29 January 2010

Florida red ants

When I was about 8 or 9, my family went to Florida on vacation. Apparently we went there a couple of times, but I only really remember this one time. My parents own a timeshare, so when we go on vacation, we sometimes get to stay in really awesome resorts. This time, we were in a huge, sprawling monstrosity of amazingness that was complete with several indoor and outdoor pools, hottubs, tennis courts, raquetball courts, arcades, and restaurants. The only problem with this place, honestly, was that it was in Florida, because I hate humidity.

It just so happened that staying in the area was a former tennis star, and I had a very keen interest in tennis (I went through two seasons or so of private and group lessons). So my parents decided to be awesome and got me lessons with this lady while the rest of my family just kind of chilled at the courts. Rather, they didn't chill, because it was so hot. But anyways.

My younger sisters were about 5 and 2, or something like that. While I was having my lessons and my parents were sitting in the shade drinking lemonade and water, they were running around the courts, chasing after my stray balls. After about half an hour, they grew tired, like small children usually do, and decided to explore the shade.

One of the corners of the court was torn up a little, like someone with a mini drill had been given a little too much free time. And in this corner, under the torn up green and red surface, was a colony of ants. Now, Bri and Steph knew what ants were. Who doesn't? But they had never actually had the chance to understand how many different types of ants there are. So these ants were cool and special, because, unlike all the boring ants from Colorado, which were black, these ants were red. Ooooooo....pretty!

My sisters started playing with the ants, giving them love in the best ways they could think of. And then Bri got a simply fantastic idea: Mommy and Daddy just had to meet their new friends! She reached down and tried to pick up one of the pretty new pets, but he ran away from under her fingers. The next time, she just let one of the ants come to her. He crawled up her fingernail, and moseyed up to her knuckle.

Bri lifted her hand close to her nose, so she could look at him, and started to stand up. I was on the other end of the court, listening to how to properly extend my arm during a serve. And then there was screaming. Oh, how she screamed.

Bri flung her hand in the air and ran towards my parents; a very confused Steph screamed once or twice and then ran after her. Waving her chubby little finger in the air, Bri realized that her little red friend was still hanging on for dear life, and she screamed again and started crying. I, however, couldn't help but laugh. And when I laughed, so did Steph, and that just made Bri more sad. For the last days of our vacation, Bri had a mini red welt on the tip of her pointer finger, and every time she looked at it, her big blue eyes would fill up with a crazy amount of tears.

22 January 2010

Paying for freedom

Her name was Cora*. Cora Thompson. I was her best friend in seventh and eighth grade, but she wasn't mine. Cora was one of those girls who, I don't know, just couldn't be a good friend. She was very pretty, with thick brown hair and big brown eyes; maybe she was a little on the chubby side, but who isn't, in middle school? She wore cooler clothes than I did, and when we went to D.C. for our school trip in eighth grade, she and I were buddies.

In seventh grade, she attached herself to me because I listened to her. I didn't push her away. Her parents were divorced, she hated her mom's boyfriend. Actually, she hated all of them. I don't remember for sure if she had siblings, but I seem to remember a younger brother. Cora was soft inside, like meat gets after you beat it with a cleaver for a few minutes. Sometimes when she was talking to me I could still see the marks it had left. But I would shake my head and blink and then it would be obvious that nothing was wrong with her.

I can't even begin to tell you how many times she ignored things I said. If she was complaining about a teacher, sometimes I would join in. That's when she heard me. But standing up for people was a most uncalled-for act. When I got home from school I would collapse, exhausted, on my bed. You see, listening is a great quality. But you need to have a filter, so that things don't get stuck in your head and stew. It's the stewing that got to me. Cora dumped everything on me: her family, her boy problems, her conquests, her hates, her likes, her feelings.

And then she left. She finished eighth grade and then went to a different school. I can't say I was too devastated; but it still made me a little sad to never hear from her. Isn't it always like that? No matter how good a friend is at being a friend, they are almost always missed as a friend. Cora disappeared and I didn't hear from her and after a while, I realized that it was nice to live without stress.

A year later, I was shopping at JC Penney's with my mom, trying to find jeans long enough for my freakish legs. I was holding a pile of them when Cora suddenly appeared in front of me, grinning.

"Genevieve," she said. It sounded like an announcement, not a question.
"Cora! Hi! How are you?" We went through the typical formalities: schools, classes, people we both knew. And then:

"Man, I'm so glad I left that school. I feel so free now," she said.
"Free? That's cool," I said. I wasn't really sure what to say, if anything.
"Free! I mean, I get to sleep with whoever I want, and, don't tell my mom, but the nurse at school hands out free condoms and I just fill my locker with them."
"Oh," I said.
"And I just started this thing at Water World, honestly, it rocks, because all I have to do is make out with this one guy Lucas, and he gives me free pot. I'm not even lying," Cora said. She was smiling at me in a strange way, as though waiting for me to react. I couldn't. I couldn't do anything besides stand there. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. This was coming from Cora, Cora, my friend, who had talked with me a little over a year before about how boys are so not worth it and how people we knew who did drugs only ruined themselves and the relationships of people around them.

"I see," I said. I took in a deep breath while thinking of my next response, but Cora beat me to it.
"You wanna know the best part? It's like God ever existed. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. No more rules, no more hoops to jump through," she said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said.
"Ha! You just like your rules where they are," Cora said. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You're such a rule follower."
"Maybe," I said, smiling. "But I'm free, too. I'm not pushed into things."
"Sure. Whatever. I have to go. Bye," she said. Without giving me a chance to say anything else, Cora disappeared behind some clothes. I looked around the department. It was nearly empty. Readjusting my hold on my pile of pants, I ducked into the dressing room area and enclosed myself in a room before the tears could do anything besides hover.

I looked in the mirror, and my eyes were very glossy. I laughed a little at myself, trying not to be sad. But I cried anyways.

Cora never contacted me again. I heard little things about her, from various people, but on the whole I kind of forgot about her. That is, I forgot about her until January or February of my freshman year of college. I was sitting on my dorm bed doing homework when I got a text from my kindred spirit-best friend-soul sister:

"Did you hear about Cora Thompson?"
"No, what? Man, I haven't heard from her in years!"
"She committed suicide."

I dropped my phone and stopped thinking.
Cora had finished high school and gone to CSU, in Fort Collins. She'd made it through the first semester. And then her roommate found her dangling from the top bunk.

I closed my books and grabbed my quilt, and walked down to the patio. It was dark, several hours after dinner time, and I stared into the dead grass while thinking about nothing. A friend came out and gave me a hug. I continued to sit, thinking, I feel like I should have done something. Something, something, something.




*I seem to be on a name-changing kick. Darn.

20 January 2010

Asking for angels

The blue and green trucks on the makeshift curtain covering the window were glowing. I'm sure the cloth was put there to keep out at least most of the light from the glaring bulbs outside, but it wasn't doing a very good job of it. I muffled my groan by sticking my face into my pillow, wincing as my sleeping bag made crinkling noises.

Note to self, I thought, next time bring the cloth-lined bag. Even the tiniest movements sounded like I was pouring buckets of nails down metal piping. I couldn't believe that the girls were still sleeping. I closed my eyes again and felt myself falling into the waves of unconsciousness. It was, of course, only a couple of seconds before I heard my name.

"Michelle?" Her voice sounded smaller than usual, and my eyes flew instantly open. I hoped for a brief second that she wouldn't say it again, that she would go back to sleep. "Michelle?" It was Tory*, I knew. She'd stuck by me all that day, holding my hand in between activities and refusing to stand next to Katie, my teammate, for longer than a couple of seconds.

Unzipping my sleeping back and wincing as it once again made an unforgiveable racket, I swung my legs over the top of the bunk and carefully walked down the ladder. The tiny rungs hurt my feet and I almost stepped on top of Lexi's duffel of presents from her adoptive parents, but it was still only a matter of seconds before I was standing at Tory's eye level.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Can't you sleep?" I whispered. The six other girls made no signs of having woken to my words. I reached back across to my bunk, where my watch was hooked onto the side of my bed, hanging next to it was my nametag and markers. 3:42, the lights glared at me, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I'm scared," Tory said. The rolling of the eyes was postponed indefinitely.
"What are you scared of?"
"There are ghosts in the room and they're scary," she whispered. Her huge blue eyes were made even brighter by the light coming in from the window next to my bunk, and her hair looked too dull to be blond. Tory looked somewhere past me, into the corner, and I turned to look with her. Nothing. But I knew that children can be more observant than most adults, so I looked again.

"You're sure there are ghosts?" I asked, since I didn't have anything else ready to say.
"Or demons," Tory said. I caught my breath and felt my eyebrows squeeze together in concern.
"Oh, honey. Did you ask Jesus to send his angels for you?" Tory shook her head, which really just meant that her eyes moved up and down twice, and very quickly. "You know there are already angels in here right now? And they're protecting you?" Tory just looked at me, then lifted her small white hand up and rubbed her nose.

"Will you come with me to the bathroom?" she asked.
"Of course," I said. She shoved her sleeping bag down to her feet and I lifted her from the bed. She was incredibly light and I set her gently and silently on the floor, and then we both walked the five steps to the bathroom. Tory was clinging to me so tightly that I almost couldn't walk without first making sure that her feet weren't under my own. She even wanted to keep holding my hand while she was in the stall, but her arms weren't long enough, so I convinced her that she could let go for a couple of seconds. I think she was afraid that if she didn't hold on to me, I would disappear.

With my hands and her hands washed (she was out of the stall, and therefore I had to hold her hand), we both tiptoed back to the room, where I helped her climb quietly into her bunk. Tory lay back down on her stomach, and I put my hand on her back.

"They're still here," she whispered, and without a moment's hesitation I knew she was right.
"But so are the angels," I said.
"What if there aren't enough?" Tory asked. Something was pinching my heart, and my throat closed up around whatever air I had just breathed in.
"Did you know that God has a million gazillion infinity angels just waiting to protect you?"
"Really?"
"Yeah. And all you have to do is ask for them, Tory," I said.
"I can ask for more angels?"
"Any time you want them. Do you want me to help you ask for them?" Tory sighed and nodded, and I moved a piece of hair away from her forehead. I whispered a prayer for more angels and for comfort and good dreams, and I could feel her body relaxing under my fingertips as they lightly ran between her shoulder blades. Then I asked her if she thought she could go to sleep.

Tory looked at me out of sleepy eyes and nodded, whispering a tiny "Yes" that I almost couldn't hear, and then she lifted up one of her fingers and pushed my cheekbone.
"You should go to sleep" she said. I grinned and gave her one last pat.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," I said. My bunk protested every step I made up the tiny ladder and I winced once again as I slid into my sleeping bag to lay on my stomach. I couldn't understand how no one woke up to that sound. It was so loud.

I turned my face away from the window, watching Tory's bunk. Her eyes were closed, and her fist was clenched just underneath her chin. I smiled in spite of myself and closed my own eyes, trying to calm my breathing to a sleeping sort of speed. When I woke up in the morning, Tory was as naughty and stubborn as ever.

19 January 2010

First date, Part 2

******You should read "First date, Part 1" if you want to really appreciate any of this. Trust me. It makes it even more awesome.******

Monday came quickly, of course, just like anything you wait for. Some terrible things come too quickly, and some awesome things come too slowly, but this just came at a normal sort of quickly that I almost couldn't stand. I was nervous, and gently cursing the spinning sensation eating my intestines, I got ready early and then had to just sit in my parents' living room staring at a book. Anyone who has ever tried to read something while filled with nervous anticipation knows that it is, above all things, completely impossible. I jumped up and looked in the mirror. Yes, my hair still looked the same as it had three minutes before. What a relief.

And then the bell. Oh, the bell. Finally.

I held my head up and opened the door with my purse in hand, ready to walk out. I yelled goodbye to my mom and Brad walked in front of me to the car. He even opened the door for me, and shut it quietly. Now, this is the part where things got completely out of my control. The door closed on my side, opened on his, and closed. Brad turned the key, making the car rumble, and drove away from my house. I was silent. I must have been waiting for him to say something interesting or surprising. Or just anything in general.

When we were about to turn out of my neighborhood onto one of the main roads, Brad turned to me and said, "So I don't know this area very well. You'll have to help me find a good spot." Huh?
"A good spot?"
"A park, I mean." Oh. Of course, I thought, because we're not going to coffee. We're going to a park. That was the deal, right? Oh dear.
"Oh, well. There's one on Ward. Turn right," I said. I figured that we might as well go to a park I liked, and there was a spot nearby that I ran by a lot, and it had some nice grass. If only I had known!

Brad parked across the street from the entrance. The park is actually a string of parks connected by a long paved white trail and a small creek. This entrance to the trail was only a two-minute walk from the nearest park, so I thought it would work fine. I got out of the car on my own, and it was a lovely self-sufficient sort of feeling. But Brad didn't follow me to the pedestrian signal right away; he was messing around in his back seat.

"Uh, Brad? This way?"
"Wait a sec, I have to get lunch," he said. His head reappeared above the roof of the car, and he put a picnic basket on top of the trunk. My stomach dropped.
"You can carry the blanket," he said. A quilt I recognized from his dorm room apparated in midair and landed halfway in my arms and halfway in my face. My stomach dove this time and landed awkwardly on its knees. I could feel the painful tingles all over. Brad pulled school-insignia-d cups out and stuffed them inside the basket, and then he pulled out a bottle of sparkling apple cider. I don't think that, at this point, there was any type of gymnastic that my stomach had performed without completely biffing it.

I decided it was going to be fun, and, leading Brad across the street, did my best to remember that I had been nervously excited and that I liked him. I really did, I supposed.

We spread the blanket on top of a grassy knoll, not even exaggerating. The grass was brilliantly green, and the sun cast perfect tree-shaped shadows on minuscule parts of the lawn. Children were playing and laughing in the distance, and an old couple walking by gave us goofy, adorable smiles and I think the old woman may have winked at me. It was comfortable to sit down, and I was glad that I was wearing shorts and not a skirt.

I couldn't help it -- I tossed my hair so it fell behind my shoulders, and I closed my eyes against the sun until the moment I realized that I might be creating a sort of fetching type of picture. I resolved to look as boring as possible, lest I make him like me more. Brad wasn't watching me, though, when I looked over at him; he was pulling a collection of plastic tubs out of the basket. He'd made sandwiches, cut up carrots, and he had chips. And-

"Alexis made the brownies," Brad said. "And I got the cups from Josh." Oh lord. The RAs had helped him? That meant... everyone but me knew what was happening. So not fair.

I grabbed a sandwich half and stuffed its corner into my mouth. We talked about normal things for a while, and then the questions started.

"What's your favorite restaurant?"
"What kind of man do you see yourself marrying?"
"Are you the woman you want to be?"
"Do you want kids?"
"Where do you want to live?"

Now, I understand that these questions are, for all intents and purposes, totally innocent. They have people's best interests at heart, I'm sure. But at 19, these questions have a sort of quality which is, dare I say it, quite akin to an interview? I realized that I had accidentally stepped into an engagement counseling session and decided to politely excuse myself at the earliest point possible. Unfortunately, the brownies were speaking to me.

"Just a little longer," they said. "Maybe he's nervous. He doesn't know what to talk about. Besides, you want to eat us. And you like cider. Look at those cute little cups..."
I tried my best to listen to the brownies (or was that my subconscious?), and it worked for a while. The knoll became pleasanter, and it felt like we were just hanging out again in the common room, talking about God and plays and idiot professors. Suddenly I had a flashback: I was sitting in my usual chair at the table in the common room, telling Brad about one of my profs. I don't remember the story, but I remember, realizing, in that moment, that Brad had been fiddling with his fingers like crazy, and looking deeply into my eyes whenever he possibly could. It was a depth I should have noticed and let concern me.

I blinked and was back in the park, and I felt a little ridiculous because it had taken me so long to finally acknowledge that Brad had liked me for a long time -- I had stored that memory away in March or so. The cider was poured, the brownies were sent to their death, and then we flicked the grass remains off of the blanket. I stepped down the knoll toward the sidewalk and the way to the car, but Brad stayed where he was.

"Is there anything down that way?"
"Just the creek and some bridges that creak when you walk on them," I said, immediately regretting it.
"Let's go check it out," he said. "How many kids do you think you want?"
"Are any of them going to be midgets?" Yes, I did say this. I'm sorry. But there are moments when you can handle what is happening to you, and there are moments when you just can't take it any more. My life happens to be full of the latter, so I usually decide to just say whatever will get a reaction. It didn't work.
"Really, Genevieve. How many?"
"Um...two?"
"I like the idea of three or four. A full house is one of my dreams," he said.
"That's expensive," I said. We'd reached the bridge and I was just ecstatic to discover that it was completely devoid of all things pesky and buggy. There was no reason to turn back, so we settled in, me leaning on the bridge, him sitting down. A cyclist rode past, making the boards of the bridge rattle charmingly. A chorus of birds sang, and my imaginary shotgun created puffs of feathers all over the trees.

"Why are you so sarcastic?" Brad asked suddenly. When I looked down at him he was looking into the trees by the creek bed. It had never bothered him before; I'd even thought it was part of why we got along so well.
"Why? Why not?"
"You're going to hurt someone someday," he said. He smiled, though, so he couldn't have been talking about himself. Then: "You're going to make some wonderful friendship and completely ruin it because you have to always be sarcastic and rude."
"You think I'm rude?"
"Not today, but sometimes."
"Did I make you cry?" I asked. It occurred to me mostly because it had happened before, but I asked uncertainly because it had only happened to a girl, and just once. I think. So I asked it, hoping that he would give me some sort of amusing answer, like he usually did.
"No...Should I have?"
"Of course not."

"Do you think God is happy that you're sarcastic?"
"What?" I wished we could have gone back to the other questions, at least the interview hadn't also included Chinese water torture. "Yes. I think he made me this way for a reason. I'm sorry you don't like it. I'll just be sugar from now on, no spice. Just for you."

Brad calmed down a little and we talked about the weather and having pets, and then we walked back to the car. Driving back felt completely fine, or maybe I was just happy because I was going to be home soon, and away from the experience. Brad walked me to my door, and with perfect timing, my mother opened it just as we reached the step.

"Oh! Hi," she said. "I'm getting something from the car." She unlocked the Accord, pulled out a magazine, and came back. And then she talked to him for half an hour in our entryway. It was adorable parent/RA stuff, and as I stood only partially involved in the conversation, I suddenly realized that I was not going to be able to get rid of him.

I almost even thought that he was going to drop down on one knee right there, ignoring the fact that most guys wait for the girl to be in love with him to do so. I wondered what an ulcer felt like, and if I had one, or could get one somewhere. My mother invited him into the kitchen, and so we moved there and talked a little more until my mom had to leave, and then it was just him, me, and two glasses of water. I opened my mouth a couple of times to say what I had been rehearsing in my head since we'd gotten back in the car, but each time I went to say it, Brad asked me something or filled the silence with a comment about my house. At about 4:00, there was a longer silence than usual. I opened my mouth for the third time, suddenly glad that the silence had opened up at the exact moment I had enough courage to say anything.

"Oh, it's 4 o'clock!" Brad looked at his watch and declared that he needed to head home. He drained his glass and put it in the sink before walking to the door. I followed him, squeezing my lips together and whipping my head quickly from side to side and up and down, trying to invisibly beat some sense into my cowardly self. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. And it was all going to end badly, I knew it was, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Brad opened the door himself and stepped down onto the mini patio and then turned around to smile at me. "So...I'll see you?" I made the mistake of beginning my response with a smile. He started to turn around, without so much as another word, and my smile dropped.

"Brad," I said. He turned around with such happy expectation that I felt too guilty to be worthy of anything happy, ever. I had my hand on the door, and I squeezed it, imagining that my knuckles were white with the effort. "I... don't know if this is going to work."

Brad's face fell. I mean, almost literally. His smile turned into pathetic hot wax, melting downwards until I thought it was irretrievable, and his eyes lost their shine.

"I mean, you're awesome and all, but... I... I'm not ready for a relationship like this." I closed my eyes a little bit longer than usual and mentally kicked myself. It was not going well.

"OK," he said. And then he walked away. He was in his car before I could to climb out of my hole, so by the time I saw the light of day again, I was left standing with my imaginary shovel in one hand and the door in the other. So I hit myself in the head with the one and shut the other, softly.

It took me years to be able to run by that park without feeling mysteriously guilty.

First date, Part 1

It was May, I remember, and for Colorado, it was very green. The city smelled like dead cows and pigs, which wasn't very strange. The bright white-yellow ball of the sun burnt everything into a soft haze of happiness -- summer was close. It was so close we couldn't just taste it, we were practically eating it.

This was the atmosphere I should have known to avoid. Spring and summer, as most people know, are very dangerous times. You get the right types of people together, and they start thinking things and being sneaky, you know? But I really had no idea that I should have been more specific when talking to Kadey about Brad*. It's not really something you consider, when faced with the idea that the RA might have a crush on you. You don't think, 'Hm, I should be sure to be very clear, so nothing awkward happens.'

No. You think, 'Nothing will ever happen; he doesn't actually like me. Even if I were sure if I liked him...nah. Not possible.' That's what you think. Silly you.

So at the end of April, a week or two before finals started, when Kadey and I were hanging out in my room talking about our ridiculous roommates, I let her see the totality of my confusion.

"We're just really great friends," I said to open the conversation. First mistake, obviously. Classic. Kadey grinned at me.

"That's what they all say before they fall in love," she said. I whacked her with a book.
"Shut up. I mean, really. We just hang out and stuff. I don't think I like him."
"You don't think you like him?" I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

"He's really nice," I said, finally, and with only a little conviction. I suddenly felt as though I did like him, immensely, but the thought terrified me and seemed false. Kadey raised an eyebrow at me and looked down at the homework in her lap, pretending to work on it. "Oh shut up," I said, knowing what she was thinking. She tucked her short brown hair behind an ear and grinned like a second-grader.

"What're you gonna do when he confesses his love for you?" she asked. I scoffed. The nerve of her.
"Brad is not going to confess his love for me. I just happen to be the only sane girl in this whole dorm," I said. "Besides you, of course. But you don't talk to boys." This time I was the one who had to dodge a book, and I did so while laughing.
"I do too! I just only talk to the intelligent ones. Plus Brad doesn't think I'm pretty like he thinks you are," she said. She had to have been taunting me. I rolled my eyes and chose not to say anything in reply. The conversation continued in much the same vein, and in the end I was more unsure of whether I really liked Brad or not, or if the thought of Damien not being there was messing me up.

Damien was...that boy. That one that you think about all the time even though you hate yourself for it. He was charming and detested it. He was cooler than me, so of course I was charmed. But he was gone, and Brad wasn't. I did eventually stop dreaming about Damien, but in this moment, I thought I could never truly like someone like Brad with Damien's promise lurking in the air:
"I'll be back this summer."

A week after talking to me, Kadey was hanging out with the RAs at the coffee shoppe. She didn't tell me where she was; I'm pretty sure I was chilling with Jack or Lilie or both. Who knows. So I didn't find out anything about the following until after what happened after the next thing. The coffee outing was apparently spontaneous, and in the midst of the other RAs, Brad nudged Kadey with his elbow and bent his head down to say something in a low sort of voice.

"Hey, so, I was wondering. Does Genevieve... I mean... do you think she would go out with me?"
"Are you asking me to ask her?" Brad, I guess, had smiled at this point, as he briefly considered the suggestion.
"No," he said. "I just wanted to, you know, make sure." The other RAs turned and paid attention. Alexis had heard my name and motioned for the others to pay attention. Everyone knew that Kadey was my best friend on campus. She (of all people) would know if I had a crush on Brad or not. I like to imagine that at this point, Kadey paused and gathered her thoughts before saying anything. I like to think that she took her time, drawing the possibilities out into the air with her loaded silence.

"You're going to ask her out?" she asked.
"I think so," Brad said. Maybe he was watching his fingers, maybe he was looking into Kadey's eyes.
"You could ask her to coffee," Kadey said. Alexis agreed. Even thinking about it now, coffee is such a good first date. Public place, everyone likes drinking things, and they have a bathroom. I really can't think of anything better.

Finals came and went; I honestly don't remember them, it was so many years ago. And then came the final day of everything, and we were all being kicked out of the dorm. My clothes and books and piles of junk were stuffed into boxes and squished into my mom's van next to the conversation starter chair and my cylindrical pillows. I hugged Jack and Kadey and a couple of others and waved and said I'd see them when we moved into our house in August, and then my mom drove me to the Humanities building to pick up my French final.

I was planning to be out of the vehicle such a short time that I left the door open. Two minutes later I plopped back into the seat and dropped the stapled pages onto the floor. "Your phone rang while you were gone," my mom said. "I didn't answer it."
"Oh," I said when I saw that Brad had called. "I must have forgotten something. Wait a sec, we might have to go back to the dorm." Silly girl, I can say that now that I look back on it. I held my hand out toward her, letting it over in the air while I listened to the message.

"Hey, Genevieve, it's Brad. Um, I just wanted to talk to you, and yeah, call me back." It was very short. I couldn't figure out why he had called, so I pushed the call button, found his name, and soon it was connecting. Beep. Beep. Beee-

"Hi."
"Hey," I said. "Did I forget something in my room?"
"Oh, uh, no. I actually... well... I was wondering, now that I'm not your RA, if you would wanna go out to coffee sometime?" I couldn't help it, one of my hands clapped itself to my mouth and wouldn't move. I smiled, hugely, and at first forgot I was supposed to say something. This boy really didn't lose any time.
"I...sure," I said, remembering a conversation I'd had with Lilie a few months before about just giving guys at least a first date, it took them so much courage sometimes to just ask. We kind of felt like we owed it to them for being so brave. Or stupid. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

"OK, awesome," he said. I could hear him smiling. "So...how about next Monday? I can drive down to you."
"Cool. Sure, that'd work fine. See you then." He said goodbye and hung up, and I snapped my phone shut and looked at my mom. She wasn't looking at me. "I'm going to coffee with Brad on Monday," I said.
"Brad-the-RA Brad?"
"Yup."
"Really."
"Yup."
"You like him?"
"Uh... I'll figure it out later?" I laughed, feeling a little giddy. I couldn't stop smiling. Suddenly I really did like him, and it was amusing that he had waited maybe two minutes after un-becoming my RA before asking me out. That was worth something, right?



*Names changed, of course. It's more fun that way.

16 January 2010

Earthquake dream

Pink, blue, and white buildings are everywhere, crumbled like dry cookies. Pieces of people and their homes litter the torn sidewalks like gumwrappers. They used to be full of something of substance, and their emptiness scares me.

We lined the sides of the road with sinks and filled them with whatever we thought was worth saving. One of them is full of screw-on bottle tops, white ones. Others are full of broken plates, or bracelets. Memories, all of them, or inside jokes; the things that people don't need to remember, but want to, because it's nice.

The earthquake is suddenly there, and then it's gone, and we are in the aftermath, trying to save the children. But they are only breathing phantoms, and as soon as we get a hold of them and feel their soft flesh under out trembling fingertips coated with blood, they are smoke.

While we scurry after the phantom children, whirring somethings fly by like white-gray rockets, sounding like missiles. They avoid people and rubble, which are often the same thing, and several of us realize they are dragons. But when they stop, we know we are wrong, because they are angels. The angel-dragons whoosh by, pulling the burning air after them. No one screams while they are near. When they stop, we can see their faces; one second they look like women in dresses, the next they are blood-splattered men. And then we know they are dragons again.

We are breathing the dust of everyone, and as I climb in the ruins after the phantom children, I feel nothing but grit under my nails, and my throat raspingly closes around the spreading brokenness. I think my leg might be broken.