Monday, April 30, 2007
Rain
Somehow it was alive.
It grew out of the page, threw itself out at you, even if you only glanced for a second.
This is how she wanted it; she wanted to spend every minute in this tiny, cramped space with only a small window and a desk lamp for light. Her friends wondered where she went and what had happened to her; she refused, with kindness, to let them see her space at all. First of all, there was no room and second, well... it was an experiment, wasn't it? Not just one, even; many many experiments overflowing the wall space and spilling out of the corners, growing off her desk. So many lovely lively experiments that could be anything and would never truly be finished. That was alright, because to her there was nothing more beautiful than a blatantly unfinished piece; it took so much will power to stop and let it be and understand the wonderful potential it could possess.
In her space she was alive without worries; she didn't bother herself over school and the future because she knew her experiments contributed to her future in a valuable way. She didn't worry about work because her pieces always had the potential as a source of income (even though she abhorred the idea of selling them to people she didn't know and didn't care about.) She didn't worry about him either. He didn't matter here and sooner or later he would start to not matter in the other parts of her life. And that definitely made her happier.
She sat in her space and listened to the rain and the far-off echo and mumble of thunder. She loved the rain; she was born in the rain. She wanted to make it too; it would be her next experiment.
It grew out of the page, threw itself out at you, even if you only glanced for a second.
This is how she wanted it; she wanted to spend every minute in this tiny, cramped space with only a small window and a desk lamp for light. Her friends wondered where she went and what had happened to her; she refused, with kindness, to let them see her space at all. First of all, there was no room and second, well... it was an experiment, wasn't it? Not just one, even; many many experiments overflowing the wall space and spilling out of the corners, growing off her desk. So many lovely lively experiments that could be anything and would never truly be finished. That was alright, because to her there was nothing more beautiful than a blatantly unfinished piece; it took so much will power to stop and let it be and understand the wonderful potential it could possess.
In her space she was alive without worries; she didn't bother herself over school and the future because she knew her experiments contributed to her future in a valuable way. She didn't worry about work because her pieces always had the potential as a source of income (even though she abhorred the idea of selling them to people she didn't know and didn't care about.) She didn't worry about him either. He didn't matter here and sooner or later he would start to not matter in the other parts of her life. And that definitely made her happier.
She sat in her space and listened to the rain and the far-off echo and mumble of thunder. She loved the rain; she was born in the rain. She wanted to make it too; it would be her next experiment.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Opportunity
She was suffocating from the stale air of the indoors and her lungs demanded fresh, clean air. She fidgeted the whole hour and a half of her last afternoon class, distracted by the sunshine on her back. Against her better judgment (and her number one pet-peeve) she began to pack her books before the professor had even finished his lecture. He gave her the Look, but she didn't notice. She was the first student out the door.
She bumped into Bridget (literally) in her post-class relief and distracted breath of fresh air. "Where're you headed?" Bridget asked, catching a paper mid-fall.
"The park," she replied, nodding in that direction.
"Hey, I'll join you." Bridget stuffed the paper back in her bag.
She reached the maple overlooking the lake and collapsed on the grass in its shade. She noted that the ground was slightly damp, but decided to ignore it. Bridget, on the other hand, carefully laid her over-sized college sweatshirt on the grass before sitting.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Ah, sweet freedom she thought. Then she stared incredulously at Bridget. "How can you do homework? It's the afternoon--you're supposed to procrastinate for at least six hours before you start that crap."
"Is that supposed to be like, you're supposed to wait twenty minutes after eating before getting in the pool?" Bridget rolled her eyes. "I have a presentation on Friday."
She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her fists. Winter was way too long this year, she reflected. I was sure I'd go insane being shut inside. With these particular reflections, she would always scoff at the stupid commercials advertising all the wonderful stuff you could do up north during the excruciatingly long winters. Ha. Smart (and wealthy) people always vacationed in the warm southern states--or Europe, she sighed--when cold weather hit.
A sudden weariness came over her and she closed her eyes, letting her face drop against her forearms. She mumbled at Bridget to wake her up later. In the back of her mind she knew a religion paper needed writing, but she let her mind wander until her subconscious took over.
She dreamt of her old high school and running up and down flights of stairs trying to find the art studio. She was late, she knew, and the panic only made her clumsy. In her dream she tripped, and her subconscious mind suddenly connected with the rest of her, jolting her roughly out of her dream and back into reality.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was suddenly shining directly in her eyes. She sat up, squeezing her eyes shut. Her muscles were strangely unresponsive; she had to concentrate to make them obey her. She rubbed at her eyes and looked around. Where was Bridget? Her backpack and sweatshirt were still there, but she was gone. Off walking, probably, she thought.
Her stomach suddenly spoke up. Darn that Bridget. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Bridget's number. Then she groaned when the muffled ring tone from Bridget's cell sounded from inside her book bag. Her stomach complained again. Well, fine. She picked up Bridget's bookbag and sweatshirt along with her own and trudged toward the park sidewalk. She figured Bridget would know where she went and hopefully wouldn't freak when she couldn't find her stuff.
She stopped when she spotted someone ahead of her. He sat on a park table, reaching inside a brown paper lunch bag. Gulp. How... unexpected. This was the guy she'd planned to meet all year... though it seemed every golden opportunity resulted in a failure of courage on her part. He was alone; that was good. Her mind screamed golden opportunity! over and over. She stomped her foot. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she was definitely... desperate. And pathetic. And a list of other things...
Without reflecting on how ridiculous she appeared burdened with two bulging bookbags and an oversized sweatshirt, she stomped up to the picnic table... and walked right past it. Her mind continued to scream at her, this time louder. Her heart beating wildly, she whipped around to face him.
The good first step: he actually looked up and acknowledged her presence when she turned. The next step was not so smooth. "H-hi," she said, her voice obviously wavering.
His face was either bewildered or confused. But he hinted a smile. "Hi there."
"Um... okay, this is going to sound really ridiculous. But... I just really wanted to introduce myself. And you were sitting here all by yourself, so I thought I would." This explanation vomited out of her in one big splat. She gulped again.
"Oh, yeah... okay. You are?" He looked over his glasses at her and then pushed them up the bridge of his nose.
"Oh! Sorry! I'm Emilie."
"Hi Emilie. I'm Mark."
She nodded, not sure if she should stick out her hand for the customary greeting. So she just stood there awkwardly, desperately hoping he would continue.
"So, Emilie, would you like to sit?" he gestured to the bench opposite him and picked up his sandwich.
"Uh, yeah sure." She plopped herself down on the seat.
"So you must be a real studier with two book bags. Wow. How many classes?" he took a bite.
"Oh, no. One of these is actually my friend Bridget's. Um... she and I were studying over there. An' well, I kinda fell asleep and she took off. I don't know where she went. I was just gonna wait for her."
"Ah, right."
"Yeah... she didn't take her cell either or I could just call her." She shook her head. She knew she appeared overly nervous with the conversation, but so far, so good.
"Hmmm." he answered. He didn't look uncomfortable. On the contrary, he openly stared at her, like he was studying her appearance. Her face burned.
"So... " she continued, after he'd finished the sandwich and gulped down his drink. "What's your major?"
"Music. Well... music and English... and a little bit of Greek." He adjusted his glasses again. Then he shrugged and said, "You?"
"Art. Studio Art and Art History. I guess I'll be minoring in religion or English. Maybe." She shrugged in response.
"So then, what classes are you taking?" He asked, showing a surprising amount of interest for someone previously nonchalant.
But she just assumed he was being polite. She wondered in the back of her mind whether he wanted her to go and leave him alone. So she tried to sound confident when she answered, "Renaissance and Baroque Art-- that's Art History, I guess... a Ceramic Sculpture class, and Portfolio review. And the Reformation, just to even it out."
He grinned. "Ah, those wonderful religion classes." She recognized the sarcasm. "Who do you have?"
"Um... Mills. He's okay. He rattles on a bit, but not too bad."
"Huh, that's lucky. I had Erica Johnson. She wasn't so great... pretty dry. Plus, it was an eight-thirty class." he rolled his eyes.
She laughed. "Oh, I feel for you. I had to take a math class at eight last year. That sucked."
"Oh hey, what year are you then? Sophomore?"
"Junior."
"Oh." he nodded.
"You?" she asked, even though she was already pretty sure. He had the air of a senior.
He sighed. "This is my last year here."
"Oh, that's sad." She didn't pretend to be sorry. "So what are you planning to do after you graduate?"
"Some student teaching. Then maybe grad school. Maybe. I'm thinking I need a break from studying." He grinned.
"Yeah. That's cool though. You play an instrument?"
"Cello."
"Wow. I've always thought that was impressive. My musical abilities are pretty much nil."
"Really? Well, if it makes you feel any better, my art skills are non-existent. I'm limited to stick figures, and even those are pretty bad."
She laughed again.
"So junior... don't you guys have art shows and stuff?"
"Yeah. It's actually up now. The other art majors have some really impressive stuff up in the gallery. You should check it out, if you have time. The art building's pretty close to the music building. You don't really have an excuse."
"Whoa, okay! I'll probably stop by. So what do you have up there?" He leaned forward a bit, propping his chin up on his fist.
"Oh... not a lot, I guess. Some paintings, a couple drawings... some 3-D stuff." She shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, even though she was excited at the prospect that he might see her stuff.
"Well, I'll definitely stop by. Sounds awesome. I've always admired artsy people. Heh," he grinned again. "You can usually spot art majors, too. Piercings and colorful and weird clothing."
She pretended to look offended, and noted how quickly she was becoming comfortable as the conversation flowed. "Weird clothing?" Piercings? She looked down at herself. She was wearing black, mostly. Her only other piercing besides the customary double ear thing was a tiny nose stud she'd gotten her last birthday. She nodded at him. "And what about you, huh? I notice you wear a lot of black. Typical sensitive musician."
He raised an eyebrow. "You notice, do you?" he teased.
She blushed... but just a bit.
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
After a moment of grinning to herself, he said, "so anyway..." and she thought for a sad moment that he was thinking of going. "What are you planning to do after college?"
"Besides live in a box, you mean?"
He grinned. She was beginning to enjoy that grin.
"That's the running joke, I guess. But I think I'll go to Art school. Maybe even somewhere out of state."
He raised an eyebrow. "Out of state, huh? Where're you from?"
"The cities. They have a pretty good school up there, but not exciting enough for me. But how about you? Out of state?"
"Nope. Born and bred right here. I used to live in the cities... where my girlfriend worked."
She was stung inwardly... she'd never thought he might already be attached.
He continued, "But I moved farther south after we broke up."
Relief. She tried not to let it show on her face and hoped he wouldn't guess what she was thinking.
"So you're a city girl, huh? Any favorite city haunts?" He seemed more and more intent on continuing the conversation.
She wouldn't argue. "Oh, there's a bunch of great coffee shops. Shabby compared to the universal Starbucks, but they make the best coffee. And hey, I'm an art freak, right? I spend at least every Saturday in the uptown Art Museum. They have this great new exhibit--"
She was cut off. Bridget was suddenly behind her saying, "There you are, girl! What the hell?"
She looked up and sheepishly shrugged, glancing over at Mark. "Sorry... hey, wait a minute! You're the one who disappeared! Where were you?"
"Where do you think? I got antsy and you were asleep, so I went for a run." Bridget leaned forward on her knees.
She noted that Bridget was out of breath. "A run, huh?" She glanced at him, still sitting expectantly across the table. She noticed he appeared a bit uncomfortable. "Hey Bridget, this is Mark." she gestured to him, trying to appear casual.
"Hey," Bridget waved, still rather breathless.
"Hey," he returned. He fidgeted slightly and for a panicked moment she thought he'd make an excuse to leave. And before they'd ended their conversation properly; she wanted permission to talk to him again.
Thank heaven for Bridget. Instead of ignoring him in her restlessness, she said, "So do you guys have a class together or something?" She sat down on the bench next to her.
"No, actually. We just met." he betrayed a slight grin.
"Yeah," she said. "I kinda interrupted his lunch." She shrugged her shoulders apologetically.
"Hey, no problem. It was a welcome interruption." He smiled kindly at her.
Bridget made a face at her. Her face flushed slightly and she knocked Bridget's ankle under the table. Suddenly Bridget sat up and loudly exclaimed, "Oh! Emilie hun, I just forgot! I have a study meeting I've gotta get to. I should go... I still need to grab some food, too. Damn." Bridget stood up quickly and grabbed her sweatshirt and bag from her. "See you later! Nice meeting you, Mark!" She ran off across the lawn.
She waved at Bridget and slowly turned back to him. "Sorry," she said, "If you have some place to be..."
"Nah," he answered and shrugged. "Not busy tonight, which is a rare occurrence."
A sudden surge of courage egged her on to ask, "Say, if you're not busy... would you maybe like to grab some coffee or something?" Her heart pounded in her ears. That might be good; maybe then she wouldn't hear his 'no.'
"Sure." He grinned and made to get up.
She beamed inwardly and reached down for her bag.
They headed off together toward the college cafe.
And that, my friends, was the start of a beautiful friendship.
She bumped into Bridget (literally) in her post-class relief and distracted breath of fresh air. "Where're you headed?" Bridget asked, catching a paper mid-fall.
"The park," she replied, nodding in that direction.
"Hey, I'll join you." Bridget stuffed the paper back in her bag.
She reached the maple overlooking the lake and collapsed on the grass in its shade. She noted that the ground was slightly damp, but decided to ignore it. Bridget, on the other hand, carefully laid her over-sized college sweatshirt on the grass before sitting.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Ah, sweet freedom she thought. Then she stared incredulously at Bridget. "How can you do homework? It's the afternoon--you're supposed to procrastinate for at least six hours before you start that crap."
"Is that supposed to be like, you're supposed to wait twenty minutes after eating before getting in the pool?" Bridget rolled her eyes. "I have a presentation on Friday."
She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her fists. Winter was way too long this year, she reflected. I was sure I'd go insane being shut inside. With these particular reflections, she would always scoff at the stupid commercials advertising all the wonderful stuff you could do up north during the excruciatingly long winters. Ha. Smart (and wealthy) people always vacationed in the warm southern states--or Europe, she sighed--when cold weather hit.
A sudden weariness came over her and she closed her eyes, letting her face drop against her forearms. She mumbled at Bridget to wake her up later. In the back of her mind she knew a religion paper needed writing, but she let her mind wander until her subconscious took over.
She dreamt of her old high school and running up and down flights of stairs trying to find the art studio. She was late, she knew, and the panic only made her clumsy. In her dream she tripped, and her subconscious mind suddenly connected with the rest of her, jolting her roughly out of her dream and back into reality.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was suddenly shining directly in her eyes. She sat up, squeezing her eyes shut. Her muscles were strangely unresponsive; she had to concentrate to make them obey her. She rubbed at her eyes and looked around. Where was Bridget? Her backpack and sweatshirt were still there, but she was gone. Off walking, probably, she thought.
Her stomach suddenly spoke up. Darn that Bridget. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Bridget's number. Then she groaned when the muffled ring tone from Bridget's cell sounded from inside her book bag. Her stomach complained again. Well, fine. She picked up Bridget's bookbag and sweatshirt along with her own and trudged toward the park sidewalk. She figured Bridget would know where she went and hopefully wouldn't freak when she couldn't find her stuff.
She stopped when she spotted someone ahead of her. He sat on a park table, reaching inside a brown paper lunch bag. Gulp. How... unexpected. This was the guy she'd planned to meet all year... though it seemed every golden opportunity resulted in a failure of courage on her part. He was alone; that was good. Her mind screamed golden opportunity! over and over. She stomped her foot. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she was definitely... desperate. And pathetic. And a list of other things...
Without reflecting on how ridiculous she appeared burdened with two bulging bookbags and an oversized sweatshirt, she stomped up to the picnic table... and walked right past it. Her mind continued to scream at her, this time louder. Her heart beating wildly, she whipped around to face him.
The good first step: he actually looked up and acknowledged her presence when she turned. The next step was not so smooth. "H-hi," she said, her voice obviously wavering.
His face was either bewildered or confused. But he hinted a smile. "Hi there."
"Um... okay, this is going to sound really ridiculous. But... I just really wanted to introduce myself. And you were sitting here all by yourself, so I thought I would." This explanation vomited out of her in one big splat. She gulped again.
"Oh, yeah... okay. You are?" He looked over his glasses at her and then pushed them up the bridge of his nose.
"Oh! Sorry! I'm Emilie."
"Hi Emilie. I'm Mark."
She nodded, not sure if she should stick out her hand for the customary greeting. So she just stood there awkwardly, desperately hoping he would continue.
"So, Emilie, would you like to sit?" he gestured to the bench opposite him and picked up his sandwich.
"Uh, yeah sure." She plopped herself down on the seat.
"So you must be a real studier with two book bags. Wow. How many classes?" he took a bite.
"Oh, no. One of these is actually my friend Bridget's. Um... she and I were studying over there. An' well, I kinda fell asleep and she took off. I don't know where she went. I was just gonna wait for her."
"Ah, right."
"Yeah... she didn't take her cell either or I could just call her." She shook her head. She knew she appeared overly nervous with the conversation, but so far, so good.
"Hmmm." he answered. He didn't look uncomfortable. On the contrary, he openly stared at her, like he was studying her appearance. Her face burned.
"So... " she continued, after he'd finished the sandwich and gulped down his drink. "What's your major?"
"Music. Well... music and English... and a little bit of Greek." He adjusted his glasses again. Then he shrugged and said, "You?"
"Art. Studio Art and Art History. I guess I'll be minoring in religion or English. Maybe." She shrugged in response.
"So then, what classes are you taking?" He asked, showing a surprising amount of interest for someone previously nonchalant.
But she just assumed he was being polite. She wondered in the back of her mind whether he wanted her to go and leave him alone. So she tried to sound confident when she answered, "Renaissance and Baroque Art-- that's Art History, I guess... a Ceramic Sculpture class, and Portfolio review. And the Reformation, just to even it out."
He grinned. "Ah, those wonderful religion classes." She recognized the sarcasm. "Who do you have?"
"Um... Mills. He's okay. He rattles on a bit, but not too bad."
"Huh, that's lucky. I had Erica Johnson. She wasn't so great... pretty dry. Plus, it was an eight-thirty class." he rolled his eyes.
She laughed. "Oh, I feel for you. I had to take a math class at eight last year. That sucked."
"Oh hey, what year are you then? Sophomore?"
"Junior."
"Oh." he nodded.
"You?" she asked, even though she was already pretty sure. He had the air of a senior.
He sighed. "This is my last year here."
"Oh, that's sad." She didn't pretend to be sorry. "So what are you planning to do after you graduate?"
"Some student teaching. Then maybe grad school. Maybe. I'm thinking I need a break from studying." He grinned.
"Yeah. That's cool though. You play an instrument?"
"Cello."
"Wow. I've always thought that was impressive. My musical abilities are pretty much nil."
"Really? Well, if it makes you feel any better, my art skills are non-existent. I'm limited to stick figures, and even those are pretty bad."
She laughed again.
"So junior... don't you guys have art shows and stuff?"
"Yeah. It's actually up now. The other art majors have some really impressive stuff up in the gallery. You should check it out, if you have time. The art building's pretty close to the music building. You don't really have an excuse."
"Whoa, okay! I'll probably stop by. So what do you have up there?" He leaned forward a bit, propping his chin up on his fist.
"Oh... not a lot, I guess. Some paintings, a couple drawings... some 3-D stuff." She shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, even though she was excited at the prospect that he might see her stuff.
"Well, I'll definitely stop by. Sounds awesome. I've always admired artsy people. Heh," he grinned again. "You can usually spot art majors, too. Piercings and colorful and weird clothing."
She pretended to look offended, and noted how quickly she was becoming comfortable as the conversation flowed. "Weird clothing?" Piercings? She looked down at herself. She was wearing black, mostly. Her only other piercing besides the customary double ear thing was a tiny nose stud she'd gotten her last birthday. She nodded at him. "And what about you, huh? I notice you wear a lot of black. Typical sensitive musician."
He raised an eyebrow. "You notice, do you?" he teased.
She blushed... but just a bit.
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
After a moment of grinning to herself, he said, "so anyway..." and she thought for a sad moment that he was thinking of going. "What are you planning to do after college?"
"Besides live in a box, you mean?"
He grinned. She was beginning to enjoy that grin.
"That's the running joke, I guess. But I think I'll go to Art school. Maybe even somewhere out of state."
He raised an eyebrow. "Out of state, huh? Where're you from?"
"The cities. They have a pretty good school up there, but not exciting enough for me. But how about you? Out of state?"
"Nope. Born and bred right here. I used to live in the cities... where my girlfriend worked."
She was stung inwardly... she'd never thought he might already be attached.
He continued, "But I moved farther south after we broke up."
Relief. She tried not to let it show on her face and hoped he wouldn't guess what she was thinking.
"So you're a city girl, huh? Any favorite city haunts?" He seemed more and more intent on continuing the conversation.
She wouldn't argue. "Oh, there's a bunch of great coffee shops. Shabby compared to the universal Starbucks, but they make the best coffee. And hey, I'm an art freak, right? I spend at least every Saturday in the uptown Art Museum. They have this great new exhibit--"
She was cut off. Bridget was suddenly behind her saying, "There you are, girl! What the hell?"
She looked up and sheepishly shrugged, glancing over at Mark. "Sorry... hey, wait a minute! You're the one who disappeared! Where were you?"
"Where do you think? I got antsy and you were asleep, so I went for a run." Bridget leaned forward on her knees.
She noted that Bridget was out of breath. "A run, huh?" She glanced at him, still sitting expectantly across the table. She noticed he appeared a bit uncomfortable. "Hey Bridget, this is Mark." she gestured to him, trying to appear casual.
"Hey," Bridget waved, still rather breathless.
"Hey," he returned. He fidgeted slightly and for a panicked moment she thought he'd make an excuse to leave. And before they'd ended their conversation properly; she wanted permission to talk to him again.
Thank heaven for Bridget. Instead of ignoring him in her restlessness, she said, "So do you guys have a class together or something?" She sat down on the bench next to her.
"No, actually. We just met." he betrayed a slight grin.
"Yeah," she said. "I kinda interrupted his lunch." She shrugged her shoulders apologetically.
"Hey, no problem. It was a welcome interruption." He smiled kindly at her.
Bridget made a face at her. Her face flushed slightly and she knocked Bridget's ankle under the table. Suddenly Bridget sat up and loudly exclaimed, "Oh! Emilie hun, I just forgot! I have a study meeting I've gotta get to. I should go... I still need to grab some food, too. Damn." Bridget stood up quickly and grabbed her sweatshirt and bag from her. "See you later! Nice meeting you, Mark!" She ran off across the lawn.
She waved at Bridget and slowly turned back to him. "Sorry," she said, "If you have some place to be..."
"Nah," he answered and shrugged. "Not busy tonight, which is a rare occurrence."
A sudden surge of courage egged her on to ask, "Say, if you're not busy... would you maybe like to grab some coffee or something?" Her heart pounded in her ears. That might be good; maybe then she wouldn't hear his 'no.'
"Sure." He grinned and made to get up.
She beamed inwardly and reached down for her bag.
They headed off together toward the college cafe.
And that, my friends, was the start of a beautiful friendship.
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