How To Talk To Your Sister*

She will speed into your driveway while you are drawing with chalk. She will run past you

without looking at you, even though you haven’t seen each other in years.

After she emerges teary eyed from your parents room, she will stop to visit, but not before she goes to her truck and comes out with gifts. A calendar and a teddy bear for you and toe rings for your other sisters. The conversation will be meaningless and awkward. When she leaves you will tell her you love her she will laugh and say goodbye. You used the calendar but felt bad because you knew it was meant to buy your love or forgiveness. Are they really all that different? And you were giving them for free. You’re in debt now.

Months later, just after Christmas, the phone rings and you answer. It’s her. You tell her what you got because she asks. After an awkward silence you ask about her Christmas. “Oh it was great!” She says a little too loudly. And you wonder if she is going to cry. She describes all her gifts in detail. And you think of a Lie to Me episode where they said criminals will be over-descriptive in an effort to convince someone of a lie. But you hope she had a good Christmas anyway. After you hang up, you tell your mother to mail her pictures of all of us.

The school year has ended. The phone rings and you check the caller ID then continue to pour your cereal for dinner.

You’re downtown with friends headed to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Before entering you realize you are close to where your sister lives. You think about how your friends aren’t even aware that you share blood with someone who lives within a two mile radius of here. You think about how some of them might not even know who have a sister.  You remember the ignored call from months before and feel guilty. “I’ll be in in a minute.” You’re friends go on ahead.  You wander around the block not sure really what you are looking for but get scared by a homeless person and quickly return to the restaurant. Your friends have already ordered. You sit and watch them eat.

When you get home that night you ask your parents if they have heard from her lately.

“She lives in Nevada now with Some Man.” They said “Some Man” as though that was his name.

“Oh.” Nevada? Some Man?

When summer rolls around again after your junior year your family takes an RV trip across the

states. Welcome to Nevada. You wonder who would willingly live here. There is nothing to look at but

wind. You are playing cards on the table with your brother which is extremely difficult because the draw pile keeps moving around. You notice the air becomes tighter. It is as though everyone’s thoughts and emotions became tinier. And you remember; your sister lives here with that man named Some. But no one says anything. You wonder if she can feel her family passing by, whether sharing blood holds more power than you realize.

You remember a book you read where a Mother received a letter informing her that her son had

died in war overseas. Despite her family’s acceptance of his death, she continued to believe he was alive until one day, months later, she felt what she described as a tiny burst in her heart as though the shadow of her heart leapt, and she knew then that he was dead. Journal entries and hidden writings in a POW camp confirmed that he had died the day the Mother was gardening. What is there to say? How do you talk to your sister?

*This is an imitation of How To Talk To A Hunter by Pam Houston

Also, sorry about the funky format; I couldn't change it. 

How I Contemplated The Future From The Passenger Seat of a Honda*

I. Characters

Me: 

            Seventeen years old and worried about the indifference I feel toward college and the future in general. It's coming. I can't stop it. So I will wait. Maybe it will slam into me like a brick wall or sweep me up and spin me in an embrace. The kind you give a friend you haven't seen in a while.  Or it will pass by me like a fog. I will move through it, and it, around me. My feet are up on the dashboard, burning under the fleece blanket on my lap but too content to move it. I ask my mom when fart jokes stopped being funny to her, because when that day comes for me I want out. I'm done.

My Mom:

            I am sitting around my friends kitchen table, senior year is winding down, and we are telling each other where we see each other in ten years. "Married with a medical degree." "Working with kids and loving it." "Lindsay, you... you'll just be your mom." Me: Surprised at how glad I am to hear that.

II. Events

-Arrive at Treasure Valley College, which at first glance is neither a valley nor a treasure. I look around campus and wish I could pack all my friends in a bag and bring them here. Everything is wet and desolate. I comment on the small buildings and overall French fry smell in the air. We leave and both think "no".
-Arrive at North Idaho College, there is not much activity. It's Saturday and campus has been abandoned. A sign on the wall offers courses in sailing, skiing, surfing, climbing, and biking. I could deal with this. Yes, I could deal with this. I go to the dock area that borders one side of campus, and touch the water. It's freezing.
Could I see myself living here?
Yes.
-Arrive at University of Portland. There are beautiful flowers and people here. It overlooks the ugliest bay area I have ever seen. Maybe the only real bay area I've seen. Could I see myself living and learning here? Yes, but I can't. Leave singing If I were a rich girl da-da da da da-da da....
-Arrive at Southwestern Community College. At first I dislike it, but decide to walk around campus anyway. The bathrooms have powdered soap. I could convince myself to like it here. I could do anything for two years. Leave and think I'm hungry. 
-Arrive at Shasta College. We drive in, through, and out of town into the wilderness. The campus looks somewhat like a campground. I go to the bathroom and am surprised to see flushing toilets. We spot two cats lounging around. They probably live of squirrels. Leave.

III. Borders and In-betweens

-It takes the average person seven minutes to fall asleep. Why is it we never remember falling asleep? Possibly because passing that threshold would be too much like death, and death is off-limits. More women die of heart disease than men.
-Welcome to Oregon, Welcome to Idaho, Welcome to Oregon, Welcome to Washington, Welcome to Oregon, Welcome to California, Welcome to Nevada, Welcome Home.
-A river runs and stands still along the road. Which way is it flowing? If we all lived in the moment, we would all exist for eternity, countless eternities.
-Does moss only grow on the North side of a tree?

Why are you lost?

Not in that way. No I was just wondering. And you texted me from the future.

If anything significant happens I'll be sure to let you know. 

Thank you. So does it?

Technically you texted me from my future and your present. Is that a metaphor? What about when you said you didn't want to get too close to the edge? What about when you asked me if your light was dimming?

-We travelled the same direction as a car across the Colombia River. Together and separate. When the road led them behind hills I searched, I would not blink, until I watched them emerge from the other side. I wanted to see the instant our paths separated, and wondered if they carried a passenger who was looking, unblinkingly back at me. 

-Also: kite-boarders. (Pun intended).

IV. Thoughts:

- It's "Un-attatchment" that allows us to move forward. "Un-attatchment" from friends, family, past, present, possessions, everything. Once we let them go, we have more room for love...Love, love, love is all you need. If you love me let me go. 

- "I think if you died- I mean, yeah I'd miss you...but I could get over it."

"Yeah? I feel the same way."

V. It's like they knew.

"Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Say yes to one and let the other one slide.

It's not often easy and not often kind.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?"

                 -Lovin' Spoonful

"Yeah when I was only seventeen

 I could hear the angels whispering 

So I drove into the woods 

And wandered aimlessly about..."

               -Blitzen Trapper

"Time hurries on, and the leaves that are green..." Oregon is green.

                -Simon and Garfunkel

"What's my name, what's my station?

Oh, just tell me what I should do...

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see

Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak"

                  - Fleet Foxes

*Based on Joyce Carol Oates short story: How I Contemplated the World from the Detroit House of Correction and Began My Life Over Again. You can find it in her book Wheel of love. 

My Indian Education*

Nursery:

I remember the girl who brought kittens for show-and-tell. I thought she didn't deserve them and I believed I did. I was extremely jealous. I’m more of a dog person now anyway. I remember the boy with the lisp. He had a lisp that would make him spit everywhere. “ Lindthhhh, do you want to go play in the Thhhppppand pit?”

“Uh-uh.”

 I remember the teacher teaching us our shapes.

“Is this a green square?”

To which our little nursery bodies would inhale and all scream “NOOOOOOOOO!”

“What color is it?”

“BBBBLLLLUUUUUUUEEEEE!”

“Is this a triangle?”

I wondered why we were all screaming, but inhaled deeply and screamed anyway.

Kindergarten:

I was very excited to put on the plaid jumper and collared shirt. I remember going to half-day and watching “Dragon Tales” with a sippycup of chocolate milk and a bag of cereal before school. I came home happy and worn out. School was tiring back then. I learned a lot. I made my first best friend whose name was Morgan, and whose last name I don’t remember, and don’t remember if I ever knew.

First Grade:

I became friends with Rosie.

“Do you want to play with me?”

“Yes.”

We found out we lived just a few blocks away from each other, and have been friends ever since then.

 I also saw my friend Maddy hug a boy. In disbelief I asked; “Do you like him?”

“No, he’s just my friend.”

“Oh.” I didn’t get it.

Phillip told me I was going the “wrong way” on the monkey bars. From then on he was on my bad side. There is a wrong way to talk to me about monkey bars.

Second grade:

 I loved math and doing problems on the board. I sat next to a boy who cheated off me and ate chapstick. I didn’t mind.

 Because Austin Orr and I were desk buddies, he used to grade my math packets. He always put smiley faces next to the ones I got correct. I always wished he’d do just one big smiley face rather than a bunch of tiny ones. And forget the nose.

Third Grade:

Moldable erasers and mechanical pencils were all the rage. Girls would trade and borrow all through class, and sometimes got them confiscated. I received moldable erasers from my friend Rosie for my birthday the summer after that school year.

I had a substitute teacher for most of the year and even though I recognize her face when I see her around campus, I cannot remember her name.  And I feel bad.

Fourth grade:

I felt so lucky to have Mr. Johnson as a teacher. He sang songs, told jokes and loved math. Aspen had hiccups, and Mckenzie kind of sounds like my name Lindsay.  I ate a lot of sugar cubes as I used them to construct a medieval castle, complete with a horse in a horse stable.

Fifth grade:

Our assembly was about the different organs in the body. I was the stomach. I was in a group with Sadie \, Whitney , and Logan. When we practiced our parts in front of the class my group got an en core. Up to that moment I had never been so proud.  We put the lines to the tune of Some Say Love  and made up fake sign language so we could perform it Napoleon Dynamite style.

“Your stomach , it is a worker.

It’s strong walls work all day

To blend the gastric juice and food

And send it on its way.”

I still remember the signs that went with it.

Kat Beasley and I sat in the back of the room and laughed. Rosie got jealous. Kat and I asked our Latin teacher if he wore a wig. He claimed he didn’t. I became friends with Ria. She’s cool. She’s a triplet.

Sixth grade:

I was separated from my friends and put in Ms. Kuehn’s class. I met Mikaela, and because she was a gymnast like I was, I spent all of lunch with her doing handstands.  Blake was a new kid who said “yes ma’am”.  And Josh was a new kid who said “Alta is for skiers.”  I used to charge Isabelle a quarter every time she swore. She still owes me at least two dollars.

Seventh grade:

With the help of my fellow surgeon Aspen, we saved the lives of many trees around campus. I became so curious about migraines that I eventually got one during a science test. I failed it. I had learned all I wanted to about them.

   I unknowingly wrote a deep poem in Dr. Taylors English class.  I don’t think I knew what it meant back then.

The fear never lessens

When close enough to touch

He will hobble away peering back

 With a scowl

At first you had whimpered

 And hidden

And he had lain dozing

 In the dark

You have seen him squatting

To stare at you

With a strange yearning look.

Eight grade:

I discussed defibrillators with Aspen and Josh. I read the Odyssey and was so proud. I discussed the use of the word ‘jounce’ in the novel A Separate Peace for an eternity. I played soccer. I had fun, while my friend Rosie lost her dad and became angry. I learned to soak up her extra emotions like a sponge.

Ninth grade:

I came back to school to find that I now had to look up at everyone. They had grown.

I was still a sponge but I couldn't hold anymore. This year was probably the worst to date.

Tenth grade:

Rosie left Waterford and things were better for both parties.

I was afraid at the beginning of the year when I read “Ken Shaw” on my schedule. I heard that he sprayed his students with stinky chemicals and sent them into enemy teacher classrooms. His class ended up being one of my favorites. I especially liked the labs. Many of my pens are melted a little on the end from the time we spent using the Bunsen Burners.

Eleventh grade:

My AP Physics class changed my life. The most difficult class I had to date, it was also the most interesting. During lunch, I discussed time machines and “countercurrent exchange” with Aspen. I even gave her a copy of A Brief History of Time so we could talk about it.  I would drive home and think; I could calculate this force and that force and this is kinetic friction multiplied by the constant k… Also, just think of all the forces at work on a treadmill.

Senior year:

I was still settling in when there were only three weeks left.  Because things often become clearer when looking back I can’t accurately summarize this time.  I have realized I will miss without exception every one of my peers. I feel, whether consciously or not, over the years, I have learned from them. Waterford has given me more than I can even say.  I will not cry at graduation. I will not cry at graduation. I will not….


*Indian Education is the title of a short story by Sherman Alexie. Check it out.

List

There was a time:

I prayed for wings,

felt lucky to be born young,

thought five minutes was an eternity,
dreamed every night,

cried for a dog,

hated my sister,

was afraid of my basement,

measured time in "Arthur" episodes,

understood very little,
knew what I wanted and,

believed we all wanted the same things, and

Thought I knew everything.

I realize that flying would take fun out of falling,

learned that not everyone is born a child,

feel the stop and go of time in good times and bad,

dream occasionally, and am grateful for the ones I remember,

share the dog with my family (except when he pees in the house)

got my own room, and love my sister,

bring my dog with me to the basement,

am 297,840 "Arthur" episodes old,

use urban dictionary,

want nothing but strive for everything,

realize we don't all have the privelage to want

and know what I don't know.

My Mind

 10 facts you'd never know about me (unless I told you).

-When I was younger and the priests blessed the sacrament through the speaker under the table, I thought it was God talking. 

- When people say the words "hat back" in that order I think it's funny. Don't ask me why.

- I spent a good two years or more praying that I'd grow wings. I never got them.

- To me, these things all go together: The color green, Thursday, forks, November, 7, and left ( as opposed to right)
- I have a spot in my eye. It follows the words on the pages of the books I read and is sometimes distracting.
- I thought actors just had to re-act the whole movie every time someone watched it, and I always felt bad for them. I guess I never thought about fast forwarding and rewinding.
- I thought "the smorning" was the time after you woke up in the morning to the time just after breakfast. Later, I realized that it was "this morning."
-I have the same dream every time I'm sick.
- I like the hiccups. ( I hardly ever get them.)
- I sometimes assign people "spirit animals". Animals they kinda look like. Or spirit fruit. If you're that kind of person. I actually know a kid who's a piece of popcorn.

Credit for Living*

"Let's 'Insti' this."
And they stopped while I climbed higher
To where the rock met the sky
And there they were; low-fi *click* apply
Filtered photographed faces. Memories of the places
They stopped living to create the illusion that they were.
Memorializing the occasions they left their friends of flesh and blood to find
Filters, followers, and friend requests.
Virtual validation. Credit for living comes in comments
(please comment), clicks, and likes.
Who would have guessed
That this apple would be rotten
That so soon people would have forgotten
 To unplug, sign-out, log-off, and live.
Afraid to disconnect from the umbilical cord that keeps them connected
That when unplugged
All 647 of their friends weren't there-
Like they expected.
Holed up in #hashtags and hidden behind 'Hudson' and 'Hefe'
And deaf
To the sounds outside their earphones.
Face to face conversations
interrupted by ringtones
The people they prefer are pixelated.
But please, I have a pulse.
No login or password are required
Veins and arteries run through me
Not wires.
Ipod, Iphone, Icloud, Itouch
I feel.
And I'd kneel
And beg you to come back
To a world where your emotions aren't all Times New Roman.



*This is a first draft. I may revise it later.

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