25 February 2010

The Beak and money

In fifth grade, in order to make some extra cash without asking my parents for an advance on my allowance, my friend Jeremy and I decided to put our artistic abilities to use.

For the next couple of weeks we drew people's names on pieces of cardstock and made them look pretty with crayons, colored pencils, and markers. I was really good at making the person's name look like a tiny ribbon had been twisted cursive-style. The girls really liked that one.

We made maybe $3 or so, charging either a nickel or a dime for each page, depending on the intricacy of the design.

The next year we began a middle school newspaper called The Beak. I was the editor. It was one page, on both sides, and we had a student of the week, a main article, a review of the chapel (Christian school), and a comic strip. I think we managed about five issues before it kind of petered out.

11 February 2010

Rocky Mountain High

For the most part, the trip was a success. Turning my birthday weekend into a road trip to look at colleges had been a collaborative effort involving me wanting to look at a university in California and my mom and her best friend being very willing to drive me there. So we jumped into our van -- named the Big Ol' Van (B.O.V.) by my dad and The Monstrosity by my sisters and myself -- and drove there. It was me, my friend Ariel, and our mothers. Denver to San Diego.

I don't remember the trip out, and the time in Cali was fine, I suppose. It seemed to be like all my other trips to the state, which have actually been quite a few, since we have family there. I remember sitting up front with Nili, telling her about a boy from school, so that she would be able to stay awake while driving in the middle of the night. The highway between Vegas and southern California is very dark and creepy at night, so part of me didn't quite understand why she needed help staying awake. I suppose other people's minds turn off in the dark.

But it isn't the trip there that I truly remember, nor my visits to the universities, though parts of them are still branded in my mind. No, the one thing I really remember is a rest stop on top of the Continental Divide, somewhere in the mountains.

We'd been driving for a very long time. It was mid-October, so of course it was snowing outside. I'm pretty sure temperatures were way below normal, because the van just couldn't stay warm. The heat was blasting so much that Ariel and I had to turn up the TV so we could hear our movies. Our van was awesome for one reason: the back seats could fold down into a bed. Ariel and I spent almost the entire road home reclining and watching movies or sleeping.

By the time we got close to the rest stop, I had to pee like crazy. I mean, not one of those, "Oh crap, I think I need to pee" moments. It was one of those, "Mom? Pull over. Pull over, please" moments. Luckily for me, the blue rest stop sign shone out from the darkness a mere thirty seconds after this realization, and in a minute we were parked and Ariel and I, in our pajama pants and slippers, were tumbling out of the doors and heading for the steps to the building.

The cold air and snowflakes hit my face like a snowball formed around a small brick. You know that feeling of getting into a pool that isn't heated and you feel like all your warmest parts are being assaulted in the crudest manner? It hurt like that. I blinked and stuck my hand out to touch the van, just for a moment of solidarity. And then I remembered I had to pee. Ariel was already halfway up the steps, and she turned and hustled me on.

"What are you doing? I thought you had to pee, too?"
"Shut up," I said. "My head hurts." I'd reached the top of the stone steps and was only a few paces from the door, and suddenly my vision decided to go dancing in the dark. Blinded, I reached out for something, anything, and my fingertips scraped the stonework on either side of the door. My vision cleared and I shook my head, trying to clear it as well.

Inside, heat was being blown out of vents in every corner of the room. Everything was made of stone, rough and gray, and looked perfect for climbing. Ariel was gone, into the bathroom I supposed, and I glanced around, trying to find that little sign with the lady in the dress. It was on the opposite side of the room, across from the vending machines. I walked over to it, but didn't get very far.

The bathrooms were separated by a long wall, I'm sure most people would be familiar with it, and you had to go around the wall either to the right or the left to go into the correct bathrooms. In my particular case, I needed to go right. Instead, I went straight. I intended to go right, of course, but en route my eyesight blurred and everything in the room became very wobbly, which was strange because usually, and please correct me if I'm wrong, but usually, rock doesn't wobble. At least, it doesn't shimmy like that rock was doing. And it doesn't turn colors and fade into black.

When I opened my eyes again, my cheek felt like a scrape under lemon juice. My fingers were clamped around the edge of the wall, and just to the left of my face was that little sign. The woman on it seemed to be looking at me with an eyebrow raised, an amazing feat since she had no facial features. Ariel appeared from inside the bathroom.

"What's wrong? Your cheek is red!" I glared at her, I believe.
"My vision keeps going wooo-woooo," I said, moving my hands back and forth in a pulsing motion. Ariel laughed.
"You mean you're fainting?"
"I...I have to pee so bad," I said. My head felt better so I sort of curled myself around the corner and made a beeline for the closest stall. Ariel laughed at my response and followed me inside. The floor was made up of a bunch of little tiles, and they all looked very pretty individually. When I looked at them, though, they melted together and there was nothing I could do about it. I shut the stall door after me, locked it, and fell in a heap on the floor, hitting my head on the door on the way down just for fun.

"Michelle?" I heard Ariel say. "Are you ok?" I took a deep breath, glad I was awake and ecstatic that I hadn't ended up with any part of me in the toilet.
"I fell," I said, and started to giggle. I stopped because it hurt, but Ariel started laughing and she couldn't stop. "Stop laughing!" She didn't. I don't think she could. I stared at my knees and at the floor, trying to figure out how to get up on the toilet without blacking out again. I decided that I would just have to try it.

My business finished, I sort of fell out of the bathroom stall and haphazardly washed my hands. Leaning forward, I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror and started laughing a little. I was so pale I actually matched my white T-shirt. My dark hair made the effect even more dramatic, making me look like a dark-eyed Snow White. Ariel was still laughing. I made it out of the bathroom, and was even leading the way, until we got to the front door and my brain decided to take a little break just as I reached out for the handle. I missed. Ariel giggled.

Somehow we made it back to the car in the dark, with Ariel sort of leading me down the steps. It took me blacking out three times for her to finally realize that maybe she should have a hand on my arm, just in case. Luckily nothing adventurous happened, and we made it to the van safely. When inside, our moms asked why we had taken so long.

"Michelle kept fainting in the toilets," Ariel said, and then dissolved into laughter that didn't stop at all until we were out of the parking lot and back on the highway.

05 February 2010

Come pick me up

One of the first cell phones my mother had was black and did not fit in anyone's back pocket. It got great reception -- when you pulled the little antenna thing up all the way until it clicked into place. I would play with that antenna the way that some people play with clicky pens, up and down, click and click, just using my fingernail while staring out the window of our moving car. That was usually the only time I held the cellphone.

I couldn't remember a time, really, without a cellphone; but I also wasn't quite sure that we needed it. I didn't have one, so I still just talked to my friends on our home phone (I even had all of their numbers memorized...wow). At times it even seemed silly to have a cell. I mean, Dad went to work, Mom stayed at home, and there were landlines in both places. So the "Just in case Dad needs to get a hold of me" explanation didn't make very much sense. It wasn't until 7th grade that I really figured out why my mother needed to have this little device in her possession.

The sun was brilliantly blaring that day, although at first we only knew this because we could see it through the windows of the school. It was spring, almost time for summer vacation, and sunny days, of course, made the entire school very restless. No one really wants to go to school in the fall or winter, but when you can see blue sky out of every glass pane, it gets worse. When the bell rang, some people would skip getting their books from their lockers and just go stand outside for a little bit. I always gathered all of my stuff before even thinking about going outside; I knew I would never go back otherwise.

On this particular day, I had my soccer duffel with me from the practice we'd had during PE. I also had my backpack with a load of homework, and I was carrying an art project. All the things I had to carry kept on getting away from me, so I decided to leave my duffel inside while I went outside to wait for my mom to pick me up. Someone held the door open for me and I smiled and found my friends where they were standing on the sidewalk by the grass. I dropped my things on the ground and closed my eyes against the sun, breathing deeply.

It had been a pretty good day.

My mom got there relatively on time, and I waved to my friends and dropped my backpack into the backseat and carefully placed my art next to it. Suddenly I remembered: my soccer bag. It was still inside. I took my foot out of the car and stuck just my head inside the vehicle.

"Hey, I forgot my soccer bag. I'll be back." My mom said something I couldn't really hear because of the distance between us. I shut the door and ran inside, waving at my friends again. "Forgot my soccer stuff," I said. They laughed at me kindly. So I guess they laughed with me.

I got the bag, turned around, and was outside again in about four seconds. I walked down the sidewalk and was reaching out for my car door when I realized that it was no longer there. The entire car, in fact, was gone. I looked around the parking lot, thinking that maybe she had pulled into a space while waiting for me. Nope. I looked up the road, towards the route home. There she was. Maybe she was turning the car around? Complicatedly? Nope. She kept driving up the road, even using her blinker to turn right into the Safeway parking lot.

I wasn't sure what to do, at first. I mean, your mom leaves you at school after trying to pick you up, and it doesn't exactly hit you that you could be laughing. Or mad. I just kind of stood there, slack jawed, watching my mom's car drive away. And then I remembered the cell phone. I put the strap of my bag across my chest, since it was too heavy for just one shoulder, and I went back inside, to the office.

"Hi, Mrs. Scarlett. Um...I know it costs a quarter to make a phone call, but, my mom just left me."

"You mean she forgot you?"

"No, I mean, I forgot my bag and went to get it and she left me here. Punishment, probably." I grinned. Mrs. Scarlett and the other office lady smiled sympathetically at me. The other lady pointed at the phone on the corner of the desk.

"It's alright about the quarter," she said. "Just call her."

"Thanks," I said and punched in the numbers, being careful to dial 9 to get out. My mom answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom."

"Hello??"

"Mom, it's me. Hey, were you gonna come back, maybe?"

"Michelle?!? Oh my -- I thought you were in the car! I -- where are you?!"

"I'm at the school. You left me here, remember?" I was smiling now, because my mom sounded like she felt incredibly guilty, and I could here my little sister laughing in the background.

"I...oh, honey. I'm sorry! I'll be right back!"

"Thanks," I said, and we both hung up. I smiled at the office ladies. "Thanks again. She's coming back." They waved at me and told me to have a nice day, and I went back outside.

My mom pulled up about five minutes later and covered her eyes with her hand when she saw me. "I am so sorry! I heard the door and I thought you were inside. I thought you'd just had a bad day, 'cause you weren't answering any of my questions!"

I laughed. "It's ok. I'll just be sure not to shut the door next time."

"I thought, 'Wow, she's being so quiet, I wonder what's wrong,'" she said. It was getting funnier. I settled in and clicked on my seat belt. And then I started giggling.

"I can't believe you came to pick me up and then left me there," I said. And I can still say that to my mom, and she just rolls her eyes and smiles. Probably still feels guilty.

02 February 2010

Gotta dance

I suppose when I say that I hated middle school, it comes as absolutely no surprise to anyone. I mean, really, who wants to be awkward both socially and physically? Even the attractive kids tend to not like it so much (unless you're my little sister, who was friends with literally everybody and absolutely loved middle school. Pretty sure she's a mutant or something).

That said, I have a feeling I went into middle school with an already-pessimistic way of thinking. My mom tells me -- I have no recollection of this -- that for the entire year of sixth grade, I wore nothing but baggy black clothes. I probably would have also worn lots of black eyeliner, if I had been allowed to wear makeup. Really, the only thing I truly remember is that I had bangs, and I loved wearing them in my eyes. Then again, that might be a memory from earlier. Maybe I didn't have bangs when I was in sixth grade. I'll have to check some photos.

Of all the things that happened that year, the one I remember best almost didn't involve me at all. It was back when the entire school still did talent shows. A year or two before, my friends and I had done a little sign language/dance routine to an Avalon song. Yes, we were quite adorable. This time, though, someone got the idea that we needed to do a swing dancing routine.

We came up with the idea at lunch, and man-oh-man, were we proud of ourselves and excited. there were three guys in our group, Jeremy, Allen, and Michael. There were four girls. Me, Ariel, Lindsey, and Tammy (at least, I'm pretty sure it was Tammy...maybe it was Ariece?). Guess who was nominated team manager? That's right. Me. Because of all the things that were wrong with me, or right or whatever, the one thing I absolutely could not change made me an outcast.

I was too tall.

Please take a moment to laugh and make a little face of sympathy. I know my sixth grade self would appreciate it. No one said exactly why I didn't get to dance, but I knew. Oh, how I knew. For the next two weeks, though, I whole-heartedly dedicated myself to helping out. I made sure we had music, and a boom box (remember those?), and a room to practice in. Ms. Anderson, the art teacher, was our patroness, and I got Mrs. Foster, my home room teacher, to let everyone practice in her room during lunch.

And then while everyone practiced the routine they'd come up with, I would sit on a desk and smile and laugh with them, and I remember having fun. I have a feeling I may have been faking it, just a little bit. But then came my big chance. Lindsey broke her arm. I felt bad, of course, but I thought, This is it! I'll get to dance! I shouldn't have gotten so optimistic too quickly, because another short girl was quickly found (maybe that's why I thought of both Ariece and Tammy). However, you can't let things like that bother you. So I kept on doing what I was doing.

When try-outs came -- the teachers had to be sure your performance was appropriate and all that -- I sat with the rest of the nervous performers while my friends got up and did their routine. I think it was pretty good. I mean, it was good for a bunch of tweeners who'd taught themselves and who thought they were awesome. Everyone loved it, of course; no one had ever done swing dancing for their talent. We were ecstatic, because that meant that we were definitely in; we were going to perform in front of everybody!

Again, optimism shouldn't happen so quickly. We hadn't even left the room before the teachers started whispering to one another, and looking at us. I got a little nervous, but I knew what they were talking about. You see, our school didn't allow dancing. There'd been a little row that split the entire school a few years before, and dancing had been outlawed. A few high school girls had gotten preggo after the homecoming dance, and the parents blamed the dancing for putting them in the mood. So from the beginning, we had been afraid that they might not let us do the swingdancing. We just, you know, thought that since they were letting us practice, they would let us go through with it.

They didn't. And even though I was sad for my friends, I was also a little glad. Because I hadn't gotten to dance, and neither did they.