|
|
 "Hi, I'm Amy." I stuck out my hand as I introduced myself. We could have stood silently, waiting for the elevator but I felt compelled to have a small conversation after a long day. "I'm Brooke," she said as she shook my hand. She was much taller than me, thin, with a nurturing voice. We talked about little things, things "grown ups" usually talk about--work, office stories and more work. A brief pause and then, as if it had been on her mind the whole time, "You look really familiar. Have we met before?" This happens to me quite often and, I guess I just have one of those faces that reminds people of someone they knew or know. I remember once, when I was 10 or 11, I was leaving the music store after a piano lesson when I heard a lady softly calling out, "Rose... Rose... Rose..." I didn't really pay attention to it because there were a few other people around. I was almost out the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and found myself face-to-face with an elderly lady. Her eyes searched my face before landing on my eyes. Her eyes were blue, verging on gray. I imagined how blue her eyes must have been when she was younger, how they must have pierced so many, how they must have drawn so many in. "Rose?" I remembered shaking my head and saying, "I-I'm sorry. I don't... I don't know who that is. It's not me." Something in her eyes changed and she dropped her gaze. "Oh," she said. With one word, she overwhelmed me with her sadness. She let go of my shoulder and quietly shuffled away. I hope she found Rose. I studied Brooke's face quickly, taking in her earthly eyes, sun-kissed skin and the beginnings of some wrinkles in the friendliest way. There's no way we could have met; she looks much older than me, I thought. And I've never met a Brooke before! When I say "much older," I don't just mean physically but I also mean she looked more mature, like she has been through things I have yet to experience (the eyes always give it away). "Are you from Jersey?" I asked, answering her question with a question. "No... Colorado," she replied, pronouncing Colorado like caah-lah-rah-doe. "But, I mean, I've been in New York for... 12 years now. It's been so long, I consider myself a New Yorker." A pause. "Do I look familiar to you?" she asked. Strange as it was, despite growing up in different places, she really did look familiar. I felt like I knew her from another time, another life. "You actually do..." I said, trailing off. We both looked at each other, wondering and wondering. The elevator arrived and we talked a bit more on the way down. Once we exited the building, we both said goodbye and goodnight. This weekend is the start of summer, and I hope everyone enjoys it! For me, it's a much needed long weekend to recuperate after a horrifying week. So I threw together a little mix of songs here, a bit of soul and blues. Cheers!  You guys, serious question time. Last time I asked whether you liked McDonald's or Burger King fries, but this time... Curly fries or waffle fries? (With apologies to jojo, shoestring and crinkle fries.) I've asked this question in person a few times, but I've polished it a little bit--seasoning is out of the question. Straight up, curly or waffle. It's all about the shape and texture. Do you want to curl or would you rather waffle about? After much thought, I'm siding with curly fries. Addendum Well then, curly fries win hands down! With one waffle lover, one skinny fry lover and one fry-lover all around. You guys are great, answering my silly questions.  I was doing a cool down walk after running several of miles (I have somehow lodged in my head that I will run an ultramarathon; I swear I'm not crazy... maybe a little) when I found myself alone on a street. Just as I was realizing this, an unmarked white van slowly turned onto the street and slowed to a stop. My first thought was, "Shhhhhit." Now, I'm usually okay with walking alone on empty streets, day or night. I have my cell phone on me and I feel pretty good. But when I'm out running, I got nothing. Maybe the ominous dark clouds rolling in played a part or the fact that TV and movies have forever etched into my brain unmarked white vans equal not a good end. The point is, I felt really, really unsettled. I was already halfway down the street, so I was equal distance from a way out. The van began to creep along the street, inevitably towards me. In this moment, my life sort of flashed before my eyes. I thought about everything and about the things I still wanted and needed to do. The life I lead is small, but it's no less important than the next. I glanced up briefly and found the windows of the van tinted. "Great," I thought, "I can't even make out who's in there." My mind continued to churn out happy memories, sad memories and memories I still wanted to make. Then the questions came: Would anyone miss me? What would life be like without me? Will everyone be okay? Will they find me? It was all so morbid. The van was closing in now as I continued to walk in its direction. I could have simply turned around and ran the other way, but I didn't. (I actually don't know why I didn't just turn around.) My morbid thoughts were immediately replaced with fight or flight. I quickly calculated the distance I had to sprint, figured at least two people were ready to hop out and how fast the driver could maneuver the van. My mind was in overdrive. "Kick everyone in the crotch, throw the best uppercuts my brother has taught me, chest and neck areas..." My big brother, he'd be proud of me. My heart was pounding in my ears. The van and I were parallel to each other now, but I kept looking ahead pretending to be unaware. I kept walking, kept breathing, kept living. The van, after pausing for a few moments, continued on. I let out a huge sigh of relief. I listened, making sure it didn't suddenly turn around. The sound of the engine grew more distant and then, as I rounded the corner, I full-on sprinted. I kept going until I found people, anyone. Never have I been more glad to see people. I eased to a light jog and eventually started to walk again. I guess it was all a little silly, but my mind went into high alert the moment that van turned onto the street. Sometimes you just have a feeling, and gut feelings are usually the strongest and truest.  The sun was peeking through before, but now the clouds were back. Everyone was talking, waiting and smiling as it was about to start. I glanced down and wriggled my toes in my very worn sneakers, which I've been reluctant to give up after all these years. They've graced the dirt paths in the far reaches of France and England, a time and place I hold dear. I smiled to myself as I looked at my mismatched ugly purple shorts and brown t-shirt, featuring my friend's now defunct band. This is what I wear, this is what I'm comfortable in. I glanced around at the beautiful sneakers, the appropriate shirts and gadgetry around arms. But I feel no different, we're all here together. Drops began to fall and everyone looked up. "It couldn't wait until after, huh?" said the man beside me. I laughed and said, "Maybe it'll just be a few drops." A brief pause, as the crowd subsided, ready. Then the horn blared and we were off. I ran my first 5K earlier this morning, and it was exhilarating. There were people around every bend, cheering you on, telling you "You're doing great! Keep going!" I wouldn't consider myself a serious runner, but I do love to run. Several of my friends jokingly tell me, "I only run when a bear is chasing me." Well, I guess I would, too. I tend to spend my weekends running--it soothes me, it lets me vent my frustration, it allows my brain to be blank, it lessens the pain of heartbreak, it makes me feel free. Often times I do my best thinking when I'm running (I prefer to cry in the shower and read while on the toilet). But I run because I can. I hear my feet hit the pavement (or trails) rhythmically and my breath quicken and slow; I feel my muscles ache and my lungs expand. I simply breathe and enjoy what is. And how wonderful it can be. So a little over a month ago, I decided to sign up for my first 5K. Aside from the simple joy of running, I felt having something to focus on would take my mind off of things. For the first time, I instilled some kind of "training" regimen for myself to follow. I revived my WalkJogRun account, planned routes and bought a $9 watch to keep my time (I don't have any fancy gadgetry). My weeknights were scattered small half-mile runs, probably my favorites because they were during the night when most were asleep, and it just felt like me and the world. But my Saturdays were my long runs, and I upped my distance until I hit the beloved three mile mark. I knew last weekend I could run three miles straight and that if I could do that plus the extra tenth on the actual day, I would be more than content. Meanwhile, I fell a little bit more in love with peanut butter. But don't think this "training" made running less fun. I actually felt the same, just silly old me with the same mismatched ugly purple shorts and brown t-shirt. When race day came, I felt good. I kept my pace and just enjoyed the scenery, really. It was a beautiful route, and the skies eventually cleared and the sun high-fived all of us again. I didn't expect two uphill climbs, but I took them in stride (literally) and enjoyed the unexpected challenge. Near the last stretch, a lady caught up with me. Breathless, she said, "I didn't think I could do this!" She was smiling so much, it made me smile even more. She told me, still breathless, how she usually powerwalks and that this was her first time running. As we rounded the last bend, she began to walk. Still smiling, she shook her head. I slowed down and said, "Come on! We're almost there!" She looked at me, smiled even more and began to run again. Then, in the sincerest and most grateful voice, she looked at me and said, "Thank you." In that small moment, I was rendered speechless. It was the most genuine "thank you" I had ever received from a stranger. All I could muster was a smile to match hers and a quiet but heartfelt, "You're welcome." We sprinted towards the finish, all smiles, together. Afterwards, I gave her a big hug and she said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" And I said, "You did it!" She smiled broadly and waved goodbye, as she joined her family. My feeling of finishing was overshadowed by hers, and I could not have been happier. I have never met someone who smiled so much, that even her voice was smiling. So I finished my first 5K, and just like I told myself, I was more than content. To celebrate my little feat, I lopped off a good chunk of my hair and had some tasty chocolate milk.
—
8 May 2010
; 4 comments
 I used to be good friends with someone several years ago. One summer, a mutual friend told me that she (the good friend) actually didn't like me because I was too quiet. She was annoyed by it. That, of all things, really stung. I remember feeling sad, angry and surprised all at once. Of all the people I've known in life, they've accepted me for who I am. I know I'm a quiet person, and during high school I was painfully shy. I'm not as shy anymore, I don't think. And that's probably because I've learned to love and be a little more comfortable with myself through the years. So that good friend and I are, naturally, acquaintances now. She moved on and me out her life. I think she presently has more outgoing friends, and I hope she's not annoyed by that. The people I appreciate the most are the ones who are patient with me. If you think you'll know me in one month or two months, keep trying. I don't open up very easily. It may take years for you to know me, and I don't (consciously) do this to be difficult--it's just how I am. I'm not an open book like most people are; I don't have the ability to expose everything. I'm quite private, but if you talk to me, if you ask me things, if you try, I'll answer, I'll talk, I'll let you in. People have given up on me, and I think they often wonder, "What's the point?" And I guess that's the thing with having so many layers. But if you try, and maybe this sounds a bit boastful, I think you'll discover a pretty wonderful and imperfect person underneath. Though, on the bright side of layers, I'm kind of like a never-ending mystery.
—
3 May 2010
; 3 comments
|
 |
Hi, my name is Amy. Be well, and say hello!
RSS Atom Powered by MT |