Without The World Ending

It was our sophomore year of high school when we were assigned a group project on Romeo and Juliet (read: the world’s most mind-numbingly tired, pedestrian, worn-the-fuck-out story.) It was the usual suspects: Amy, Carly, Sarah and I.

I remember how disappointed I was that we didn’t draw Young Goodman Brown from the hat. How distraught I was that I would not get the chance to skulk around the tree in my backyard on camera. To wear all black. To carry a cane. To play the role I was born to play: Satan. Schlossberg turned her rarely sympathetic eyes my way, she understood but would not change our topic.

They came over my house the Friday before it was due and we wrote our movie script. Amy was going to play Juliet to my Romeo and I knew a snide remark would be made. Nonetheless, I loved our script. Amy and I wrote it, worked on it, toiled over it while Carly tried to make s’mores on my dining room table and Sarah listened to her cd player.

That night I sat up for hours adding things to the script, directions for the camera operator, rephrasing bits of text so that it actually looked like we did something other than jackass around with plastic swords on film for twenty minutes. So when the snow storm hit that Sunday, the day we were going to film, and a foot of snow fell from the sky, you can imagine the meltdown I had.

It was decided that we would forgo our plan to make a movie and type up a newspaper. I got as far as writing a new outline for the project before I started to cry. Amy finally popped online and instant messaged me. I delegated two acts to her. Write articles for those, I told her, implored her. I wrote the articles for two of my acts and started to format the newspaper. I bitched to Amy online the entire time. There were four people in this group and only two of us cared about the grade that would count for our midterm. Amy asked if I was angry at her. I told her no, that I loved her.

And then she said, “Pat, you know you can be mad at someone and still love them, right?”

I knew this. I had known it for years. But I didn’t really know it until that moment. I knew then that I could love someone and still be mad at them. I also knew then that I loved Amy way more than I would ever be able to put into words. I still know both these things.

The newspaper came out amazing. Sure, it had a couple of Amy Rose’s cross-outs. After working on it from ten in the morning to midnight, I was way past the point of being able to proofread. I was also way past the point of freaking out that any corrections would change the layout and make the newspaper look like shit. Carly never did do anything. Sarah drew two comics in homeroom on a sheet of lined paper and told me to attach it to the back. I never did. We got a 96 on the project. Schlossberg, rightfully, did not give us any extra credit for the twenty pages of script.

I wasn’t mad at Amy that day. Not even a little bit. It was strange that a miscommunication led to a really profound moment in my life. It was strange that a miscommunication led me to the very important realization that you can fight with the people you love without the world ending.

Must. Keep. Writing.

I saw this last night and immediately sat down and tried to write. I've been complaining to basically anyone who would listen for the past few days about my writer's block. I often forget that the times I feel the most emotionally shut down, that the times I feel like it is impossible to write creatively, are often the times when I most need to write. Writing a poem last night, even though Katheryn ordered me to, really didn't work. However, I did write a few short prose pieces that I will be posting to this blog soon.

“Two or three things I know, two or three things I know for sure,

and one of them is that to go on living I have to tell stories,

that stories are the one sure way I know to touch the heart, and change the world.”

-Dorothy Allison.

Better no title than a lame title except that this is now the title

I was reading through Ramapo’s latest edition of the Trillium – the school’s creative writing magazine – this afternoon. And I was struck not by the contributors’ lack of talent, but by their lack of talent in contrast with my own. My writing has more skill and more passion than any of the works contained in that magazine. So why am I not writing right now? Why am I not pouring the story I imagined all through my three-hour night class on to paper right now?

I have been doing much in the way of keeping myself busy these last few weeks. More than that, I have been trying to not let myself shut down and stop living because a new semester started. Regardless of how much I have been trying to occupy my time with things that I love, it still hasn’t changed the fact that I have felt profoundly lonely the last couple of weeks. I pulled myself out a major funk the end of this summer. And yet I still feel a bit withdrawn. I feel like the world I’ve finally woken up to is still there, it’s just taking more effort to reach.

We were discussing in class tonight the end of Anna Christie and how the title character states that she is a changed woman – that Mat has transformed her into a completely different person. I don’t know if anyone can ever truly change who he or she is. I feel that underneath each person there will always be a current of truth that lets us or perhaps makes us tend to anger or joy or pessimism or hope that would otherwise lie dormant if not for a crucial moment. I think it’s in these crucial moments, when people are the most themselves, where lives are built or broken (my novel will be about these moments). But I often think we are sometimes too quick to throw out these pieces of who we are. We disregard them in the hope of finding something better. But that something will never replace completely what is intrinsically our own.

Kate said that she could see us in five years being completely different than we are now. I told her I could see myself at seventy still feeling the exact same way I have for years. I don’t know which one of us will be correct. I think we’ll still be friends when we find out. I do know that for so long I had been eager to get rid of this huge piece of myself because I was so afraid that it defined me. I didn’t want it to be the be-all end-all of my life. Now I know for a fact that it simply just is. It had to be. Or I never would have realized how resilient my hope is. I never would have realized that it is an intrinsic characteristic of mine to always tend to love.

Something to Miss

This summer was the best I’ve had. I learned some invaluable lessons about life and about myself. I wish I had more time to spend in this space. I wish I could put off starting my junior year of college for another month or maybe another year. Part of me loathes the thought of this coming semester, of being made to sit down and shut up under a florescent light in a room with no windows.

I lived this summer. Maybe for the very first time in my life. I did more than just survive, I was happy.

I worked my ass off. I didn’t write as often as I was supposed to. I didn’t get angry with myself when I didn’t write. I got in my first car accident. It felt worse than I could have imagined. It took me a month to shake it off. I buried Abner in the rain and felt completely broken over the loss of a hamster. I saw Kathy Griffin live and laughed until I cried. Amy and I went for ice cream approximately three thousand times. We wore foam hats. Sometimes in public. Shannon made me a painting based on RENT. I painted half my room. I threw out what felt like half of my possessions. We had luaus in my backyard. We took a shitload of pictures. I saw Jason Mraz with Kate and realized I didn’t really care about seeing Jason Mraz, I just wanted to chill with my friend. We sang along to RENT on the car ride home. My grandfather died. Kate stepped up for my mom. I found out that I am related to my best friend. My best friend left for another country. I spent every penny I earned this summer and wouldn’t change that if I could. I remembered my father’s birthday. It took me forever to read two of the Harry Potter books. I cried when Dumbledore died. I got to see RENT for a third time. I got to see it with Kate and watched her fall in love with it. We spent an entire day together. We knew it would be good for us. It was. I drove to fucking Schenectady. Kate and I watched more movies than I can remember. We ate a lot of pie too. I went to the third annual BBQ. I started watching horror movies. Endira made me cry in front of everyone. I broke yet another cellphone and now only have about 25 contacts of people I actually like. I brought her coffee and watched as my world didn’t fall apart. I did a lot of praying and soul searching at three in the morning. I pulled myself out of a major funk. I went white water rafting. It was fucking awesome. Amy and I played Guitar Hero. I realized that I can draw a little bit. I practiced juggling for hours. I visited Amy at her job. I took care of my grandmother. I jumped for joy when I found out I passed the math class from hell. I watched a lot of wrestling with Jess. I realized the woman I had thought of as my hero was nothing more than a master manipulator with a warped view of herself. I didn’t sell out my friend. I went to the seafood festival and watched my parents get drunk off their asses. I organized Julie’s gift and realized my coworkers trusted me with a lot of their money. I had a shitty fourth of July and made plans for next year as an antidote. I made the decision to not let anything hold me back from doing the things I want to do in the future. I was brave. I became really good friends with Shavoniece. I helped my dad with his annual bike rally for three days straight and then could barely walk for three more days after it. I went down a Slip N’ Slide for the first time in my life. I realized that I had a truly shitty childhood and that I will try to make up for it in the future. She asked “Would it help if I told you that I love you?” and I made a promise I don’t ever plan on breaking. I drank a shitload of alcohol and had a really good time doing it. I made Kate a poster. I realized that I owe it to myself to get what I want this time. I watched a lot of TV on DVD marathons. Amy and I contemplated our joint funeral. I fell in love with ‘Strangers in Paradise’ and read all two thousand pages in six days.

The best part of that list is that there was much more. This summer was the best I’ve ever had. I am glad I have something to miss.