped and turned around. The empty pen sat alone in my pocket, destined for the trash later that day. I took it out from my pocket and stared at it a moment, letting it quietly roll on my palm.

With another run, I launched the pen into the woods. At its apex I saw it, helplessly falling, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the cold grey dawn. I walked back inside and shut the door.

Acacacacacacacacacacacapulco!!!!

2009-07-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

Well, the girls and I left Cuernavaca LATE on Friday night, because we weren't allowed to go to the beach while the CSU program was in place, but the program ended at midnight, so we piled into a late-night bus and showed up in Acapulco in the middle of Friday night (technically Saturday morning). It was the worst bus ride ever - in addition to being four hours long, Mexican nights are notoriously hot and apparently our bus didn't have air, because we were literally SWEATING the entire ride. I had a Snickers bar in the pocket of my jacket - not packed away in a bag or anything - and it literally MELTED during the bus ride. I have photographic evidence of what the heat of that bus did to chocolate, so imagine it on my skin!

We hung out a bit that night in the hotel room, which was a sixteenth-floor presidential suite. It had three bedrooms (each with their own porch overlooking either the ocean or the grandiose pool), a kitchen, dining room and living room. It was paradise. That night we also went to a club where I enjoyed my first beach foam party - they sprayed soap into a 20x20 feet (or so) area of beach that was about chest-high, and we just wrestled and ran through it. It was a ton of fun, but our clothes took awhile to clean and my phone is a little upset at me still.

That night we had some extra visitors in addition to the seven who rented the room (which was Kayla, Anna, Vickie, Tiffany, Joel, Jordan and I, by the way): Mayia (?), Katie, Angel, Mark, Kealan, Gail and Amy all visited our huge room and went out with us as well. We had a nice big group and I think we all enjoyed each other's company.

The next morning we hit up the beach around 10:00am or 11:00am, and didn't go back until 7:00pm (and I was one of the early ones to leave!). The hotel had an enormous pool and then a smaller one that were lavish and felt wonderful, but we spent most of our time on the beach. Tiffany and I went out early and walked past most of the vendors to a wide part of the beach, but we didn't realize that the vendors weren't there because it was so rough! The waves were easily as tall as me most of the time, and they would go about thirty or fourty feet up the beach. It was great.

Once everyone else arrived we commandeered some chairs from the hotel and generally lazed around for hours. We tanned and played in the surf, which was violent, dangerous and fun, and Vickie and I took some hikes on the rocks in front of the hotel. I'm glad we did, because you could get a great view of the bay from up in the rocks, and it was great fun to pick our way through them. We saw big, three/four feet long black iguanas (one ran out about five feet in front of me and TERRIFIED me) and we also got a coconut down from a tree (with the help of a local) and busted it open on a rock and drank some agua de coca. It felt like Survivor!

Unfortunately, I got pretty horrifically burnt. I got some sort of sun poisoning fever that night and spent a good twelve hours in bed, complemented by a thousand or two milligrams of Tylenol. I'm slightly glad that I did, though, because the others took a boat ride into the bay in order to drink (election day was Sunday and it was illegal to serve alcohol on land after midnight) and said that it was really rough and not fun. Most of them crashed into the hotel room fairly early, and we all slept in until 11:00am or so. The hotel allowed us not to check out until 5:00pm, so we spent a good long while at the pool the next day. One of the pools was heavily shaded so I was able to swim, but for the most part I wore a hoodie and avoided the sun.

We went to buy tickets for our 8:40am bus ride around 7:00pm, and alas and alack, only one ticket was left! Felix, Joel, Kayla, Anna, Vickie and I were forced to buy tickets to Cuernavaca at 2:30am, but since we had time to kill we were able to go see Public Enemies and eat at APPLEBEE'S. It was nice to just walk around the city and relax.

We made it to our houses at 7:05am this morning (after taxi rides and the four+ hour bus ride), so I had time to say hello to my family, unpack, take a shower and head to school. I was hyper enough to last through conversacion, but by the time español rolled around I was tired and my sunburn was really starting to hurt. Though my shoulders are slightly irritated, the worst part is my legs, because it's very painful to walk because I have to bend my ankles and knees (something I never realized). When I came to the computer lab this evening it took me almost fifteen minutes to simply get out of bed, because of the pain. I do think it was worth the trip, though. :)

Another great piece of news is that Erica moved in with me today! Since Victoria left I was going to be the only estudiante in the house and my parents definitely wanted more, and Erica had a bad weekend alone at her house after Erin left, so it worked out perfectly. She's a lot of fun to have around and my family seems to enjoy her already.

This week is RELAXATION week. The CSU program officially ended on Friday and Dr. Cook leaves Wednesday (which does make me sad), so we have no scheduled excursions - no scheduled anything, in reality! I'm sure that we'll go to all the soccer games, and tomorrow we're supposed to go out for Kreniya's birthday, so we'll find plenty to do, but we don't HAVE TO do anything, which is so nice. I come home in exactly 14 days!!!

Tengo Mucho a Decir

2009-07-01T16:14:00.000-07:00

It feels as though it's been forever since I last blogged, and I suppose it has - over a week! I'm firmly settling into the groove of life as a foreign student in Mexico and time to use the Internet for periods longer than ten minutes doesn't really fit into that picture. I wonder if I'll return to using it often when I come back to the States or if I'll simply retain my way of life here. I know what I am hoping for.

Last week was pretty action-packed, if I recall correctly. Classes were really good for the week and I had a blast with them. I'm definitely enjoying conversacion (three hours of casual roundtable discussion of any and everything) and am having my head expanded with the material from my three hours of español. My schedule this week has also been great, especially conversacion with three of my favorite directors, including a full hour alone with Gabriel, who is teaching me all of the idiomatic expressions and slang that I won't learn in Los Estados Unidos.

We had a good evening last Wednesday, going out for cream cheese sushi (don't ask) and going to see Transformers. We went to the VIP theater, which has enormous comfortable recliners with buttons to push to call the waiters. It felt wonderful until our waitress spilt an Icee on my flip-flopped feet and left me without servilletas, but I survived! The movie was aight.

Thursday we went to luche libre wrestling, which was pretty horrendous. We did get to see a midget wrestle, though, and I'm glad that we did the entire cultural experience. Afterwards, we visited Carlos and Charlie's, our Thursday haunt, which was rather interesting. That is all I have to say about it.

I arrived thirty minutes late for the bus to Oaxca on Friday (me, thirty minutes late!) and had a pretty rough eight-hour drive. We stopped in Cholula to visit cathedrals and some ruins, but at this point in time Anna and I have agreed that we are pyramid'd out. They do seem to blur together after you've seen eight or ten, but I'm sure I'll appreciate it in the future.

Our hotel in Oaxca was great. Tim and I were assigned a room with one king-size bed even though Dr. Cook and Alberto had requested all of us to have our own bed, so we were reassigned into a luxury suite with a little living room area and a porch. We definitely lucked out!

Saturday we visited another set of pyramids! There was a huge group of highschool students there who treated us as though we were rock stars. I took pictures with about twenty girls that day. :) Afterwards we visited a site where they make black pottery. I've always loved pottery, so this especially interested me. The type of clay turns out gray after it is baked, but they have a method of rubbing a crystal rock on it to bring out a glossy shine. It looks as though it's been painted black, but in reality it is completely natural. The most advanced tool they use is a tiny knife - even the pottery wheel is two clay bowls rotated by hand. It's truly amazing what people can do without technology.

Afterwards we visited a famous woodcarver's home. The carvings are amazing - they were intensely colorful and bizarre and often represented odd cultural stories and thoughts I would have never recognized. That night Mike and I hung out in the girls' room and watched Spanish television, put on a fashion show, and did facials. It was great fun.

Sunday we visited a gigantic tree, one of the largest (by diameter) in the world and definitely the biggest and oldest in Mexico. We also visited a set of pyramids (surprise!) and got a step-by-step lesson on how to create mezcal, an alcoholic drink native to Oaxca that is intensely pure and does more to you than get you drunk. Afterwards we visited a market of sorts that is only open on Sundays for the locals, where we purchased a delicious chicken. The trip home was, again, very rough but Mike and I attempted to make it fun.

Monday was fairly uneventful, though Vickie got a new roommate named Tiffany. She's great fun and seems to fit in well with the group, so we definitely lucked out in getting her. We all practiced soccer Monday afternoon (along with some other guys and girls from Cuernavaca and Los Estados Unidos) where I shined like the star I am. I refuse to play with the mezcla team here though, because I get way too aggressive and competitive.

Yesterday after school we had salsa classes, which I am definitely getting the hang of, and got to spend a little time with Roy, the salsa instructor, who is great fun. Roy, the four girls and I went to the futbol game and watched the boys play before the girls' game. First of all, the girls won again last week, so they're 2-0 despite being a team made up of primarily girls who don't play (they beat the team who won the championship last year by two points, if I'm not mistaken). The game yesterday was AMAZING.
I get really into the games, and Haley sat beside me and definitely helped amp up the mood. The girls did incredible. The game started off rough because the other team (who was in the play-offs last year) complained to the referee that two of the three Mexican girls on our team are too good, so they shouldn't be allowed on the field at the same time, and the referee agreed to it! The other team scored three points in a row to start with, but our girls turned the game around and ended it 12 to 5! Tiffany scored two or three points of her own, Erica scored once, and my other CSU girls did some great assists. Erin definitely had the best goal though, when she casually kicked it from our side of the field while the other goalie wasn't paying attention and scored from about 3/4ths of the way down the field! All in all, a great game.

We went to our regular bar for a celebratory drink afterwards, then Tiffany, Vickie and I returned home to shower and went to Los Arcos for salsa night. Tiffany and I salsa'd with the best of them, and Vickie and I managed not to spend a dime the entire night. We all went to Dubai after Los Arcos to help celebrate Katie´s (a girl who arrived this week and is one of Jordan's roommates) 20th birthday. We had a big group and a ton of fun.

Today was the last day that we taught the kids at La Estacion. We had a cake and drinks for them and really enjoyed it. The boy who I taught the previous two weeks (though I helped a different one today) asked for my e-mail address, so hopefully I will be able to keep in touch with him. Teaching at the school definitely was one of the best experiences here.

Tonight some of our people are going bowling, but I think I'm skipping out to stay home and study for my test tomorrow. Friday night we're going to Acapulco and spending the weekend (and the 4th of July!) tanning on the beach. It should be fun, though it may rain on Sunday.

Only two and a half weeks left! 19 days ahead, 25 behind, I am on the downward slope. See you all soon.

El Fin De Semana

2009-06-22T15:43:00.000-07:00

Monday in Mexico is so much better than Monday in Los Estados Unidos. :) The weekend was good, if not a bit tiring, and I think the week ahead will go well also. My classes were great today - I have Anita as one of my three conversation teachers for the third week in a row (which slightly makes up for the absence of Marilyn in this week´s schedule), got Ivonne back, and got a new guy who seems pretty chill and also knows Spanish and English very well. I also still have the same grammar class with Gabriella, Bridgette and Terri, so it should be a good solid week of learning and fun. We already started on condicional and futuro today, so I think I´ll learn a lot this week.

So, on Friday we went to Krishna, a club that Joel recommended. It was extremely classy and upper-crust, and we had a total blast. It´s a great asset being an American, because not only were we given a free pitcher of some sort of drink, we also were the stars of the dance floor. After a few hours there we went to Gula Gula to see a friend who worked there, and stayed there for a few more hours. Again, the stars of the show!

On Saturday we had an excursion to Taxco. Jonathan was allowed to tag along, and he definitely added some more fun to our group. He´s from Bob Jones University and reminds me SO MUCH of Jonathan (the brother-in-law) version. I had two hours of conversacion with him each day last week and get him for two hours again this week, so I´m pleased with that. He´s pretty fun.
Taxco was pretty interesting. It´s significant because it´s one of the main sites where the infamous Mexican ball game was played, and it´s also the site of a silver mine so there´s plenty of "plata" for sale in the city. After an hour or two of browsing, Jonathan, Vickie and I decided to climb the city and go to the statue of El Cristo, positioned on an overlook of the city.
The streets in the city are extremely narrow, many times offering only enough room for one old Volkswagen (which is the taxi of choice in Taxco) to pass through. The streets wind back and forth up the mountain to the statue, so Jonathan had the good idea of cutting through the side streets and going straight up to the overlook. I´m glad we did, because we got to see the non-tourist side of the city and looked at how people live. The climb was surprisingly difficult and the steps up the side of the mountain were ridiculously steep.

Once we got near the top a group of three little girls (around ages 4 - 7) found us going the wrong way and led us to the statue, on a shortcut through the woods. Jonathan gave them some pesos to buy snacks - they were completely adorable, friendly, and curious and loved asking us questions, giving us a chance to practice our Spanish.
The view was spectacular. You could see all of the city and the surrounding countryside, and we had the good fortune of BEAUTIFUL weather. I can´t believe that most people stay in the city shopping instead of visiting the statue - we were the only three out of the fifteen people in our group to make the climb! We did get some good pictures, but unfortunately they can´t convey the majesty of the view. It was such an inspirational and calming sight.

That night we (Anna, Kayla, Vickie, Jonathan, Felix, Jordan, his new roommate and I) went bowling! They had a three-hour special from 10pm - 1am, but since we arrived early we had about an hour to kill. We partied in the arcade (I even got a video of Felix and Kayla "playing" a dance game) and walked down to Wal-Mart to get some desserts - their bakery is incredibly cheap. Gotta love it.
Bowling was a ton of fun. The alley played excellent music with a good mix of Spanish and American, we saw some people from the school and got to chat with them for a bit, and the workers brought us bizarre colored cardboard eye masks and headdresses to wear. NO IDEA why, but we rocked them, of course.

Sunday morning we got up bright and early and headed to Teotihuacan. Erica and Erin were too late and missed the bus [ :( ] and Tiffany, Heather and Haley opted out, so we had a tiny little group of nine, including Dr. Cook and Alberto. The city was constructed by the Teotihuacans around 600AD or so, but by the time the Aztecs discovered the city, all of the original inhabitants had disappeared, leaving only an empty city. It was amazing to see how advanced the people were: they planned the entire city based on astrology, laying it out in a specific, mathematical pattern, and perfected a water system so that there were SHOWERS inside of the homes. I wonder if we could do anything nearly as well if we were stripped of our technology.
The pyramids were fairly immense and very impressive. Vickie, Tim and I took a good long break on top of the Temple of the Moon, where Vickie and I got pretty sunburnt (fingers are crossed that it turns into a good tan). We got to browse the stores for a good while as well, though it seems as though every vendedore sold the exact same items. It´s odd the way Mexico works, sometimes.

The girls and I had a hankering for steak that night, so Anna asked Dr. Cook where we should find some and Alberto recommended an Argentinian steakhouse. The three girls and I went there (Felix, Mike and Jules met us there later) and I am SO GLAD that we did. It was the best meal I´ve ever had, bar none. It was an extremely formal yet welcoming atmosphere, with a serving crew that met our every need. We had a pitcher of delicious sangria to go with our meal - I ordered a filet mignon with the house mignon sauce (full of mushrooms and onions!) and the girls ordered steaks, mashed potatoes and sauteed vegetables. Every single item we had that night was ridiculously amazing and incomparable to other food. The meat almost melted in your mouth it was so tender. Spectacular.
We also ordered strawberry cheescake and a flan for dessert. As Kayla said, "the Cheesecake Factory has nothing on this." The desserts were simply unbelievable and wholly indescribable. We even had coffee with dessert, which was good (which is a huge compliment, coming from me, a certified coffee hater). The boys showed up once we were well into our meal and ordered their own repast, so we had to try a little bit of theirs, despite our stomachs being filled to overflowing.

It has been raining this afternoon so it´s nice and cool. Hopefully tomorrow won´t be too hot either, as the girls are playing soccer in the afternoon. We have salsa, soccer and Transformers 2 at midnight tomorrow, so we´ll be fairly busy. We´ll be teaching at the kids´ school again on Wednesday, then salsa/soccer on Thursday and we head out to Oaxca for a three-day weekend starting on Friday. This weekend should be a little bit more relaxed than the last, so I´m definitely looking forward to it. Less than a month until I come home, though. :(

Segunda Semana en Mexico. Segunda!

2009-06-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

It´s already been TWO weeks since I´ve been here in Mexico. It seems forever to me, but I hate the fact that I´m already a third of the way finished here. I really do wish I could just stay here and finish up my Bachelor´s, use public transportation, see dozens of people I know whenever I go out at night, walk to school instead of hopping in the car, take free salsa classes regularly, etc, etc. Ah, if only...

Tuesday we visited a temascal, which is an ancient Aztec form of rehabilitation and recuperation that they often practiced when warriors returned from war. We all wore underwear or bathing suits and packed into (thirteen of us in all) a sauna, of sorts. It looked like an old adobe hut from the outside; the inside was a circular dome, probably about seven feet across each way, with hot rocks on the wall opposite from the door. Herb water was poured on the stones to heat the room, and we stayed and sweated out our infirmities, supposedly.
It was ridiculously hot in there - I´m sure we all lost many pounds from sweating. Mike, Jules and I also opted for a "thrashing" once the others had left, which involved getting lightly whipped with some type of special herb. Whenever you left (you could leave and go back in) you were supposed to wrap in a blanket (so that you continued to sweat) and drink some purple tea.
It was a supremely odd experience, but it was pretty incredible. We also got full body massages, which were AMAZING. It was less than $30 per person for the sauna and the massage, which I was impressed with. A few of us are thinking about doing it again. :)

The week at school was fairly uneventful. We taught the kids again on Wednesday, but Ana and I worked together this time and got two eleven-year old boys who knew a TON of English and were hard-heads about learning more. Quite a taxing experience.

I got my classes switched around so that I don´t have to learn the past perfect subjunctive right now, and I´m really enjoying my new classes. My conversacion classes are great, with a good mixture of great students and helpful teachers, and I absolutely adore my grammar teacher. She really knows how to make us understand, even though she hardly speaks any English.

We went out a few nights this week and we´re beginning to befriend the locals. I think it´s because of Kayla, Ana and Vickie, but wherever we go there is bound to be a group of seven or eight chicos along with us. I´ve really been practicing Spanish at the clubs, and my ability to communicate has been greatly improving, even if my grammatical skills and vocabulary still need a lot of work.

Yesterday afternoon we went to salsa class. I adore "Roy," the instructor - he´s hilarious and knows his stuff. It´s fairly difficult to do well, but I enjoy going. I danced with a good handful of girls since they far outnumber the boys and I think I´m starting to get the steps down. I have about four weeks left to catch on!
Also yesterday the girls and I went to a soccer game of people from the school. They had a game for guys and one for girls, with full teams of both sides comprised of professors, staff and students. I got so into the girls´game, mainly because Erica, Erin and Victoria (my housemate) were all playing. Kayla, Ana, Vickie and I cheered them on so loudly (my voice is partially shot today) it had to be the reason they won!
Erica was the complete star of the show. She is kind of a diva and no one really expected her to play, but she went out on the field and did her thing. She´d never played soccer before but went for it and was the crowd favorite. Even the other team cheered for her! It was great when they stuck her in the goal for the last quarter and she only let one ball past her. She was so hilarious and I have a great video of her that I´ll upload once these computers let me.

We were going to go to the club last night with everyone from school, but between studying, cansado and other problemas, we decided not to. Kayla and I sat on the sidewalk and talked for about two hours, which was great - we´re so alike it´s nearly frightening. We got hungry and called a cab so we could go get hot dogs at the zocalo. They remembered us from two nights ago, when Miguel showed us the stand, and even asked where Ana was. :) The people here truly are friendly and very open to helping us learn.

Tonight we´re all going out, tomorrow we´ll hit up Taxco, and tomorrow night we´re going bowling! Sunday we´re going on another excursion, and then a week of school will start again on Monday.

I´m doing absolutely wonderful and love almost every minute of it. ´tis a pity I have to return, no?

El Fin de Semana Numero DOS

2009-06-15T14:05:00.000-07:00

I´m terribly sorry that it took so long to post my Wednesday blog, but we didn´t have Internet access so much in Mexico City, so I´ve been pretty stranded. 40 new e-mails, and only about five from Mom, though!

Thursday after school Vicky, Ana, Kayla and I went back to the Robert Brady museum for a screening of Hitchcock´s Psycho (in the original language [English] with Spanish subtitles). I think it may have been the first air-conditioned room I´d been in since I´ve been in Mexico, and it was lovely. Afterwards we ate pizza, went to Dubai, Los Arcos and Carlos and Charlie´s and made many unparalleled memories late into the night before finally turning it.

We left around 8:00am on Friday morning for Mexico City. Kayla and I lucked out and got to sit beside one another on the hour and a half bus ride, so instead of sleeping we talked forever and ever, of course - the two of us are quite a formidable duo. Once we arrived in Mexico City we metro-hopped to our hotel where we left our bags, then headed out to the National Palace.
Diego Rivera´s murals are pretty epic, I won´t lie. The palace is not so amazing, but getting to see the murals depicting Mexico´s history in real life was awe-inspiring. Pictures can´t really capture the grandeur and intricacy of the mural, so seeing it with my own eyes was a great experience.
After the palace we walked over to the Temple Mayor (though that may not be spelled correctly) which is an unearthing of part of one of the original temples built "under" Mexico City. The city is hundreds of years old and is sinking into the lake it´s built upon, so generation after generation would just build right on top of the old foundations. The temple was pretty interesting to look at, but the enormous museum inside was insane. It had artifacts discovered in the ruins and helped paint a picture of what life was like in the ancient days of Mexico City.

By this time we were already worn out, but we still had more to do! We walked over to the Cathedral which is pretty much indescribable. Even pictures cannot convey the enormity and majesty of the cathedral, which included real relics of a saint and an organ bigger than most churches in the United States. We ate down the street afterwards and split up to do some market shopping before heading back to the hotel.

Vendedores are actually not allowed to sell anything on a plaza near the cathedral, but what kind of salesperson would turn down good money?? The vendedores had a system wherein they kept their wares on a blanket that could be easily folded in when the police came. More than once we saw a policeman from afar coming and a few dozen vendedores wrap up their cosas and dash into a nearby building. It was hilarious but frightening when Kayla and I first saw it and thought something bad was about to happen!

Our hotel was pretty old looking, I won´t lie. It was supposedly four stars, which is laughable, but we had a great time there, especially since our group made up a good percentage of the current customer base and we had connected rooms that we could have fiestas chaffas inside.

On Saturday we visited the Dolores Olmedo museo, where I got to touch a peacock and see the hairless dogs that were native to Mexico. The museum had tons of great stuff to see, but pictures were not allowed and the staff was demonic - they seriously had alarms that would beep if you got too close to anything. Seriously.
We also visited la casa de Frida Kahlo and the nearby market for a few hours. We got some great food at a restaurant and Mike and I spent almost an hour of quality time trying to find him some sunglasses. That day also involved riding the tiny buses (which were long, cramped rides) and the streetcars (which took FOREVER), neither of which compared to the metro!

The metro is the main form of transportation within the city. One-use tickets cost two pesos, which is about $0.18USD, and with that one ticket you can ride all five lines at once, so long as you don´t exit the metro station. We always rode linea uno from our hotel and connected to linea dos to get to wherever we were going, and I got the system down pat. It was easy to follow because there were charts of the tracks all inside the metro cars. The hard part was getting in and out in the ten seconds or so that the doors allowed people to get both in and out of the cars. We only got to ride rush hour once, which was absolutely INSANE, but Vickie and I both loved it. The rush of the crowd and the snappy pace with which we had to switch cars and pay attention was great.

On Sunday (after a fun night of hanging in the girls´room) we visited the Palacio de Bellos Artes and the National Anthropological Musuem. The anthro musuem really tied everything we´d seen together, tracing the history of people in Mexico and giving definitive dates and descriptions to what was once just "Aztecs" or "Mayans." The Palacio didn´t have a ton to look at but was pretty gorgeous. We also got to eat at Sanborn´s, a famous restaurant right by the palacio, which was great. The floors of the restaurant and the steps have a noticeable slope to them, something that was hard to get used to.

Last night after arriving back in Cuernavaca, Vicky, Kayla and I jogged to the Superama and bought some phone cards. I talked to Sissy and Jonathan for awhile (had to wish the red-head a happy birthday) in the rain after dark, but I was equipped with Kayla´s pepper spray and Mike jogged by a few times to check on me.

Today we got our schedule for the next few weeks - tomorrow we´re going to a strange place called Temascal which has hot saunas to cleanse the spirit and accompanying massages. I´m immensely excited!

All in all the trip has been wonderful and I´m truly enjoying the company. I don´t get a lot of things about this country, and some of it has not been great, but I´m loving it and living every second of it that I can.

Miercoles en Mexico

2009-06-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

I´m currently sitting at the computer lab, uploading pictures from yesterday´s trip to el museo de Robert Brady. I´ve had three days of class thus far and been here for four full days (been in Mexico for six days, in reality) and I´m still enjoying it. The weather is starting to irritate me, as is the woman who cleans the sidewalk at about 6:00am every morning (waking up to the sound of someone scrubbing concrete is much more unpleasant than it seems), but despite some minor inconveniences I´m having the time of my life. ¡Que padre!

I suppose the last blog I wrote was Lunes, so I´ll pick up from there. Well, Monday night was inconsequential so far as I can remember, so I suppose I´ll begin with Tuesday. Erica and I settled into the groove of our classes (we´re together the entire six hours, thank God) - the beginning three hours of Spanish grammar is muy dificil! Yesterday wasn´t so awful, but today I thought my brain might explode... we´re learning how to conjugate verbs for use in hypothetical situations that involve the conditional subjunctive or past perfect subjunctive, or something like that. I barely know how to do it in English!

After class I shared a taxi with Vicky, Kayla and Ana to the catedral de Cuernavaca, where we met up with the rest of the group (minus Tiffany and Hayley [who was sick :( ]) and walked a short distance to the Robert Brady Museum. Brady was an artist and art collector who lived in Cuernavaca for a few years, and his house was incredible. He had no wife or children and in his will expressed the wish that all of his money would be used to turn his home into a museum exactly as he left it.
The museum is his house as he lived in it, with the art he collected, the color he painted the walls, etc, etc. I loved the house (I think the open air sprawling Mexican houses are amazing) and it was great to get a look at Mexican art and kind of immerse myself into the culture a bit.

Tuesday night I went to Los Arcos, an outdoor restaurant, with our group. It was salsa night so dozens of couples were out dancing, which was great to watch. We saw plenty of workers and students from our school and had fun socializing and table-hopping. I suppose it´s our shared experience of being thrust into a new situation, but we students at the school definitely get to know one another.

After school on Wednesday our CSU group went to La Estacion, a school for children that is in a horribly poor neighborhood. Most of the houses are made out of sheet metal and obviously have no electricity, trash is all over the dirt "street," and dogs and chickens roam freely and lazily in the burning heat. It was a saddening experience, but it was so rewarding. We had about twelve or fifteen kids from the neighborhood show up to the school (which also provides some food for the students) and we sat down with them and taught them the English they wanted to learn. The girl I worked with was ten years old and so smart. We learned the numbers up to twenty and drew a family tree and labeled the members of her family in English (hermano = brother, primo = cousin, etc.).
I also had the good fortune of sitting beside Mike and got to watch him work with a little girl - beyond just me, everyone loved it and got something exceptional out of the experience. Being able to watch everyone else work with these children and give them a genuine outpouring of love helped me to know the people in my group so much better. After we left we discussed at length just how wrong our worldview is and how mixed up our priorities are.

I went with Vicky, Ana and Kayla to Wal-Mart to get markers and paper for the kids that night. Ana and I are going to make up lesson plans for them next week and figure out what exactly we should teach them. We may only be seeing them once a week for a month, but I want to make a difference in their lives and truly help them. They have never been given an opportunity in life but are happy, brilliant children in spite of their hardships, and they deserve everything that we can possibly give.

Apologies!

2009-06-08T14:16:00.001-07:00

I didn´t realize that my first post had already gone through - when I tried to do it the other day it said ERROR and never showed up, so I rewrote the entire weekend! Oops.

El Fin de Semana Numero Uno in Mexico

2009-06-08T13:40:00.000-07:00

Dad dropped me off at the ATL airport around 6:00am on Friday. I navigated the airport without incident (though I did have a minute or two on the little train by myself, which was frightening), making it to the gate in first (woo-hoo). Everyone else slowly trickled in over the next few hours except for Vicky, who arrived too late to board and consequently had to wait until a later flight and make it to Cuernavaca alone (she said it wasn´t too terrifying, though I´d have been pretty darn scared).

Despite our weekly meetings back at CSU, I felt as though our group didn´t know each other really well. By the time we had our three hour plane ride (accompanied by Confessions of a Shopaholic, yay) and our somewhere-around-two-hours bus ride to Cuernavaca I felt as though we had already begun to become a tightly-knit group. We went straight to Uninter (or Universidad Internacional, as it´s known to our taxi drivers) where we were taken away to our families´homes.

I was slightly scared at first, because there was a bag of dentures on my padre´s console in the car, but I found out at dinner that he was a dentist (¡Que padre!). When I arrived I was the only student, but one of my housemates, Heather, came in during lunch. She has been here a week and will leave on Saturday, but she is well-versed in Spanish and carries on the bulk of our mealtime conversations.

Victoria, my other housemate, arrived later that evening. She is considered an independent student since she didn´t come with a school group, so she had to take a bus and taxi to our house by herself. Again, I don´t know that I could´ve done it on my first day in Mexico! She is also very good at Spanish - considering how much I love to use my mouth, it is odd for me to be the one who speaks the least at meals!

The next day we had our orientation, where I reconnected with my other CSU students. Over the weekend I found out that Vicky, Ana and Kayla all live in a house on my street, and Mike/Jules and Erica/Erin live within about three minutes walking distance from my house. We all live within about five minutes from the school, so we can walk to class together and see each other often [Tim, Heather, Tiffany and Hayley are unfortunately far away].
At orientation we took a placement exam and had an oral interview. I somehow managed to get in the intermediate courses with Erica. I´m not sure how, but I´m sure it will help me learn.

After orientation we went to the main plaza of Cuernavaca where we looked at the big cathedrals and visited the black market. Vicky had her bag sliced in the crowd by a pickpocket (we assume, since it was a straight cut that happened after pushing through a big crowd) but no one managed to get anything out before Heather saw it, so bravah on that count. The market was hectic and hot, but it was a lot of fun. It was a horrific maze, though, going underground, on ground level and on roofs. I would´ve had trouble finding my way out alone.
The highlight of the market was the meat section, which smelled horrendous and featured pig heads and bloodied cow heads. The vendedores enjoyed shaking the pig heads at our girls to scare them. Actually, all of the vendedores were very friendly to our group and open to questions (even in our awful Spanish). It was a fun day.

Erica, Erin and I got Tepotznieves with Dr. Cook, which is a special type of frozen ice/ice cream stuff, which is pretty darn delicious (I ended up buying some the next day at Tepotlzan, which is where the dessert gets its name from). After returning home to eat, we three went out again and met part of the group at a bar where we hung out for awhile and enjoyed the attention of the locals. Vicky took a taxi back home with us three, where we experienced a nice adventure when our taxi driver almost took us out of Cuernavaca.

Speaking of taxis, they´re pretty great. Generally the most we´ll pay is treinta y cinco pesos, which is about $3 USD, and then we split it three ways, so it´s very cheap. The driving is scary, but it´s one of those fun cultural bumps we have to scramble over. Erica´s great to take along in a taxi because she talks to the taxi driver without shame - we actually get some pretty great language lessons from our drivers.

The next day we went to Tepotzlan and climbed the mountain. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, en serio. I thought I might die, but fortunately didn´t, and eight of us made it to the top (along with Alberto and Rosie [our two Mexican directors for CSU], of course). There was a neat little pyramid up there, but I´m not entirely sure if it was worth the two and a half mile climb (which was almost straight uphill). We ate lunch at the top of the mountain and had fun with Vicky talking, then went back down in smaller groups.
Jules, Ana, Vicky and I went together and found a group of guys who were offering rappelling down part of the mountain. The two girls and I did it (Jules rappells and wasn´t interested) and it was pretty fun. Only about 30-40 feet, but it was enjoyable. Vicky especially had fun with the guys. ;)

Us four hung out at the market with Kayla and Mike for awhile, then we all caught our own bus home and split two taxis back to our houses from the bus station. Later that night I walked down to Superama and bought phone cards, then Heather, Victoria and I went to the centro and had pizza.

Today was the first day of classes. Erica and I share the exact same schedule, which is awesome. We got switched about an hour into our first class (we have grammar from 8:00 - 11:00), but it´s all good. From 11:15 - 2:00 we have conversacion, where we sit outside under umbrellas and talk (yes, we do have an instructor). Class was cool, if not burning hot, so I´m sure the rest of the six weeks will be fine.

I´m at the computer lab with a host of people I know and am going to try to hit up Wal-Mart later today, we´ll see. We have a few excursions planned this week and I´m going to try to go to (free) salsa class at the university, then this weekend we go to Mexico City from Friday through Sunday, so we´ll have a nice, busy week.

Talk to you kids LATAH.
<3333 Clayton

Arrival in Mexico

2009-06-06T11:39:00.001-07:00

Dad dropped me off at the ATL airport yesterday morning around 6:00am. I made it to the gate without incident, and the rest of the group filtered in for the next hour or so. Waiting for the plane was great fun, and those of us who had not really talked before had plenty of time to interact and laugh together. I think it was great that we arrived early so we had three hours of downtime where we had to talk to one another or do nothing.

One of our girls was late, and Dr. Cook was tied up on the phone as we were entering the plane. Apparently she got to the airport about twenty minutes before boarding, but they didn´t allow her on. Dr. Cook had her wait for the next flight (which was late that night) but it all worked out and she made it safely to Cuernavaca around midnight.

The flight was quiet and unobtrusive, but since we all sat near one another we again had fun talking and teasing. Our movie for the flight was Confessions of a Shopaholic. I tried to watch it but it was so awful I listened to it in Spanish instead while I skimmed my Spanish textbook.
Coming into Mexico City, we could tell that it was enormous. We saw plenty of soccer fields overhead, which was exciting. The big game is tomorrow night (which was one of the few strings of conversation I could follow at my house) but I think I´ll be in Tezpotlan and will miss it, unfortunately.

Customs was shockingly easy, but two members from our group got a red light, which meant they had to have all of their bags opened and checked. To get a light, each passenger must push a button (green is good, red is not), the red lights come at random intervals, and I missed it by only one push of the button!
After going through customs we took a twenty minute break or so in the airport, exchanged dollars for pesos and bought some snacks for the ride. We had a nice big bus for the drive, and many of us slept. I tried not to, but the ride was almost two hours so I eventually succumbed. Mexico City looked very interesting - I got a few pictures of it I may try to put up later.

My padre picked me up from the University and drove me to su casa, which is within easy walking distance of the school. He and his wife are probably in their fifties or sixties and have two sons at the house: Jesús, who is in his mid/late twenties, and Efraín (I think) who is twenty-three. One of my roommates told me that he pretty much is only home to wash clothes and eat, so he´s going to the typical teenager route.
Jesús´wife and one-year old daughter also live in the house. Their daughter loves me and wouldn´t stop staring at me long enough to eat. When I first arrived there was another roommate there, who is twenty-six and from Utah. She has been here for two weeks but is an advanced Spanish major. She will leave this weekend, I think.

Another roommate arrived later that evening (sometime during my siesta) who is also from Utah. She is twenty, an upper-level Spanish major, and will be here for four weeks. The girls share a room that is beside my room. Both have their own bathrooms and are separate from the house, raised above the carport (so that we effectively serve as the roof of the carport). The stairs to our rooms are an old circular iron-wrought affair, which is neat. The three dogs also can´t climb the stairs!

This morning Heather, the roommate who has been here, walked Victoria and I to the university for our orientation. The university is very nice and fairly big. The orientation was the only thing we´ll hear on campus in English, supposedly, so I paid attention! We got to talk with the others whose first day it was, take a placement exam, have an oral interview, etc, etc.

Victoria and I are about to walk back to our casa, then later this afternoon I will meet the CSU kids at the main market for a tour of Cuernavaca.

Talk to you peeps latah,
<333 clayton

Who is Your Purpose? [FICTION: Short Story]

2009-06-03T05:38:00.000-07:00

circa 2034

Don't you just despise those things in your life that seem to float between being your worst enemy and your best friend? It's that thing that gives you some sense of purpose, a drive to win and to keep pushing, even if just to avoid the dreaded words "I told you so." This objectification of my tumultuous inner imaginings has been many things in the past: my job, my schooling, my mild foray into politics, etc. You would think that after having such monumental things pushing me that at this stage of my life my Object of Drive would be something brilliant.
It's not.

Evan is my inspiration and my depression. If I had imagined that such a little thing could have become such a big thing in my life, I would have left him outside of that prison all those ages ago. But when I looked down at him for the very first time, when I looked into his eyes, there was a connection. I put him inside my cluttered and antiquated briefcase and he patiently waited throughout the entire interview. Afterwards, as I sat in my car, attempting to put into words the execution that I had just witnessed, Evan sat beside me, enormous eyes gazing up at me with expectancy. It was the best article I ever wrote.*

I took Evan home with me, verbally acknowledging my plan to get him on his feet and send him on his merry way, but inwardly knowing that this dear friend (yes friend, not pet) would be with me the rest of my days. I think he knew it from that very first day as well. He knows much more than he lets on.

Look at me now, laboriously fighting the special instinct of my fingers as I put pen to paper, only to write about Evan. He has stayed beside me through thick and thin, yes, but is he truly worth such an expenditure of effort? I'm sorely tempted to read his own thoughts on the subject, but if I wrote them out now I would lose my train of thought, which, in my state, is hard enough to hold on to anyway.

I will not not describe Evan's physical characteristics. Those of you who have had the misfortune of receiving one of his legendary glances of disdain know that all of him is summed up in his eyes - beyond those orbs of fallacious wisdom, his body is irrelevant. Instead, I will tell you about him.

He is ironic and satirical, judgmental and firm. He is stubborn and immovable, haughty and proud. His greatest asset is his unparalleled sensitivity - when I am hurt, he knows, and comforts me. Despite his iron-clad exterior, he truly does possess a heart far too large for his anorexic frame. I have heard that pets take after their owners, and if Evan truly was my pet I think that he would be an example of this ideal. However, he is my equal, my cohort, my twin and second self. He pushes me to the brink of self-hatred and draws me back to the fields of narcissism, pacing beside me for the entire journey. He is my temptation to exercise my power though he simultaneously tells me that I have no need for such a "gift." If it were not for Evan, I do not know where I would be.

I think that Evan is a representation of my old self, the grounded and normal individual. He came into my life a few short days after what some have referred to as my superpower had emerged, and if it had not been for him I probably would not have made it. He's never exchanged a word with me; beyond a few irritated calls for food, he rarely makes any noise whatsoever. His brain is not human, supposedly is not capable of interacting with one such as myself (I did break this God-ordained rule of nature only once, and sorely regretted it; Evan forgave me). However, having a living, breathing, thinking organism that seemed to be a receptor for my unknown plight is what kept me alive. If not for Evan, I would not have made it.

Sometimes when I think about ridding myself of my gift forever, I look about the room for help. Always, Evan is sitting, either on my bed, on an end table, or in the sink (his favorite spot) - he is sitting somewhere - staring coolly at me. "No," he seems to say, and the simple word is all I need. If Evan can put up with me, I can put up with my gift.

There was a band I adored as a teenager (long gone now) who had a song that boasted a line that went just like this: "You took away all your anger; you took away all my pride; now they're gone it's plain to see we're nothing... now we're as the solitude of space is." If Evan were gone, I would be voided. He is my inspiration and the objectification of the thoughts I am scared to voice.

What's yours?

- - -

* I'm actually not joking: the article won two prestigious journalistic awards and the respect of the prisoner's family, who I still share a monthly dinner with to this day. Before I lost my office the entire east wall was adorned with an inflated version of the article (though the filing cabinet blocked out my favorite line: "I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn't. Looking into his brave opened eyes, I wish that I had been coward enough to close my own.").

the Weekend in "Revue"

2009-06-01T16:41:00.000-07:00

Last week my Maymester schedule was a little bit off: because of Memorial Day, class was canceled on Monday and replaced with class on Friday. The week went well, as usual, and I woke up on Friday at 8:25am completely oblivious to what the following weekend would bring. School went as normal that afternoon and I headed back to Thomaston afterward.

The ULHS 2009 Graduation was that night and I had been invited by most of my Zaxby's crew, so I took TT with me as protection. There were more people at the graduation than live in Thomaston, I think. It was pretty crazy, but I managed to see almost everyone I knew after a half-hour or so of heavy-duty searching, so the time invested was well worth it, even if I had to spend it in an enormous crowd (which I detest). Afterwards, TT and I played a game on spontaneous car-tag by riding and switching with random people until we eventually winded up at Sheri's for a graduation party.
It was fun.

I left around 04:15am and went home, did an impromptu overnight packing job and hopped in the car, driving to Griffin and semi-surprising Andrew by helping him on his Saturday bread route. It was actually fairly fun, even if I'm rather terrible at navigating grocery aisles with huge stacks of bread and cannot for the life of me figure out how Andrew manages to get those top racks off with such fluid motions. By the end of the workday, around noon or so, I had sped up a little bit, but I'm sure that Andrew's regular helper, Mag, could easily run circles around me.

We went back to the apartment for my shower and then went to see a movie, pulled up again, played prognosticator with Julie Delpy's role in animated films, prepared for the wedding (reception) and headed to the airport. Elizabeth was flying in with Ethan, unbeknownst to nearly everyone in the world (with the exception of her four siblings above the age of eight (counting Mag) and Emily). We picked her up and Andrew and I spent a little bit of time garnering stares at our somewhat questionable status as two well-dressed men with a baby in the Atlanta airport, then we headed to the reception.

The reception was great - it was very laid back, the weather was perfect and the location was gorgeous. There was a good amount of family there and we were able to visit, and since it wasn't Luke and Emily's true wedding day, I felt as though they were more relaxed and able to visit better. Now that both Emily and Elizabeth have done the private beach wedding, it's looking more and more desirable to me!
The evening was very fun: I drank alcohol in front of some extended family for the first time and got some good-natured teasing for it; Andrew, Thomas and I paid $3 to give Emily a fabled O'Dell Sandwich; Jackson broke out of his shell in high fashion and stole my dancing thunder; and, of course, Elizabeth and Ethan were able to make it to Emily's reception and also manage to surprise everyone. It was a good night.

In case you haven't figured out by now, at this point I haven't slept since Friday morning. By the time we made it back to Andrew's apartment, changed and talked for a little bit, I had stayed up for forty hours straight! I won't lie, I am rather proud of it. The longest I've stayed up before that was around twenty-five hours, and that was a struggle, so this forty-hour celibacy from sleep was completely out of the blue.

Maw-Maw came to Thomaston the next day with Aunts Doris, Eleanor and Irene, and Granny met Lauren, Brooklyn and Brianna there as well. We had a full house and were able to visit with Elizabeth and Ethan a great deal. I also heard plenty of fun stories from my great-aunts; they're such fun.

That night Elizabeth went to Zaxby's to meet Bruce (!!!) and Jenna (!!!), so we all hung out for a little bit before my lovely "surprise" going-away party (again, at Sheri's). A few were in attendance and I had my own personalized cake that said "Adios Senior" (with a tilda over the 'e'), so it was great fun. I think that's the last time I'll get to see Amber, Sarah, Whitney, Sheri, Phil, etc, etc. Again, I won't lie: I was slightly sad.

I drove up to Columbus this morning and had a nice time in SPED class - I received a 100% on my exam and EVERYONE in the class received 100% on their journals! Dr. Hendrix was so pleased: she said she has never done that in the history of teaching that class, which has been ten years. I know she enjoyed giving out all of those 100's, and we definitely enjoyed receiving them.

I only have THREE full days left in America! I'm slightly nervous, but extremely excited. Only one research paper and two tests left this week, then a bit of packing still to go and I will be off bright and early Friday morning. /tremble

i can't take my eyes off of you

2009-06-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

And so it is:
Just like you said it would be, life goes on easy on me... most of the time.
And so it is:
The shorter story, no love no glory, no hero in her skies.

I can't take my eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes off of you.

And so it is:
Just like you said it would be, we'll both forget the breeze... most of the time.

Did I say that I loathe you? Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?

I can't take my eyes off of you. I can't take my eyes off of you.

- - -

I often hear sad and meaningful songs that I absolutely adore. They resonate with me on an emotional level that almost demands an output. Unfortunately, I have no one to direct that emotional output toward. I listen to a heart-touching song, am affected, and the story ends there.
Well, I suppose it doesn't quite end.

Until the next person deserving of that type of judicious emotional reward comes along, I am sustaining these thoughts within me, polishing and redefining my own mindset of love and emotion. It's not as though those moments when my heart sings its plaintive love songs are over in a flash of brilliance, but instead they are internalized, simply waiting. The story doesn't end; no, it's waiting to be continued.

- - -

I haven't quite figured out what the world of relationships is all about. I've heard that there is an innate longing within us humans to love and to be loved. If I recall correctly, "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return" was the main plot point of Moulin Rogue! There is no greater purpose in life than this revolving current of love from one human to another and back again, if these storybooks indeed hold true. If I accept this idea to be true, as I am for the purpose of this section of this blog, then what is my life outside of the time I am in love?

The concept reminds me of the Freytag Pyramid of narrative structure that we studied in literature class this spring. All of life is either the rising action leading toward or the falling action trailing away from the CLIMAX of LOVE. Before I am in my state of love, my entire life is shaping me for that climatic point on the pyramid, intentionally or not. I may not be mindful of the effect that any random act will have on my future love while I am performing the action, but even the slightest of ripples can go on until they meet the water's end. Every thing I do shapes me as a person; I am constantly being recreated a million times over into the person I will be when I reach my climax.

Looking at the simplistic pyramid, I find the comparison to my not-so-simple life laughable. Haven't I found my climax already? I may be have been fooled by these minor faumaxes, but in reality there will be only one climax, the one true point at which my uphill path ends and my falling action begins. There may be momentary hiccups along the path of the rising action, but each of these will have their own fall that puts me back on the path of rising toward my true climax of love.

The best part about this theory is that it's almost completely unintentional. I don't have to worry about grooming myself for someone, because every aspect of my life is doing that already. Sure, there are some things that I must be active in order to reach my desired goals, but ultimately even if I feel as though I have "failed," I know that I haven't until the pyramid flat-lines into the unknown denouement of death.

- - -

What am I waiting for? I have no idea. I feel as though I'm ready for love, as though I'm ready to sing a song to someone I want to sing a song to. I may be ready now, but I also can be patient. Even if it seems as though I've plateaued, I know that I'm still on the uphill climb, ever-reaching for my climax of love.
So the story isn't over, it's to be continued; I will be the hero in some girl's empty skies.

- - -

Lyrics are from Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter." Listen to the music.

Preparations for Mexico

2009-05-26T17:29:00.000-07:00

In preparing for my six-week "vacation" to Mexico, I have been attempting to spend time with people before I leave. My last day of work was on May 3rd, both to accommodate for my Maymester school schedule and so that I would have time to spend with friends and family.

My first weekend free from work was Mother's Day weekend, so I reserved that one for Mom. Andrew and Mag came to T'town that Friday and we celebrated both Dad's birthday and Mother's Day. We also surprised Mom with a Wii Fit from all of the children, which was fun.

The next weekend was reserved for Andrew and Mag. I went to their place on Saturday afternoon and stayed for about twenty-four hours. MoMo's birthday was around this time, so David brought her over and we celebrated her birthday in high fashion. We also managed to eat at Spicy Thai on Sunday for lunch. I had heard plenty about it, but never been there before; it was definitely all it was cracked up to be. Both Mag and I ordered some type of chicken curry that included avocado. It was supreme.
Andrew and Mag actually lucked out and I came over the following Tuesday night as well. I spent the evening with them and Danielle; Mag cooked us spaghetti that we enjoyed with white wine, though neither Andrew or I truly enjoyed that part of the dinner. I suppose we get that from Mom.

This last weekend was reserved for Kelly. I actually spent just Friday with her, and we went to see the Wonderful World of Coke in Atlanta. I went to the older World of Coke as a child but hadn't been to the new one. Kelly had never been to either, so it was new for both of us.
We were lost for about forty minutes on the way there, traversing random sections of Atlanta and observing the rather disproportionate demographics. We found some rather fabulous apartments as well as colleges, hospitals, and construction-impeded interstates. Just getting there was an adventure in itself.

It's a very nice place. The staff is professional and friendly, and the entire museum is extremely streamlined and modern and made not to feel like a museum. I'm not a big fan of Coke as a drink, and have actually been dieting from carbonated drinks for the past few weeks, but it was an enjoyable experience nonetheless. Both Kelly and I tried all sixty-four flavors, even though Beverly (from Italy, I think) was absolutely horrific. It was some lethal mix of medicine, soda water, rubbing alcohol and the tears of babies - it was also the first drink we unluckily happened upon!

Interesting cultural recreations of Coca-Cola bottles.
The center one is based on South Africa.

A wall of cans and bottles from the Coca-Cola line. Kelly and I took almost the exact same picture of this wall!A Coca-Cola robot. He was rather cute. :)

This snake was made out of bottle caps and was one of my favorites.

I also liked this alligator, which was made from cans.

Though kind of a cheat, since it wasn't made from Coke cans, this harp was pretty nifty.

This was my favorite artwork piece.

This wall of repetitious images with a variance in color was very eye-catching.

Kelly and I gearing up for the 4-D movie (which was a blast).

The rest of my weekend was fun: on Saturday Andrew and Margaret came over for lunch/dinner. We hung out and ate for awhile, though Thomas had to work that evening. Andrew and Mag stayed until almost 08:00pm - Mom played Clue for the first time and we five adults played Rummy and drank wine (again, wine!). Mom claims that her -55 score was only because of the wine, though I don't know if that's also an excuse for the other three players, whose combined score only beat mine by 20 points!

homas and I drove to Griffin and spent the night with bubba, riding to church with them the next day. Sunday was nice and slow, but I managed to read through all of my old blogs, study for tests and pack a good deal of my room. We also saw Night at the Museum II, which was pretty awful.

Monday was the day. Amber got me some boxes from Zaxby's, wherein I packed up all of my room except the parts I'll need for Mexico. It was rather sad, and I helped the moment by playing my "Make Me Cry" playlist while packing. It was tearful.
Dad and Mom played both Rummy and Spades with Thomas and I. Mom redeemed herself by beating the mess out of us men in Rummy, and Spades (which she had never played) came down to one mere hand that Thomas and Dad beat us by (technically two hands, but eleven points seems like a single hand to me). I also had a streak of good luck and managed to have lunch with Krystal (and Thomas and Taylor, Krystal's sister), which I didn't expect. It's always nice to reconnect.

It's Tuesday and I'm back in Columbus! Only one weekend before Mexico, which will be dedicated to the ULHS graduation and Emily's wedding reception. I believe most of my preparations are finished and my friends done away with, so I look forward to the trip.

You Own Me

2009-03-25T12:08:00.000-07:00

I've always considered myself both independent and spiritual. It's an odd mixture, and I'm beginning to find that it's not a very plausible mixture.

I pride myself on my accomplishments. I pride myself on my self-awareness and self-acceptance, the way that I feel attuned to myself and to the world, if not the people in it. I've always been a solitary soul, and recently, with the heavy workload at school and stress of work combined with living in two places, I've come to an almost wholly solitary place. When I went to spring break in LA with my family, I got probably less than twenty texts from people who weren't my family members and either one or two phone calls. I was completely fine with it - proud of it, actually. I thought that I should be respected for having so few friends and not giving a damn.

I was discussing with someone about a week or so ago my current state of life - completely ambitious, further emphasizing the black-and-white mentality I've had for years, dealing in equalities instead of self-sacrifice, rediscovering my moral center and isolating many of the friends I no longer have time to deal with. I told him I was perfectly content in life and that I felt as if I had reached my apex; not that I had done everything I was capable of, but I had done everything I felt I ever needed to do. "If I die tomorrow," I said, "I know that I would be fine with it."
A few days later I laughed with my mom in telling her how I had no hope in humanity. I felt like Dr. Manhattan - understanding the world and how it works, even beyond his knowledge understanding how I fit into it, but not understanding other humans. I understand myself fully, but haven't put that understanding into a practical knowledge of interacting or caring about everyone else.

So Monday night I was praying about something, thanking God for my contentment with my independence. And it kind of hit me that I can't be independent when it comes to Him. I have to submit to Him, which is oh so hard. I told him I would try, and spoke my prayers which have only recently become prayers of mine: to be a better person: to be kinder, to sin less, to like girls more, to be above reproach at work, to be friendly at school, to not get smashed regularly. I told him I had to have encouragement to do it, though, expecting for the morning to bring with it a weakening of my resolve to be better.

It didn't.

I went to my first class and had the audacity to talk to someone in class. Then chatted with another person on the way to my second class, where I laughed with two girls in our group discussion and actually noticed the missing people. In my mini break before the Mexico class I ran into a guy from the second class and teased him. What was wrong with me??? Then in my third class a girl purposefully sat beside me and just started chatting. Odd. Then another asked me a question about the material and I actually made an effort to get in on the group discussion. Some stroke of boldness hit me after class, when I walked into the writing lab and sat down at their round table and asked for help with a paper. I recognized three people there and got to say hello to each of them. One helped consult me on my paper and we carried on a conversation afterward. Then after I grabbed lunch I was walking back to the library and ran into my one CSU friend from last semester and someone else; we sat and talked for a little while.
Oh, and while I was eating lunch a random lady saw me reading and asked if I went to school. We had a good five-minute conversation about my major, schools, businesses and church. Do you know what she told me? "I'm proud of you," she said. "As long as you got Jesus with you, ain't nobody can stop you."

When I got in bed that night, I was befuddled. WHAT HAD HAPPENED? I had prayed for encouragement, especially in my struggle with wanting to be independent, and God had gone overboard, throwing so many people at me I had no idea what to do with them.

I'm encouraged now. I don't have to be proud of myself, because others can be. I am not a bad person, but I can (and will) do better. I can be friendly. I can be kind. I can have time for others.

Just when I think I know myself, I grow up a little bit. Thank God for that.

Short Stories: A Great Night

2009-03-15T13:54:00.001-07:00

A Great Night

He walked in the front door sullenly, flipping the porch light off and giving the immaculate foyer a barely cursory glance. His work-worn sigh was lost in the creak of the ornate wooden door as he pushed it closed against the invasive night air that matched the black interior of the house. He had no clue where Ellen was and had no inclination to care. As he walked down the night-filled hallway he brushed his overly starched hair with a perfectly manicured hand, the scent of high quality hairspray unfolding from his picturesque black curls. His palm wandered down his clean shaven jaw to the full knot of his red tie, fingers beginning to loosen the knot that his wardrobe assistant had tied a few hours ago.
He stepped into their room with trepidation, wary of arising Ellen and her ire. He shuffled sideways toward their bathroom, edging around the invisible bed and away from the enormous dresser he had bought for her on their novel-perfect honeymoon. He reached into the bathroom and turned on the far light, illuminating the crystal clear shower door and casting a lifeless sheen across the royal purple rug. He stepped in the bathroom and pulled the door almost closed, allowing a crack of light to shine into their room. He finally set his briefcase down on the expensive tile and leaned heavily on the starkly clean counter top.
His mirrored self was perfect. Classic good looks, a full jaw and an easy, honest smile were crested by loose curls, jet black without even the slightest hint of gray. His body was well cut and finely muscled, dressed in a classy dress shirt and slacks, both ironed with precision and without warmth. He was designed without a flaw, a perfect man. His face had always been destined for television; anchoring a top-line late night news broadcast was easy and natural to him. He did not love his job.
He stripped off his immaculate work clothes, leaving himself in a pair of designer underwear and a pure white undershirt. He washed his face in warm water and an expensive soap, burying his livelihood into a thick, soft towel to dry it off. He put his clothes in the decorative hamper and hung his belt and tie on the back of the door. He left his shoes by the clothes hamper and left the bathroom with his briefcase in hand.
He set the briefcase on the far side of the room by the door and turned, unseeing eyes looking at the marriage bed. He sighed, heavily, and walked over to it. His knees bumped the classic iron framework and his fingers felt the thick corner of the fluffy bedspread. He sat on the bed, not wanting to lie in it.
The bedroom door suddenly swung open, light from the hallway flooding into the bedroom. Ellen stood framed in the doorway, her trim figure snugly encased in a heavy black peacoat that ended just shy of her knees. Her dyed blonde hair fell lightly against her newly tanned cheek, giving a falsely soft look to her sharp face. Her mouth was slightly open, full red lips quivering with practiced rage. She was holding a huge leather suitcase.
"I'm leaving," she said, matter-of-factly. She set her suitcase down and moved around the room with an aloof attitude, methodically adjusting the minute angles of picture frames as she casually discussed her plans to move in with her sister back west. Completing her final tour of the room, she picked up her suitcase and looked at her partner. "I parked your car in the garage and left the extra key on the dining room table. Channel five said the weather would be bad so I didn't want to leave it in the driveway." She took a deep breath and carelessly sighed. "Goodbye."
She left the light on and closed the door forever.
After he heard her car back out of the driveway he turned the television on and flipped to channel number nine. "Goodnight," Shondra was saying, her brilliant white smile shining from her dark face. "Have a great night," His television self beamed with a natural smile. The credits rolled over their faces as they disussed the night's broadcast with simple, unintimate words.
He turned off the bedroom light and television and slid under the cool sheets. He rolled over and faced the emptiness where Ellen was not, murmuring to the silence what he once whispered to the living: "Have a great night."
He rolled back over and went to sleep.

(C) 2009