you can take me anywhere
I'm back from my long summer away from home.
I've spent the last two months jet-setting from Washington DC, to Greenboro, North Carolina, and then to Kerrville, Texas.
Two long months of self-realization, crying, drinking, memories, life lessons, good times, bad times, new people, new places, adaptation, loneliness, and myself.
I'm not ready to travel this much and be away from home alone for so long, but I am confident in saying that its something I've accomplished and wear proudly.
As I took off from the Houston airport on continental flight 1776 to Philadelphia, PA, I laughed. There was something funny about flying to a city where 1776 was a pretty monumental year. One of life's little jokes reminding me that not everything is so tragic.
Watching the setting sun reflect violently off the windshields on the cars in a massive used car sales lot reminded me of the way the waves in the Atlantic Ocean peak towards the sky and glisten. I'd be home soon. I'd see those waves.
But as the cars got smaller and the trees turned into bushes of broccoli, I couldn't help but reflect on what I'd learned during my summer away.
I had briefly been to Washington DC. There I learned to make left turns and introduced some of the most untainted and innocent people to Kelis's version of "The Whisper Song". I made up my mind about who I would love spending my time with and who I would come to hate in only 4 weeks. All of these assumptions were false - I'll prove it when I talk about North Carolina. I learned that power outages are one of the single most annoying things to experience in the middle of the night as waking up in a hot sweat with no air conditioning has proven to be a disaster. I learned that I CANNOT have a roommate for more than 5 days - That I am more socially awkward and incapable of finding conversation for more than 30 minutes at a time with someone I have only know for 6 hours. I had not yet learned to miss the comfort of good food and my own bed.
I had been to North Carolina. Here, everything that could fall apart most certainly did - and in less than 48 hours. We had 3 managers quit, only half of the supplies we needed, no idea of where we were, what we were doing, or what needed to be done. In the next four weeks the following occurred: the rotation of 15+ managers (but a letter of apology and hope from my favorite one - the only reassurance I clung to), a horrible haircut given to me by an inexperienced black woman who had a baby only a week apart from when her 21 year old daughter had hers, a car accident that resulted in a week of Vicodin and a tearful goodbye to my beloved 2003 Impala, Stella, screaming matches on the phone with anyone who said the wrong thing to me, more screaming matches with insurance companies, Rite Aid after they gave me the wrong and very dangerous prescription, and the woman who cut my hair in attempt to get my money back on the same day I totaled my car - needless to say I left the salon with $40 in my pocket, and days upon days of sleep deprivation.
However, I bonded more with my coworkers in one month than I have with some very close friends in 10 years. From tragedy comes unity and from unity comes nights on roof drinking, playing Rock Band, learning to be black and dance, divulging the enigmas of racism, and ventures to strip clubs and local bars all while children slept in close proximity. Our days off were filled with sleep as we soothed our lost voices and swollen throats, and then we'd have epic theme parties - toga parties filled with girls in Jetson's looking frocks, Rock Band parties with bad accents and even worse make up, black and white parties that turned to complete debauchery and mayhem, samples of all the finest fast food cuisine the likes of which New Jersey will never see, and the closest group of tragedy survivors you could ever meet. Our days were simple and fun after 3 weeks of hell. We decided which children could have a second helping of dessert and which ones to never call on if they raised their hands. We ran wild on talent show and dance-off nights and threw the rule book and schedules away. We fought unruly cafeteria managers and hugged scholars when they needed attention even though it was against policy. We skipped breakfast and advanced materials late. We laughed until our guts hurt. We slept on floors. We were prejudice towards one another as we'd laugh our head off during discussions of what is stereotypical about black and white people. We hated any kids we wanted to and feel no remorse in doing so - you wouldn't understand. We used bad Italian accents. We joked and flirted with the cafeteria workers to get GOOD food - none of the awful grilled cheese stuff. We made it through fire drills. We broke dress code and curfew. For a month, we owned Wake Forest University. I ate collard greens and learn how to shake my non-existent ass and then lay in bed and cry and feel like I was letting home slip away from me. However, I endured. We all endured. The next morning I'd wake up knowing I'd see Marvin, Jackie, Heather, Sara, Cydnia, Kristin, Kirsten, Megan, Kentae, Suvondra, Aarika, Ayiana, Corey, Amy, Richard, Katie, and anyone else I'm forgetting and know that I was going to make it through another day of NYSP.
And then we said our goodbyes. These were the people I had poorly evaluated a month before - these people were now all my friends. Some headed home. Some headed to New York or California for more employment, but I headed to Texas.
I touched down in San Antonio after a connecting flight from Houston - wearing no make up and smelling like an airport. I gathered my luggage - one extra bag stuffed to the gills that cost me $25 to bring and a purple 50 lb. suitcase that had room to spare, but was forbidden to carry anything else unless I wanted to pay $75 more. As I waited for my mystery ride to arrive, I called my mother. The conversation resulted in more soul-crushing news. My dog, Dr. Chocolate, was diagnosed with a disease that was expected to kill him in less than 2 months. There in the airport, I fell to my knees. Hadn't I experienced enough? Not only was I miles away from home, stuck in a hurricane-damned state with no friends or family, not to mention what things happened to me in NC, but now my dog, my best non-human companion, was expected to die and it was possible that I wasn't even going to see him beforehand. I sobbed, looking like a hysterical idiot in the middle of baggage claim. I was interrupted by a phone call from my ride - Cassie and Veronica were waiting outside. I quickly apologized and explained why I sounded like blubbering mess. Basically, I made a great first impression - sniffling and wearing over-sized sunglasses as my airport aroma seeped through the car of people who had been friends for over a month at this point. Texas was going to be awful. My dog was dying, my boyfriend hated me for agreeing for two more weeks, my friends resented not seeing me, and I was already declaring myself unfit to work with children. However like North Carolina, I endured. I had three friends from NC working alongside me, so slowly, they made things easier. For a while, they were my only support system. I would grit my teeth and make it. The first week was touch-and-go. I felt the eyes of my new co-workers glaring at me every second of the first 4 days. I was assigned to things for which I was not trained. I was in a room that had stains on the floor, prison-issue beds, and cockroaches. I wanted to go home and I was vocal about it. But the days pressed on, and my anxiety and stress turned to relief and familiarity. Slowly but surely, I was making the bonds that come with the territory of any NYSP strand - bonding through chaos. And, like North Carolina, we drank. I abused my fake ID and became friends with the locals. I found companions in my co-workers - Tessa, Noel, Jose, Laura, Tamira, James, John, Juhi, Tania, Jenny, Brooke, Cassie, Veronica, Rivea, Sheanah, and anyone else I'm leaving out. Tessa and I flirted our way into free drinks and pool parties. We became regulars at The Ol' Watering Hole. Tessa even found herself a stalker. Life was good and Texas became comfortable. I even got the great news that Dr. Chocolate would be fine! He'd beaten his disease and was expected to make a full recovery. However, things, again, got dodgy. As I grew closer to my Texas crew, I became distant from home. As a result, thing between Mike and I came to an end. I made painful realizations about someone I really truly loved and it broke my heart. Sometimes you put too much into something you should have seen was never going to work from the get-go. And there are some ties that are damned near impossible to cut - this one is no different. As mush as I'll miss Mike, I've distanced myself and cut my ties for my own good. I hold great resentment towards him and its mainly because I cared and quite possibly still do care far too much. I was let down by someone I trusted with everything I had and allowed myself to avoid things that should have been clear for a a very long time. I refuse to be taken for granted, and therefore I refuse to be close with him. Yet again, I endured and prevailed. Best wishes and luck to Mike. I just can't have him in my life right now.
The remaining days of Texas consisted of watching Doug in the production room, missing breakfast - again, sleeping on floors, packing, fighting with my lazy manager, narrowly escaping cops, eating Mexican food, running through class rooms with an Italian flag yelling "GOAL!", upholding the image of being faaaaar older than I actually am, drinking Buttery Nipples, White Russians, SoCo and Limes, Blue Moons, and Kamikazes, turning down numerous offers to smoke hash, shopping, and spooning with my new Oklahoma soul mate, Tessa, underneath the big and bright stars of Texas.
Then, once again, we said our goodbyes.
And there I was. On the plane back to New Jersey. Watching cars turn to pinky-nail sized boxes through a thick glass window and listening to Hold Steady as the no smoking sign let out a calming glow. My heart swelled and my body ached from all the had happened. I made friends and lost them. I cried and I laughed. I worked and I played. I had lived and I had learned. And goddamnit, I survived.
As Flight 1776 made its descent, I watched cars' headlights grow larger as they splashed against the busy streets of Philadelphia.
"Massive Nights" appropriately played through my headphones...
" We had some massive nights
Every song was right
And all I wanted was time."
There wasn't a moment this summer in which those lyrics didn't ring true.
I was greeted at the airport with hugs, kisses, and a bouquet of roses.
I slept in my own house and cradled my dog in my arms while I sobbed.
I saw Sean. That made everything better. If you know me, you know how I feel about Sean. I could write a book about him. He's the person that keeps me moving and I've never loved anyone the way I love Sean. When it comes down to it, he was the only person I wanted there when I stepped off the plane. Thank God he was.
Thank God for everything.
Thank God for friends, for family, for North Carolina, for Texas, for Washington DC, for tragedy, for hospitals, for khaki, white, and blue, for favors, for bad accents, for compassion, for Biscuitville, for Sutter Home White Zinfandel, for Halls Cool Berry throat lozenges, for Carla the bartender, for divine intervention, for jukeboxes, for hope, for Mike, for Dr. Chocolate, for baked goods, for tears, for phone calls, for Brett and Nakei, for roses, for pool parties, for kickball in the rain, for Rock Band, for collard greens and plantains, for my own bed, for Twizzlers, for plane rides, for The Hold Steady, for dance lessons, for rooftops, for togas, for fanny packs, for cougars, for nurses, for geckos, for cheers, for black socks, for Lutership Meringue, for Sugar Bares, for Cracker Barrel, for airports, for in-flight movies, for crickets, for deer, for kids not shitting their pants TOO much, for key registration, for Brandi, for car accidents, for evaluations, for the production center, for NYSP, for New Jersey, for diabetes, for everything I endured and experienced - good and bad.
Thank God for massive nights.