Estuary
My ears are ringing, and I don't know why. I wonder: do they always do that? Have I simply learned to ignore the sound? Maybe I have tinnitus.
It's been a long day. 16 hours of work on 3 hours of shaky sleep. Someday, my body will not be able to handle this, but for now, I'm grateful that it can.
...
I.
My sister Koren was in Ft. Hood today. I was working for the banquets department, a lunch for Kaiser, when Chef told everyone the news. A gunman had opened fire at an Army readiness center there. People had been dying. It took a few moments to register -- my sister
It had already been a strangely tragic day: Upon arriving at 6 in the morning, I discovered that one of my coworkers was somehow connected to the death of a cyclist in North Portland. Noone knows what really happened yet. But there was already this air of tragedy.
I checked facebook, where Koren's status read: Has officially cleared Ft. Hood. I wasn't sure what that meant. I checked the New York Times on my phone, skimmed through the article for details. I texted her, probably to the irritation of my busy coworkers.
>Are u ok?
Koren's a medic in the Army, going through m6 training and earning her LPN certification. I thought she was supposed to be in San Antonio by now, on to the next phase of her training, but she is still there, at Ft. Hood, where all of this stupid shit happened.
>I'm ok, Koren texts.
How stupid and sad this was, this poor and twisted soul becoming completely unstuck, ceasing to recognize the souls around him, going batshit Full Metal Jacket on the very people who would have stood with him shoulder to shoulder against the coming dangers. How absurdly tragic, how counterproductive to anything he had been hoping to express. And I can already see a backlash mounting among members of certain American communities, pointing at Muslims and saying 'he-was-one-of-Them' and, by the transitive property of human prejudice, 'They must all be like Him'.
As many do from many different communities in this country, I feel for the families, knowing full well how broken-hearted and confused I would have been, how seriously messed up in the head i would have been if my sister had gone down.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. Sweet and right it is to die for one's country. We say this; we feel this, but today I cannot feel this. Today there was nothing sweet or right about it. It is a beautiful thing to say, but today it just isn't true for me.
Soldiers, may you rest in peace.
...
II.
Today I met an ecologist. She didn't trip the sensor at the front of the restaurant, the one that's supposed to beep in the kitchen, telling the servers that someone's waiting to be seated. I walked out to check on a table, and she was standing there, well past the sensor, like a ghost in a lime green jacket. "Have you been waiting long?" I asked.
"Not too long."
"You didn't trip the sensor," I said. "Maybe you're invisible to machines."
"You know, I've been having the hardest time with those automatic soap dispensers."
"Maybe you have a latent superpower," I said. "You should explore that."
She ordered the shrimp scampi fettucine special, with clam and garlic basil sauce, and as she waited, she read what appeared to be a textbook with pictures of trees in it. She wasn't really my type, but there was something comforting about her presence, something earthy and alluring. After I brought her dessert (the apple crisp), I asked if she was an arborist.
"No," she said, "Is there an arborist's convention around here too?"
It turns out she was deeply interested in studying estuaries, the places where rivers meet the sea, where salt water mixes with fresh. These areas are ecologically unique, hosting an unusual level of biological diversity that includes, as she pointed out, most of the species that she had just eaten. These areas are also very favorable to human settlement, which is why 22 of the world's 32 largest cities are located on estuaries.
Having just spoken to another customer (a New Yorker who'd lost his teaching job due to a health problem) of my desire to visit New York City, I experienced a moment of confusion. How could I love both? How could I love humanity, technology, the towering cities, but also the vast array of life forms and ecosystems we trample in our ascendancy? My brief, childlike philosophical reflection was quickly overtaken by my fascination with this woman, and my odd desire to make intense and passionate love to her. My brain desperately needed food and sleep, but I did my best to focus on the words she was saying, and we continued to talk -- about her educational history in Australia and Louisiana, about how she had moved back to live with her parents and teach in New Jersey, how she wanted to get into programs in the Pacific Northwest. She seemed ashamed of moving in with her parents, but I didn't think she needed to worry about it. She didn't seem like a bum.
I left the bill. "Whatever," I said, shrugging, "You're doing what you want to do. I think that's very cool." I wanted to keep talking to her. I wanted to do other, less noble things. I considered breaking the company rules and asking her out. Big no-no. No 'fraternizing' with guests, right? Plus, I was scared. Of all kinds of things. You see, when it comes to women, I am a coward. Or maybe, I'm just trying to be good.
I said goodbye, good luck. I went out for a cigarette.
Later, while doing my routine floor check for discarded room services trays, I came to a tray that was one room away from hers; I'd remembered the number from her bill. I considered knocking. What would I say? I looked at the door. I would offer my contact information, in case she were ever in town again. Then see what happens, go from there. I would stand there on the precipice, and I would...I would. I would not. Leave her alone, I told myself, Leave her alone!
I walked away, holding the room service tray in my hands, its dirty dishes, its bits of salad and egg and dressing smears, crumpled linen and plastic wrap. I was being a coward. I was being good.
...
It's been a long day. 16 hours of work on 3 hours of shaky sleep. Someday, my body will not be able to handle this, but for now, I'm grateful that it can.
...
I.
My sister Koren was in Ft. Hood today. I was working for the banquets department, a lunch for Kaiser, when Chef told everyone the news. A gunman had opened fire at an Army readiness center there. People had been dying. It took a few moments to register -- my sister
It had already been a strangely tragic day: Upon arriving at 6 in the morning, I discovered that one of my coworkers was somehow connected to the death of a cyclist in North Portland. Noone knows what really happened yet. But there was already this air of tragedy.
I checked facebook, where Koren's status read: Has officially cleared Ft. Hood. I wasn't sure what that meant. I checked the New York Times on my phone, skimmed through the article for details. I texted her, probably to the irritation of my busy coworkers.
>Are u ok?
Koren's a medic in the Army, going through m6 training and earning her LPN certification. I thought she was supposed to be in San Antonio by now, on to the next phase of her training, but she is still there, at Ft. Hood, where all of this stupid shit happened.
>I'm ok, Koren texts.
How stupid and sad this was, this poor and twisted soul becoming completely unstuck, ceasing to recognize the souls around him, going batshit Full Metal Jacket on the very people who would have stood with him shoulder to shoulder against the coming dangers. How absurdly tragic, how counterproductive to anything he had been hoping to express. And I can already see a backlash mounting among members of certain American communities, pointing at Muslims and saying 'he-was-one-of-Them' and, by the transitive property of human prejudice, 'They must all be like Him'.
As many do from many different communities in this country, I feel for the families, knowing full well how broken-hearted and confused I would have been, how seriously messed up in the head i would have been if my sister had gone down.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. Sweet and right it is to die for one's country. We say this; we feel this, but today I cannot feel this. Today there was nothing sweet or right about it. It is a beautiful thing to say, but today it just isn't true for me.
Soldiers, may you rest in peace.
...
II.
Today I met an ecologist. She didn't trip the sensor at the front of the restaurant, the one that's supposed to beep in the kitchen, telling the servers that someone's waiting to be seated. I walked out to check on a table, and she was standing there, well past the sensor, like a ghost in a lime green jacket. "Have you been waiting long?" I asked.
"Not too long."
"You didn't trip the sensor," I said. "Maybe you're invisible to machines."
"You know, I've been having the hardest time with those automatic soap dispensers."
"Maybe you have a latent superpower," I said. "You should explore that."
She ordered the shrimp scampi fettucine special, with clam and garlic basil sauce, and as she waited, she read what appeared to be a textbook with pictures of trees in it. She wasn't really my type, but there was something comforting about her presence, something earthy and alluring. After I brought her dessert (the apple crisp), I asked if she was an arborist.
"No," she said, "Is there an arborist's convention around here too?"
It turns out she was deeply interested in studying estuaries, the places where rivers meet the sea, where salt water mixes with fresh. These areas are ecologically unique, hosting an unusual level of biological diversity that includes, as she pointed out, most of the species that she had just eaten. These areas are also very favorable to human settlement, which is why 22 of the world's 32 largest cities are located on estuaries.
Having just spoken to another customer (a New Yorker who'd lost his teaching job due to a health problem) of my desire to visit New York City, I experienced a moment of confusion. How could I love both? How could I love humanity, technology, the towering cities, but also the vast array of life forms and ecosystems we trample in our ascendancy? My brief, childlike philosophical reflection was quickly overtaken by my fascination with this woman, and my odd desire to make intense and passionate love to her. My brain desperately needed food and sleep, but I did my best to focus on the words she was saying, and we continued to talk -- about her educational history in Australia and Louisiana, about how she had moved back to live with her parents and teach in New Jersey, how she wanted to get into programs in the Pacific Northwest. She seemed ashamed of moving in with her parents, but I didn't think she needed to worry about it. She didn't seem like a bum.
I left the bill. "Whatever," I said, shrugging, "You're doing what you want to do. I think that's very cool." I wanted to keep talking to her. I wanted to do other, less noble things. I considered breaking the company rules and asking her out. Big no-no. No 'fraternizing' with guests, right? Plus, I was scared. Of all kinds of things. You see, when it comes to women, I am a coward. Or maybe, I'm just trying to be good.
I said goodbye, good luck. I went out for a cigarette.
Later, while doing my routine floor check for discarded room services trays, I came to a tray that was one room away from hers; I'd remembered the number from her bill. I considered knocking. What would I say? I looked at the door. I would offer my contact information, in case she were ever in town again. Then see what happens, go from there. I would stand there on the precipice, and I would...I would. I would not. Leave her alone, I told myself, Leave her alone!
I walked away, holding the room service tray in my hands, its dirty dishes, its bits of salad and egg and dressing smears, crumpled linen and plastic wrap. I was being a coward. I was being good.
...