End of the day, almost 11 here. Wrapping things up before heading home.
Taught another 4-hour class tonight; don't want to go home yet.
An hour drive, cold and dark, the wind blowing 60 mph. Once home, will go to bed, and then another day, full again, getting to the end of it and not knowing where it went.
So I'm stealing time. Time I don't have.
Don't have much to say, but still want to say it.
A couple days ago warm, bright with possibilities, gray was waking up.
And then strong winds came. Temperature plummeted. F2 tornadoes hit Springfield. Friends okay. No one hurt. Leaves devastation and chaos in its wake.
Today: everything cold and dead. Feeling cranky. Whistling emptiness inside, and strong wind outside. Inside/outside, weather/mood = the same. Car shakes, breaks the lines (I've never been good at staying between them. Haha).
Counting classes. 12 weeks = 35 classes = 140 hours (+/- 24-hours) = Cog in a machine = so tired = Gregor Samsa woke up to discover he was a beetle, and was late for work . . .
Rest and adventure. Fairy rings and dragon quests. Journey's end and home and hearth, a bowl of hot soup and good friends.
Rhythmic bass, a techno beat. Ethereal, female voice (haunting, melancholy, lullaby).
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Shannon
Her name was Shannon. Black hair, bright blue eyes, creamy white skin, red lips, beautiful body. She tossed her long hair behind her and strutted more than walked, and the first time he saw her he was in eighth grade. She was walking down the street in front of his house, with a friend of his named Heather, and he made a mental note to ask Heather the next day who she was.
The next year Nate went to a bigger school. The school he’d gone to only went through eighth grade, and then most of his classmates went to high school in a town a few miles south of them, while the rest went to a consolidated school about ten minutes east, the school Shannon went to.
Over the summer he’d forgotten about her, and then she started coming to youth group that fall. Nate started seeing her in the halls, and in gym class. She’d start talking to him, smiling, leaning close, and he’d look into her blue eyes and get the feeling he’d fall into them, fall down deep into a cool brightness and not be able to find his way back. That and her mouth with the red lips and white teeth that were talking, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. It felt like a free fall, a skydive, and terrified him so much that he stepped back, like clinging to the sheer face of a mountain while the wind is whipping and howling at your face, your hands, your clothes. He thought about diving in and kissing her instead, like Erik had done to Trisha when he had stuck his tongue in her mouth in the back of the bus coming home from the roller skating trip, but he didn’t know if he could stop once he started, so he clung tighter to the rock face as the howling rose higher in his ears.
His parents noticed Shannon too. She became the topic at the dinner table, her blue eyes, perfect skin, dark hair, red lips. Dad thought she was cute. Had he noticed she was cute? He should ask her out; he should ask her to be his girlfriend. Mom didn’t say much, she thought something was wrong, something off with her. But then she didn’t say much at the dinner table ever, and a thick cloud hung over most of their conversations. The more Dad mentioned her the more Nate wished he’d be left alone. Maybe that sealed it with Shannon. The more Dad mentioned he should, the more he knew he definitely wouldn’t, no matter how blue her eyes were, how perfect her body was or how nice she was.
Then came the day in the room with the wrestling mats, the weight machines, the bleachers for the wrestling team that didn’t exist. The freshmen sat here before gym class, the last class of the day. The guys would sit along one wall, the girls along the other, the couples would occupy the no-man's land space in between. Another Shannon walked across the floor and sat down beside him. Along the wall sat a group of girls, huddled close, talking, laughing, and Shannon with the dark hair and blue eyes sat staring at him, smiling.
The other Shannon sitting next to him spoke. “Do you like her? She thinks you’re hot, well, cute anyway. Did you know that?”
“Oh.”
“So,” the other Shannon said, getting right to the point, “what are you going to do? Are you gonna ask her out? Date her?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said, looking suspicious. “Why?”
“Because,” she said, “she wants to know. I don’t think you should, but it’s up to you.”
“What do you mean? What have you heard?”
“Well,” Shannon said, smiling slightly, “it’s not so much what I’ve heard. Actually, it’s what I’ve seen. You don’t know her nickname, do you?”
“No.”
“It’s,” she paused. “It’s booger. She picks her nose. And, and . . . eats it.”
“Really?”
“Fact. Well, I don’t know if she still does, but she used to, and it wasn’t that long ago. Like last year I think.”
* * *
Danny dated her instead, from another school, and hadn’t heard the “booger” story, whether it was ever true or not. Nate had gone to school with Danny, until the end of 6th grade when Danny moved to another town to live with his dad, and his mom moved to Tennessee to avoid death threats. He and Danny had played chess a few times before that at Danny’s house while his mom watched Jaws. His brothers liked WWF wrestling and Danny liked putting smaller kids in headlocks and full nelsons. His brothers had tried them on him and he liked to try them on everybody else.
Nate had gone to Danny’s birthday party in 3rd grade. Danny got swats at the party and cried. He got swats at school in 4th grade and cried. Danny told Nate in 5th grade he’d give him a dollar if he’d cut some of Dana Zorowsky’s hair. He did. She cried. They both got sent to the principal’s office. The last time they’d both gone to the office they’d gotten swats, so Nate was sure they were in for it again. That time Danny had cried too, but Nate hadn’t. Instead of swats they both had to give Dana a dollar each to pay for the hair. Nate cried.
* * *
It’s a few months after Danny started dating Shannon, and the youth group is in Indianapolis. Danny and Shannon are there, and Nate, Mark, Heather and her boyfriend, Craig and Paula, and a few others. The sun sets over the city, the lights rise electric and they decide they’re hungry. A deep dish pizza place awaits with deep booths and smoky lighting. Danny and Shannon find a booth in a corner, and begin quietly arguing. Danny gets up, goes to the restroom, and when he comes back he walks to the booth where Nate sits, and eases in across from him.
For a while they are quiet, not saying much between them. Danny stares at his hands, and Nate stares at the red-and-white checkered pattern on the table cloth, not wanting to break the silence. Danny breaks the silence instead. “I know she’s dating me,” he says, “but she really wants to date you. You’re the one she wants.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You can date her if you want to. She’s my girl right now, but you can date her if you want. I know she’ll say yes.” An uneasy silence settles between them, the image of Danny holding onto her like property, on a leash, and images of his mom getting death threats from his dad come back to him. There’s a sadness on Danny’s face, a pinched, greedy pain that squeezes at the corners of his eyes, that turns his forced smile into a grimace.
“She chose you, man. She can date who she wants.” Nate squeezes out, goes to the restroom. He has to get away. Suddenly it feels hot and close and he needs to breathe. Danny continues to sit at Nate’s table, but when Nate comes back from the restroom, Danny’s back in the booth with Shannon, his arm around her, tickling her and she's laughing. He looks up as if to say, “This is my girl. Hands off.”
* * *
A few days later they’re coming home from Indianapolis. Danny and Nate are in the back of Craig and Paula’s car, Shannon’s riding in another car with Heather. Danny and Shannon have broken up. Danny and Nate are sitting in the back seat and then Danny says something about Nate’s mom, still bitter over the breakup with Shannon. Nate starts choking him and he laughs. Paula turns around, looks over the headrest in the passenger seat and asks what’s going on in that stern voice that isn’t quite yelling but is really close.
“He said something about my mom.”
Danny laughs, but doesn’t deny it. They pull into the church parking lot which is nothing more than a few gravel parking spaces just off the main street. Nate gets out one side, Danny gets out the other, and Craig and Paula get out and go inside. Once they’re not around and it’s only the two of them standing outside, Danny steps close to Nate, then slugs him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the air out of him, then runs down the street, past his old house three houses down with his two older brothers, Jaws, WWF wrestling and full nelsons, a chess set, and a mom who had gone to Tennessee. He goes to his uncle’s who will take him to his dad’s in the other town, his dad who sells drugs under the table that no one’s supposed to know about. Somewhere inside are Craig and Paula, Shannon, Heather, Mark, and Nate's bag of belongings from the trip. Nate stands under a street light at the corner, just outside the church, in the dark, trying to catch his breath and blink out the stars and tears that are swimming at the corners of his vision, then walks home.
The next year Nate went to a bigger school. The school he’d gone to only went through eighth grade, and then most of his classmates went to high school in a town a few miles south of them, while the rest went to a consolidated school about ten minutes east, the school Shannon went to.
Over the summer he’d forgotten about her, and then she started coming to youth group that fall. Nate started seeing her in the halls, and in gym class. She’d start talking to him, smiling, leaning close, and he’d look into her blue eyes and get the feeling he’d fall into them, fall down deep into a cool brightness and not be able to find his way back. That and her mouth with the red lips and white teeth that were talking, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. It felt like a free fall, a skydive, and terrified him so much that he stepped back, like clinging to the sheer face of a mountain while the wind is whipping and howling at your face, your hands, your clothes. He thought about diving in and kissing her instead, like Erik had done to Trisha when he had stuck his tongue in her mouth in the back of the bus coming home from the roller skating trip, but he didn’t know if he could stop once he started, so he clung tighter to the rock face as the howling rose higher in his ears.
His parents noticed Shannon too. She became the topic at the dinner table, her blue eyes, perfect skin, dark hair, red lips. Dad thought she was cute. Had he noticed she was cute? He should ask her out; he should ask her to be his girlfriend. Mom didn’t say much, she thought something was wrong, something off with her. But then she didn’t say much at the dinner table ever, and a thick cloud hung over most of their conversations. The more Dad mentioned her the more Nate wished he’d be left alone. Maybe that sealed it with Shannon. The more Dad mentioned he should, the more he knew he definitely wouldn’t, no matter how blue her eyes were, how perfect her body was or how nice she was.
Then came the day in the room with the wrestling mats, the weight machines, the bleachers for the wrestling team that didn’t exist. The freshmen sat here before gym class, the last class of the day. The guys would sit along one wall, the girls along the other, the couples would occupy the no-man's land space in between. Another Shannon walked across the floor and sat down beside him. Along the wall sat a group of girls, huddled close, talking, laughing, and Shannon with the dark hair and blue eyes sat staring at him, smiling.
The other Shannon sitting next to him spoke. “Do you like her? She thinks you’re hot, well, cute anyway. Did you know that?”
“Oh.”
“So,” the other Shannon said, getting right to the point, “what are you going to do? Are you gonna ask her out? Date her?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said, looking suspicious. “Why?”
“Because,” she said, “she wants to know. I don’t think you should, but it’s up to you.”
“What do you mean? What have you heard?”
“Well,” Shannon said, smiling slightly, “it’s not so much what I’ve heard. Actually, it’s what I’ve seen. You don’t know her nickname, do you?”
“No.”
“It’s,” she paused. “It’s booger. She picks her nose. And, and . . . eats it.”
“Really?”
“Fact. Well, I don’t know if she still does, but she used to, and it wasn’t that long ago. Like last year I think.”
* * *
Danny dated her instead, from another school, and hadn’t heard the “booger” story, whether it was ever true or not. Nate had gone to school with Danny, until the end of 6th grade when Danny moved to another town to live with his dad, and his mom moved to Tennessee to avoid death threats. He and Danny had played chess a few times before that at Danny’s house while his mom watched Jaws. His brothers liked WWF wrestling and Danny liked putting smaller kids in headlocks and full nelsons. His brothers had tried them on him and he liked to try them on everybody else.
Nate had gone to Danny’s birthday party in 3rd grade. Danny got swats at the party and cried. He got swats at school in 4th grade and cried. Danny told Nate in 5th grade he’d give him a dollar if he’d cut some of Dana Zorowsky’s hair. He did. She cried. They both got sent to the principal’s office. The last time they’d both gone to the office they’d gotten swats, so Nate was sure they were in for it again. That time Danny had cried too, but Nate hadn’t. Instead of swats they both had to give Dana a dollar each to pay for the hair. Nate cried.
* * *
It’s a few months after Danny started dating Shannon, and the youth group is in Indianapolis. Danny and Shannon are there, and Nate, Mark, Heather and her boyfriend, Craig and Paula, and a few others. The sun sets over the city, the lights rise electric and they decide they’re hungry. A deep dish pizza place awaits with deep booths and smoky lighting. Danny and Shannon find a booth in a corner, and begin quietly arguing. Danny gets up, goes to the restroom, and when he comes back he walks to the booth where Nate sits, and eases in across from him.
For a while they are quiet, not saying much between them. Danny stares at his hands, and Nate stares at the red-and-white checkered pattern on the table cloth, not wanting to break the silence. Danny breaks the silence instead. “I know she’s dating me,” he says, “but she really wants to date you. You’re the one she wants.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You can date her if you want to. She’s my girl right now, but you can date her if you want. I know she’ll say yes.” An uneasy silence settles between them, the image of Danny holding onto her like property, on a leash, and images of his mom getting death threats from his dad come back to him. There’s a sadness on Danny’s face, a pinched, greedy pain that squeezes at the corners of his eyes, that turns his forced smile into a grimace.
“She chose you, man. She can date who she wants.” Nate squeezes out, goes to the restroom. He has to get away. Suddenly it feels hot and close and he needs to breathe. Danny continues to sit at Nate’s table, but when Nate comes back from the restroom, Danny’s back in the booth with Shannon, his arm around her, tickling her and she's laughing. He looks up as if to say, “This is my girl. Hands off.”
* * *
A few days later they’re coming home from Indianapolis. Danny and Nate are in the back of Craig and Paula’s car, Shannon’s riding in another car with Heather. Danny and Shannon have broken up. Danny and Nate are sitting in the back seat and then Danny says something about Nate’s mom, still bitter over the breakup with Shannon. Nate starts choking him and he laughs. Paula turns around, looks over the headrest in the passenger seat and asks what’s going on in that stern voice that isn’t quite yelling but is really close.
“He said something about my mom.”
Danny laughs, but doesn’t deny it. They pull into the church parking lot which is nothing more than a few gravel parking spaces just off the main street. Nate gets out one side, Danny gets out the other, and Craig and Paula get out and go inside. Once they’re not around and it’s only the two of them standing outside, Danny steps close to Nate, then slugs him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the air out of him, then runs down the street, past his old house three houses down with his two older brothers, Jaws, WWF wrestling and full nelsons, a chess set, and a mom who had gone to Tennessee. He goes to his uncle’s who will take him to his dad’s in the other town, his dad who sells drugs under the table that no one’s supposed to know about. Somewhere inside are Craig and Paula, Shannon, Heather, Mark, and Nate's bag of belongings from the trip. Nate stands under a street light at the corner, just outside the church, in the dark, trying to catch his breath and blink out the stars and tears that are swimming at the corners of his vision, then walks home.
Get Yourself Connected
At 1am the phone rang. The last of a thunderstorm still rumbled in the distance, and I'd been woken a couple times within the last fifteen minutes by bomb dropping, earth shattering thunderclaps that jolted me awake in panic, but then I breathed a sigh of relief and was quickly lulled to sleep. Then the phone rang.
One of my friends, when he calls, usually dials at 1, 2, or 3 am, forgetting that that's usually when most of us sleep. I hadn't talked with him in a while, so the phone call was a surprise, but it was good to hear him, and I decided to fight off sleep to catch up. He told me about some things he's been up to lately and I asked questions, and then he turned it on me, "So what have you been up to?" I went blank. I haven't blogged lately, I've gone underground, swimming, drowning somewhere, in grading, traveling, reading, writing some things but never finishing. I mentioned some of this, he was good about it, but when I hung up the phone and tried to sink back into dreams, I was haunted by the thought, "What have you done?" I've been teaching 8-hour classes, and 4-hour night classes, and have read until my eyes hurt and edited more papers than I can count, yet this isn't what seems to matter right now.
"What had I done?"
So this morning I woke up when I was good and ready, put on my hiking shoes, a comfortable pair of jeans, and a green hoodie and hit the Riverwalk that runs through Lansing. The hard rain had swollen the river, and there were places where the trail was covered in a foot and a half of water. The way I usually go, toward downtown, was cut off by an impromptu river, so I took the eastern branch of the walk. I walked for an hour-and-a half until I got to MSU, walked the sidewalks on campus past dorms and huge towering brick halls. The carillon pealed a song from just beyond the trees, and I went to the Union for a burger, then the library, then got a coffee and walked an hour-and-a-half back.
There were a lot of people out. It's one of the first fairly warm days of the year and everyone wanted to be out in it, walking, jogging, biking, you name it. I breathed deep. It was good to be moving, stepping through woods, brushing past branches, stopping to chat with people with dogs, smiling at the joggers, then noticing their not as amiable boyfriends. The city looks different from this perspective, not as lonely, not as alien, and reminded me today of all the things I love best about this place and will probably miss when I'm gone.
After a hard rain, some of the debris is washed away. The sky is still overcast, the trees still bony in their skeletal frames, the grass plastered down like a limp gray head of hair, but there are red berries on some of the branches, brown and black squirrels rooting around for nuts and seeds, chasing each other with their cache-finds--almost frisky--and buds swelling at the tips of trees. Something's waking up, breathing, alive, and it's very good.
One of my friends, when he calls, usually dials at 1, 2, or 3 am, forgetting that that's usually when most of us sleep. I hadn't talked with him in a while, so the phone call was a surprise, but it was good to hear him, and I decided to fight off sleep to catch up. He told me about some things he's been up to lately and I asked questions, and then he turned it on me, "So what have you been up to?" I went blank. I haven't blogged lately, I've gone underground, swimming, drowning somewhere, in grading, traveling, reading, writing some things but never finishing. I mentioned some of this, he was good about it, but when I hung up the phone and tried to sink back into dreams, I was haunted by the thought, "What have you done?" I've been teaching 8-hour classes, and 4-hour night classes, and have read until my eyes hurt and edited more papers than I can count, yet this isn't what seems to matter right now.
"What had I done?"
So this morning I woke up when I was good and ready, put on my hiking shoes, a comfortable pair of jeans, and a green hoodie and hit the Riverwalk that runs through Lansing. The hard rain had swollen the river, and there were places where the trail was covered in a foot and a half of water. The way I usually go, toward downtown, was cut off by an impromptu river, so I took the eastern branch of the walk. I walked for an hour-and-a half until I got to MSU, walked the sidewalks on campus past dorms and huge towering brick halls. The carillon pealed a song from just beyond the trees, and I went to the Union for a burger, then the library, then got a coffee and walked an hour-and-a-half back.
There were a lot of people out. It's one of the first fairly warm days of the year and everyone wanted to be out in it, walking, jogging, biking, you name it. I breathed deep. It was good to be moving, stepping through woods, brushing past branches, stopping to chat with people with dogs, smiling at the joggers, then noticing their not as amiable boyfriends. The city looks different from this perspective, not as lonely, not as alien, and reminded me today of all the things I love best about this place and will probably miss when I'm gone.
After a hard rain, some of the debris is washed away. The sky is still overcast, the trees still bony in their skeletal frames, the grass plastered down like a limp gray head of hair, but there are red berries on some of the branches, brown and black squirrels rooting around for nuts and seeds, chasing each other with their cache-finds--almost frisky--and buds swelling at the tips of trees. Something's waking up, breathing, alive, and it's very good.
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