H e r C r u i s i n g C a r
A portrait of Two Small Town Girls
There is nothing . . . that can be said . . . that can frighten me . . . anymore . . . Sadden me . . . perhaps . . . disgust me . . . certainly . . . but not make me afraid . . . it has been said . . . Learn What You Fear . . . Then Make Love To It . . . dance with it . . . put it on your dresser . . . and kiss it good . . . night . . . Say it . . . over and over . . . until in the darkest hour . . . from the deepest sleep . . . you can be awakened . . . to say Yes . . .
She has never learned . . . no matter how often people tried . . . that it was hers . . . the fear and the Life . . . the glory of the gamble . . . It was her quarter . . . she had to pick the machine . . . She never understood . . . simple duty . . . knowing only to give all of herself . . . or none . . . There was no balance . . . to her triangle . . . though three points . . . are the strongest mathematical figures . . . no tingle . . . when struck . . . no joy . . . in her song . . .
no comfort in her chair . . . war / always war . . . with whom she was . . . who she wanted to be . . . and what they wanted . . . of her . . .
One reason I think . . . I am qualified . . . to run the world . . . thought my appointment is not imminent . . . is when I get . . . what I want . . . I am happy . . . It is surprising to me . . . how few
people are . . . When they win . . . like Richard Nixon or John McEnroe . . . they are unhappy . . . when they lose . . . impossible . . . One reason I think . . . I have neither ulcers nor nail biting habits . . . is I know how to be careful . . . of what I want . . . I just may get it . . .
She was never taught . . . that everything is earned . . . that Newton was right . . . for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction . . . Interest is obtained . . . only on Savings . . . Personality is developed . . . only on risk . . . What is sought . . . must first be given . . . We please others . . . by only allowing them access . . . to that part of ourselves which is public . . . If familiarity breeds contempt . . . use breeds hatred . . .
Turtles . . . the kind you find in pet stores . . . the kind Darwin met on Galapagos . . . grow to fit the environment . . . There are . . . probably some genetic limits . . . but a small turtle . . . in a
rise . . . proportionate more to the size . . . of the pot . . . than the relationship of the sun . . . to rain . . . Humans seldom deviate . . . If she hadn't been a small town girl . . . with a mind and heart molded absolutely . . . to fit the environment . . . she might have developed . . . a real skill . . . a real desire . . . to discover herself . . . and her gifts . . . As it was . . . as it is . . . she simply got used . . . and used to using . . .
She was never a loner . . . never made . . . to understand that life . . . in fact . . . is a solitary journey . . . that only one . . . was going to St. Ives . . . that no one held her bag . . . while the old
. . . woman traveled to Skookum . . . that the Little Red Hen and the Engine that Could . . . did it themselves . . . She was . . . let's face it . . . the leader of the pack . . . the top of the heap . . . cheer-leader extraordinaire . . . She was very popular . . . sought after by all the right people . . . for her jokes . . . her parties . . . her parents' car . . . The telephone was invented . . . just for her . . . She set up the friendships . . . the going steadys . . . the class officers . . . yearbook staff . . . Who's-In-Who's-Out . . . through the witch wire . . . Nothing could happen . . . without her
input . . . She actually thought it was important . . . who went with whom . . . to the junior prom . . . But somebody had to pick up the fallen streamers . . . sweep the now scarred dance floor . . .
turn out the lights before they could go home . . .
We were born . . . in the same year . . . our mothers delivered . . . by the same doctor . . . of the same city . . . in the same hospital . . . We were little chubby girls in pink . . . passing cigarettes at the lawn parties . . . My mother made me play . . . with her . . . and hers . . . with me . . . We didn't really mind . . . we shared the same friends . . . hers . . . and the same ideas . . . mine . . . Maybe I became . . . too accustomed . . . to the sameness . . . It was certainly easier . . . for me to shed . . . her friends . . . than she to shed . . . my notions . . . Our mothers belonged . . . to the same clubs . . . Our fathers tracked . . . the same night devils . . . They all had the same expectations . . . from . . . of . . . at . . . or to . . . us . . . I liked to brood . . . she didn't . . . She liked to laugh . . . I didn't . . . I thought I was ugly . . . she didn't . . .
Pots are taught not to call kettles Black . . . people who live in glass houses . . . don't throw stones . . . small town girls learn early . . . or not at all . . . that they can make a life . . . or abort the promise . . . One of us tried . . . one of us didn't have to . . . To each . . . according to her birth . . . from each according to her ability . . . Which is bastardized Marx . . . but legitimate bourgeoisie . . . She was never caring . . . She never learned to see . . . beyond her own windshield . . . that there were other people on the sidewalk . . . other cars . . . on the road . . . She drank . . . too much . . . for too long . . . Maybe in the back of her mind . . . or heart . . . or closet . . . there was a sign saying: There-Is-More- Than-This . . . but she wouldn't pull it out . . . put it up . . . or even acknowledge that somethings . . . many things . . . were missing . . . I accept . . . if not embrace . . . the pain . . . the sign on my car says: I Brake For Gnomes . . . the one in my heart reads Error In Progress -- Please Send Chocolate . . .
Into the rising sun . . . or setting years . . . accustomed to the scattered friends littering the road . . . she drives on . . . with the confidence of small town drivers who know every wayfall . . . toward the smaller minds . . . around the once hopeful lovers . . . into the illusion of what it is . . . to be a woman . . . through the delusion that trip necessitates . . . never once slowing . . . to ask Did I Hurt You . . . May I Love You . . . Can I/May I Please Give . . . You A Lift . . . With the surety . . . of one who never had to walk . . . she accelerates . . . toward boredom . . . secure in the understanding . . . that everybody knows her . . . and would be unlikely to ticket . . . her cruising car . . . She was my friend . . . more than a sister . . . really . . . a part of the mirror . . . against which I adjust . . . my makeup . . . I have no directions . . . but here is a sign . . . Thomas
Wolfe was wrong . . . Maybe it will be read . . .
-Nikki Giovanni
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Closure
There are times when I do not know even where to begin and this is oneof those times. I've put off writing about it out of laziness or out of fear that I may not be able to recite it all exactly as it was. I suppose if it does not hold the exactness that I wish it would, it is still much better than no record at all.
I was working on finishing the set on Tuesday. The majority of the class was starting on the new one, but in order for the backdrops to be sold, they must be finished. It made no difference to me, because I have never felt painting was a chore (with the exception of my painting class last year...) Another girl, a friend of mine, stayed also to finish the balcony. We talked of our old junior high friends in Bountiful for a time. I'm not exactly one for gossip, but it seemed harmless enough, and hearing about them keeps their memories real.
I went on to tell her that I thought that they had found the perfect actor for Guston, for that is his nature. We laughed and she told me I wasn't the first to say that. She went through an experience similiar to mine, except of course there were differences. That topic being brought up I asked her something that has been tearing at me for months now. In response she asked me if I was willing to take the risk. I thought on that and I could not give an answer. I knew if all went wrong, it would physically take it's toll on me as it already has. Contrary to that, I also knew that I had to know regardless, and I didn't really care much about what it's potential effects on me. So I finally came out with an 'I think so...' I told her of how unsure I was. She told me that some people never change, like an old friend she had before. "I'd stick my neck out for her and she would break it, I held out my hand to her and she would slap it." she said. In the end, she decided to still associate with her but only as an acquaintance because of the amount she continued to give of herself without any reason.
I didn't say anything to that, and continued working on the shot glasses I was painting on the tavern backdrop feeling let down somehow. She noticed that, and went on to talk about the alternative, saying it may be different. That there could be a chance, that I could slowly work into it. I liked to hear that, but it didn't calm the tight feeling in my stomach. I confessed that I have thought of that, but I was too nervous. I told her I wouldn't even know where to begin. She told me just to begin there, to say I would like things to be right again but I'm nervous. It was simple, but it was an answer that was invaluable to me, like being able to admit my hesitance would ease the relectance to talk. Another thing was that I was afraid that by now, there would be no room left for me, and I was afraid that I was already erased. Again, she told me to admit that openly. And again it was something I had never considered. Instead I thought it would have to be an all or nothing ordeal. She wished me luck with it, and we had to clean up. After she finished washing out her brushes I stopped her and thanked her for telling me what I needed to hear.
Though wounds were still open I was deadset on it, even though through out the day my stomach felt sunken in and I tried my best to ignore it. What fuelled me was the fear that I could later have no place at all in her life and above all that scared me most. I could not bear the thought of being erased, at least not by her. On the other hand, I could not push away the feeling I had that I was only white noise. Filler in which people faintly hear and can easily adjust to it's prescence and absence. I half expected her to try to pretend she was relieved, to force out smiles and words, out of a natural obligation such situations call for.
I called her after wrestling myself for ten minutes after coming home from school. I had trouble with keeping the phone still, I was so anxious. When she answered... I don't know exactly... The familiarity of her voice shocked me, and finally it did not sound like someone else speaking. I braced myself inwardly even for the hello, and then I found her voice not as , for the lack of a better word, --intimidating-- the way I had anticipated.
The first thing I said when I had met up with her was - I'm surprised you recognized my voice, I would have thought that you would have forgotten my voice by now. When she said she did not understand, I explained that it had just been too long. I had expected myself to cry and tears were welling up, but I did not spill any. She said that she was going to come over to my house over the break (gah, them college punks, getting spring break early and all) to do whatever she could to do what we were doing then and as odd as this sounds, I do not think it a coincidence... She went on to say that can't sleep anymore, as I have (though she didn't know), thinking of it. And that as hard as she tried she couldn't forget me, and no one did compare. I told her of how she was everywhere, in a song on the radio, in books I read, the places I'd go. There was always a reminder. With that my voice broke and I felt I would also cry, as she was, though I didn't. Something in me must unconciously block that when I am outside of my home.
She asked me why I would go about this, after everything that took place. It was so easy to talk to her, just as before... I told I do not believe that mistakes should follow a person throughout their lives, I know the importance of second chances. If I were to have been branded with every wrong I have done, if I had not been allowed second chances I wouldn't be the way I am now. I have also seen what happens if you don't. It has the potential to make you become worse than what or who that offended you in the first place. It would not have been fair for me to urge others to reconcile in the past if I could not do it in my own life.
She asked if I was going to be friends with Benson again, I managed to stumble out a yes. Not now though, definitely not now, just hearing his voice the other day was shock enough for me. I wouldn't want any one to have to attend to me if I were to have a shock like that one, on a different level. It gets awkward, and it makes me feel like a child.
We must have walked for hours at a time. And we both had so much to say as anyone could imagine. My ribs and spine have something to prove of that day, cause we hugged each other so tightly then. Girls, honesty, they are so weird. How funny it is to think that anyone could come to understand the full elasticity of the female psyche. Not to say that this particular instant could not be understood, but the emotional fluctuations of a girl in general are so entirely complex... You can write an accurate manual on no one, the expanses of one's personality can't be defined by boundaries, especially a girl, if I may say so myself.
What astounded me was that she told me she bought a Christmas present for me... And for a second time I felt the pent up tears. But again, there weren't any that came. I was so sure that I would have been pushed away even by December, that then there was no place left for me anymore. It was a soundtrack of an anime. I love it, she's always been able to pinpoint music I would love. There is a song on there which has some revelance to this; there are reasons why I am led to think she specifically chose it for a purpose. It was ironic, at least to me, we parted with lyrics, and we also reconciled with them... I can't help but notice that pattern...
Thinking back on it, it did not feel it was anything like a compromise or a risk, as I had assumed it would feel. It was more of a relief. A release of some kind. It was surprising to me how natural it felt. I imagined it to be an awkward exchange of words, but it was nothing like that. Again, it was all so natural, I had expected to be more withdrawn, but it was the opposite of that, I was completely open, as was she. I know exactly why I was afraid of losing her, because she was still, even then, so much of a part of me. There was no one else that I have been so honest with, no one besides her that I have opened up with in that way. Only she knows of what I am most afraid of, and the dark years behind me. No one has gotten to know me in the way that she has, I usually don't let people. In order to truly know me, you would have to know about that, and I stubbornly refuse to bring up such things because of how uneasy it makes me.
I slept that night without any trouble. I haven't been able to say that for some time now, usually thoughts of either of them would plague me hours before I could sleep. It was restful for once and that was good enough in itself.
I was working on finishing the set on Tuesday. The majority of the class was starting on the new one, but in order for the backdrops to be sold, they must be finished. It made no difference to me, because I have never felt painting was a chore (with the exception of my painting class last year...) Another girl, a friend of mine, stayed also to finish the balcony. We talked of our old junior high friends in Bountiful for a time. I'm not exactly one for gossip, but it seemed harmless enough, and hearing about them keeps their memories real.
I went on to tell her that I thought that they had found the perfect actor for Guston, for that is his nature. We laughed and she told me I wasn't the first to say that. She went through an experience similiar to mine, except of course there were differences. That topic being brought up I asked her something that has been tearing at me for months now. In response she asked me if I was willing to take the risk. I thought on that and I could not give an answer. I knew if all went wrong, it would physically take it's toll on me as it already has. Contrary to that, I also knew that I had to know regardless, and I didn't really care much about what it's potential effects on me. So I finally came out with an 'I think so...' I told her of how unsure I was. She told me that some people never change, like an old friend she had before. "I'd stick my neck out for her and she would break it, I held out my hand to her and she would slap it." she said. In the end, she decided to still associate with her but only as an acquaintance because of the amount she continued to give of herself without any reason.
I didn't say anything to that, and continued working on the shot glasses I was painting on the tavern backdrop feeling let down somehow. She noticed that, and went on to talk about the alternative, saying it may be different. That there could be a chance, that I could slowly work into it. I liked to hear that, but it didn't calm the tight feeling in my stomach. I confessed that I have thought of that, but I was too nervous. I told her I wouldn't even know where to begin. She told me just to begin there, to say I would like things to be right again but I'm nervous. It was simple, but it was an answer that was invaluable to me, like being able to admit my hesitance would ease the relectance to talk. Another thing was that I was afraid that by now, there would be no room left for me, and I was afraid that I was already erased. Again, she told me to admit that openly. And again it was something I had never considered. Instead I thought it would have to be an all or nothing ordeal. She wished me luck with it, and we had to clean up. After she finished washing out her brushes I stopped her and thanked her for telling me what I needed to hear.
Though wounds were still open I was deadset on it, even though through out the day my stomach felt sunken in and I tried my best to ignore it. What fuelled me was the fear that I could later have no place at all in her life and above all that scared me most. I could not bear the thought of being erased, at least not by her. On the other hand, I could not push away the feeling I had that I was only white noise. Filler in which people faintly hear and can easily adjust to it's prescence and absence. I half expected her to try to pretend she was relieved, to force out smiles and words, out of a natural obligation such situations call for.
I called her after wrestling myself for ten minutes after coming home from school. I had trouble with keeping the phone still, I was so anxious. When she answered... I don't know exactly... The familiarity of her voice shocked me, and finally it did not sound like someone else speaking. I braced myself inwardly even for the hello, and then I found her voice not as , for the lack of a better word, --intimidating-- the way I had anticipated.
The first thing I said when I had met up with her was - I'm surprised you recognized my voice, I would have thought that you would have forgotten my voice by now. When she said she did not understand, I explained that it had just been too long. I had expected myself to cry and tears were welling up, but I did not spill any. She said that she was going to come over to my house over the break (gah, them college punks, getting spring break early and all) to do whatever she could to do what we were doing then and as odd as this sounds, I do not think it a coincidence... She went on to say that can't sleep anymore, as I have (though she didn't know), thinking of it. And that as hard as she tried she couldn't forget me, and no one did compare. I told her of how she was everywhere, in a song on the radio, in books I read, the places I'd go. There was always a reminder. With that my voice broke and I felt I would also cry, as she was, though I didn't. Something in me must unconciously block that when I am outside of my home.
She asked me why I would go about this, after everything that took place. It was so easy to talk to her, just as before... I told I do not believe that mistakes should follow a person throughout their lives, I know the importance of second chances. If I were to have been branded with every wrong I have done, if I had not been allowed second chances I wouldn't be the way I am now. I have also seen what happens if you don't. It has the potential to make you become worse than what or who that offended you in the first place. It would not have been fair for me to urge others to reconcile in the past if I could not do it in my own life.
She asked if I was going to be friends with Benson again, I managed to stumble out a yes. Not now though, definitely not now, just hearing his voice the other day was shock enough for me. I wouldn't want any one to have to attend to me if I were to have a shock like that one, on a different level. It gets awkward, and it makes me feel like a child.
We must have walked for hours at a time. And we both had so much to say as anyone could imagine. My ribs and spine have something to prove of that day, cause we hugged each other so tightly then. Girls, honesty, they are so weird. How funny it is to think that anyone could come to understand the full elasticity of the female psyche. Not to say that this particular instant could not be understood, but the emotional fluctuations of a girl in general are so entirely complex... You can write an accurate manual on no one, the expanses of one's personality can't be defined by boundaries, especially a girl, if I may say so myself.
What astounded me was that she told me she bought a Christmas present for me... And for a second time I felt the pent up tears. But again, there weren't any that came. I was so sure that I would have been pushed away even by December, that then there was no place left for me anymore. It was a soundtrack of an anime. I love it, she's always been able to pinpoint music I would love. There is a song on there which has some revelance to this; there are reasons why I am led to think she specifically chose it for a purpose. It was ironic, at least to me, we parted with lyrics, and we also reconciled with them... I can't help but notice that pattern...
Thinking back on it, it did not feel it was anything like a compromise or a risk, as I had assumed it would feel. It was more of a relief. A release of some kind. It was surprising to me how natural it felt. I imagined it to be an awkward exchange of words, but it was nothing like that. Again, it was all so natural, I had expected to be more withdrawn, but it was the opposite of that, I was completely open, as was she. I know exactly why I was afraid of losing her, because she was still, even then, so much of a part of me. There was no one else that I have been so honest with, no one besides her that I have opened up with in that way. Only she knows of what I am most afraid of, and the dark years behind me. No one has gotten to know me in the way that she has, I usually don't let people. In order to truly know me, you would have to know about that, and I stubbornly refuse to bring up such things because of how uneasy it makes me.
I slept that night without any trouble. I haven't been able to say that for some time now, usually thoughts of either of them would plague me hours before I could sleep. It was restful for once and that was good enough in itself.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
I've been working on the set all the day-long day...
Paint and sweat, a good combination if you ask me.
I stayed after for four and a half hours in set design yesterday. I still ache, yes, but it's rewarding and there is always a price to pay. I finished the rest of the backdrop. Oh my gosh, it's a good thing I am not afraid of heights. (I'm a little backward, I love heights) I have no balance what so ever, so I had to be careful, especially when I stood on a chair on the extremely unstable balcony of one of the set pieces. I could only think 'am I skateboarding or painting?' I was up there about twenty-thirty feet or more off the ground. I got used to the wobbling of the set piece after a while. I'm going to get myself into trouble one of these days, always assuming I'm invincible. It was a lot worse when I was standing on the lower gate. It kept on shifting beneath me and in the morning, I almost fell twice. Not the best thing to do early in the morning. I felt seasick. I held on to the side of the backdrop to at least give myself the illusion that I wasn't going to fall.
Nine more days until opening night. Nine more, and there is still so much to be done. Every year everyone makes it happen, every year there is a miracle, so we're all hoping and praying that we'll get that prescribed miracle. And a big one at that.
So, no pressure, I'm practically the head painter in my class. Eesh. I don't know if I can keep that title but okay...
I'm sore because my manly ego kicked in when set pieces had to be moved. I knew it would kill my back, but I just get tired of asking for help. Eventually I did, after moving several pieces, for fear of my vertebrae exploding. After what went on in dance, I just couldn't stand it anymore. There were so many routines and stretches and exercises I had to pass up because 'it would be bad for my back'. Blah. I hate just sitting there, fidgeting. I want to get something out of the class, even if I have no grace.
I usually swallow my pride and ask for help (or at least as of lately), but after all that, but I hit that limit. Nuh uh. I really hate not being able to do what I could do so easily before. That's why I hate asking for help, because I know that I can. I would prefer to do it myself. I'd rather not need anyone to help me and not I'm not only talking about lifting. I guess this is what life is trying to teach me right now- how to rely on others. I hate having to rely on someone else instead of my own means as I would have. It makes me feel so helpless at times...
My third week in set design, I joked that we needed workman's comp for the class. I'm not joking anymore, we need it. We use all the heavy duty equipment, drills, jigsaws, you name it. And you don't really have to know how to operate them, in order to use them. We have no safety gear. Ferrin will just tell you what to do. Someone is bound to lose a finger or an arm. Anna twisted her ankle after the stage broke beneath her. So not only can you fall from way way way up there, you can also fall from the main level. Comforting isn’t it? If you survive all that, then you deal with everyone else's wrath, including the teacher's. And then teeth will be ripped out and limbs will fly. It's funny to watch all the squabbling in the mornings. We got a lot of attitude in there, it makes things interesting.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed until opening night. Hopefully it will pull through.
I stayed after for four and a half hours in set design yesterday. I still ache, yes, but it's rewarding and there is always a price to pay. I finished the rest of the backdrop. Oh my gosh, it's a good thing I am not afraid of heights. (I'm a little backward, I love heights) I have no balance what so ever, so I had to be careful, especially when I stood on a chair on the extremely unstable balcony of one of the set pieces. I could only think 'am I skateboarding or painting?' I was up there about twenty-thirty feet or more off the ground. I got used to the wobbling of the set piece after a while. I'm going to get myself into trouble one of these days, always assuming I'm invincible. It was a lot worse when I was standing on the lower gate. It kept on shifting beneath me and in the morning, I almost fell twice. Not the best thing to do early in the morning. I felt seasick. I held on to the side of the backdrop to at least give myself the illusion that I wasn't going to fall.
Nine more days until opening night. Nine more, and there is still so much to be done. Every year everyone makes it happen, every year there is a miracle, so we're all hoping and praying that we'll get that prescribed miracle. And a big one at that.
So, no pressure, I'm practically the head painter in my class. Eesh. I don't know if I can keep that title but okay...
I'm sore because my manly ego kicked in when set pieces had to be moved. I knew it would kill my back, but I just get tired of asking for help. Eventually I did, after moving several pieces, for fear of my vertebrae exploding. After what went on in dance, I just couldn't stand it anymore. There were so many routines and stretches and exercises I had to pass up because 'it would be bad for my back'. Blah. I hate just sitting there, fidgeting. I want to get something out of the class, even if I have no grace.
I usually swallow my pride and ask for help (or at least as of lately), but after all that, but I hit that limit. Nuh uh. I really hate not being able to do what I could do so easily before. That's why I hate asking for help, because I know that I can. I would prefer to do it myself. I'd rather not need anyone to help me and not I'm not only talking about lifting. I guess this is what life is trying to teach me right now- how to rely on others. I hate having to rely on someone else instead of my own means as I would have. It makes me feel so helpless at times...
My third week in set design, I joked that we needed workman's comp for the class. I'm not joking anymore, we need it. We use all the heavy duty equipment, drills, jigsaws, you name it. And you don't really have to know how to operate them, in order to use them. We have no safety gear. Ferrin will just tell you what to do. Someone is bound to lose a finger or an arm. Anna twisted her ankle after the stage broke beneath her. So not only can you fall from way way way up there, you can also fall from the main level. Comforting isn’t it? If you survive all that, then you deal with everyone else's wrath, including the teacher's. And then teeth will be ripped out and limbs will fly. It's funny to watch all the squabbling in the mornings. We got a lot of attitude in there, it makes things interesting.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed until opening night. Hopefully it will pull through.
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