This week last year, I never would have imagined this. This isn’t where I was “supposed” to be, but this is where I am.
I live with a 70 year old woman with a hairy chin, I am renting a room from her.. a box with a squeaky bed and bright walls.
her name is emily and she is a psychologist. the city has worn her down, she grew up in Astoria, Queens- that is where the Cosby Show was filmed. Though when she murmurs memories of her childhood to me as she eats her nightly burnt sweet potato, the charm of the Cosby family seems to be missing.
I don’t think Emily is very happy. . My room is sunny. Her room isn’t ( even though her windows are bigger than mine.) She hides in tv commercials and day old New York Times.
My 4th grade mind-set would wonder how anybody living in New York City wouldn’t be happy.
I work at a coffee shop four blocks from my apartment. We eat dinner there and take shots of wine out of the expresso cups after 6 o clock.
I smile a lot and say I’m from Idaho. Sometimes (meaning more than three times) I have been told that the city will eventually wipe that away.
I just smile more, politely shake my head no and continue to make them their “extra hot, no foam, soy” latte.
I wake at six each morning and take the 2 train to Time Square and transfer to the 1 train to arrive at 23rd street. I have learned to butcher my own meat. My stomache still turns. But my great grandfather was a butcher at the family grocery store, so I think of Grandpa George and am okay with it. Sometimes I even like it.Oh, but I love searing a perfectly done medium rare steak.
I can cut potatoes into perfect 1/2 inch by 1/2 in cubes. I was timed and tested on it. I don’t know if I have ever been so nervous, yet so satisfied by a test before. Filling in bubbles never gave me the same satisfaction.
I share all of my secrets with somebody I never knew existed even ten months ago. He cuts my hair and holds my hand.
I still get confused a lot and walk in circles through central park ( though never on the same path or to the same swings.)
I love knowing everybody at the coffee shop, but knowing absolutely no one on the street five blocks down.
Its all confusing, but I would be more confused if I was where I thought I was going to be this time last year. This exact week last year.
This is good, i think, i think.
Anonymous asked: 6, 22, 24, 29, 32
6- authenticity, sense of humor, confidence yet not a cocky ass hole, kindness/understanding, independent, intelligent, passionate about things.
22- “neither can i, sweet dreams.”
24- what words make me the best about myself? I am a bit confused of what this question exactly means, though due to the fact that I just received copies my teacher recommendations I guess some words that were used/I appreciated - ” willingness to persevere” “passionate” ” open minded and compassionate”
29- answered!
32- sweetest thing said- this was actually a really nice one to get and think about. I, along with many other people, tend to hold on to the negative things heard. Graduation has been an extremely positive time for me. I guess we all realize we are leaving and this closure has exposed honest and real comments and conversation that might normally happen. Through this recent time, I have been assured to keep standing tall and as Harper, my art teacher tells me ” keep on smiling that smile. never stop. you’ve got this Amelia.”
I feel I have become appreciated with words that weren’t even in the junior high years vocabulary. and now I am begining to maybe realize that people appreciate my weird loud laugh, outlandish comments, yet quiet disposition. and i guess my chubby smiling cheeks are okay and that my hips im scared of are actually beautiful, as I was told. maybe ill start to remember these things?
cocainebutnotreally asked: 11, 22, 29
11- I was talking the other date about how i’m not really a “date” girl. I could care less about being able to take me to a fancy restaurant or being showered with fancy ordeals. But then I realized- all of the simple things I love to do, whenever I ” hang out” with the person that I fancy are my ideas of perfect “dates.” Though I am now able to define my ” perfect date” even more due to it occurring exactly two days ago. Spontaneous is always the best kind. I was asked to have dinner with Jackson’s family and he said he would pick me up, even though I pushed that I could easily drive to his house. Though I let him be a gentleman and pick me up. He was playing one of my favorite playlists and then handed me a white envelope that said ” Happy Graduation Amelia” and on the other side it said ” happy just to be with you.” Inside was a graduation mix that he has told me previously about, though behind the CD was two tickets to the sold out Iron and Wine concert that I had been continually verbalizing that I was entirely bummed that I didn’t get tickets to in time. ( Happy just to be with you, are lyrics from one of my favorite iron and wine songs- though i didn’t catch on earlier)
But off we were, we grabbed a quick bite to eat and were on our way to the concert. It could not have been more perfect and was rather incredible.
22. rather boring last text message: ” Okay, will do. get home safe. xo” my mom after asking her to unlock the front door, after I somehow lost my keys last night.
29. I remember in 8th grade, 11 11 was wished on continually, due to having our favorite english class during that time and my friend max without a doubt announcing it was 11 11 every single day. I guess I don’t do that anymore, but when I feel compelled to, it was normally pretty broad wishes ” I hope things work out..” which could be in reference to a spectrum of things. Maybe 11 11 does rule, because things have seemed to work out. here i am.
Put a number(s) in my ask box.
1-my best friends are.
2- What I hate most about myself.
3- What I love most about myself.
4- What I’m really good at.
5- What I’m really bad at.
6- Biggest turn ons.
7- Biggest turn offs.
8- What I want to be when I get older.
9- My relationship with my sibling(s).
10- My relationship with my parents.
11- My idea of a perfect date.
12- My biggest pet peeves.
13- A description of the boy I like.
14- A description of the person I dislike the most.
15- A reason I’ve lied to a friend.
16- Where I have lived before.
17- A description of the family I want to have when I’m older.
18- What my greatest achievements are.
19- What I hate the most about school.
20- How my last kiss when down.
21- Most embarrassing moment.
22- What my last text message says.
23- What words upset me the most.
24- What words make me the best about myself.
25- A description of my self-esteem.
26- A description of my best friend.
27- The reason behind my last break up.
28- My favourite songs right now.
29- A wish that I’ve wished for repeatedly on 11:11.
30- An internal conflict I have with myself.
31- The meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.
32- The sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.i normally dont do these things, though this seems rather interesting & fun.
dear you, am I more to you then that black bra, red hair and silver bracelets?
Those silver bracelets that always gave our hiding spot away, we were contorted, sideways it was your breath that held me up, unconditional, unconditionally , bodies painted of chamo
i said listen, those kisses drowned me neweley developed, there were no harsh chemicals, only chemistry of vaseline blurred minds and newborn skin of sixteen years, rough as a washer bored, that chalk board cement floor, the drain that led to everything dirty
i learned that thoughts can kill and actions scare- i thought that was all, R rated,
the dirty suds and rotten cobwebs, spider fingers wiped them away, kisses healed all fear-those stairs, those stairs that i fell down,when you told me it was okay, voice of an astronout floating, but i was falling, falling falling into the suds
it hurt,you know
parallel life’s led to horizontal beginnings
smile with those eyes and let down those quivering lips
weep , weep with that two toned mouth,
smile with your eyes
i am more than red hair and a black bra, silver has turned to rust, turned to silence ( you won’t find me)
but please, dear you, remember that.
this is a wonderfully scary, horrendously strange, rather fucked up, but lovely stressful time.
and really, in the big scheme of things and all the years to come, do these tests really matter? Will we remember these exact marks that we got on each of these papers? (nope.)
The funny thing is, I remember in 9th grade when people started putting pressure on people to prepare for the SAT. I thought that was the only way to get into college and I thought I was going to fail. But it turns out, four years through those absurd obsessions and comparissions with numbers and percentiles, I am going to my dream college,
and it turns out essays and personal aspects meant much more.
It is just funny how things like this work out.
alleys of plastic trees and 40 ounces of grape juice. lets smoke piksy sticks and let the air turn pink,( though blue raspberry was always my favorite flavor)- pink smoke will hide my blushing nerves. lets roll around and try to frown, because you said it was impossible. but then i remembered it was possible. but not because of you, or you or that rusted bike that we blamed for getting us home past the strict ticking hands, for we had only forgotten that intoxicated pedals move slower at 1 a.m, and the air breathes honesty as the forest of street lamps grow dim.
But I rode past my childhood home and it was no longer there. I saw the screens to my windows of what I pretended to be my palace, the gutters where we filled our water baloons from, the gutters where I hid my young tears. I drove past what was once everything wild to me, everything invincible- to find it was defeated by strangers, strangers in hard hats and ugly burnt machinery. But the trees of our summer homes still stood and the vast homes to the alarm clock ringing birds, hungry deer and psychotic squirrels were present. The refuge of my mothers roses still bloomed.
I will take that and those times where I was free. I guess treasures don’t last forever - but neither do frowns.
Yellow baskets and chocolate for breakfast
yes okay fine, I have always liked the chocolate eggs better then the deviled,
I like brunch more than dinner, but even more- I like chocolate for breakfast. The smell of vinegar always reminds me of April, it reminds me of that one time that egg wasn’t hard boiled, but the yoke just added to the colors of the shell and we laughed.
and mom, I’m sorry I annually spilled the egg dye on your nice carpets and I’m sorry I always wiped my dyed little hands on those fancy linens. I’m sorry I was more interested in making colored concoctions and i’m sorry I always mixed the wrong colors into an ugly mess. and yes, it is true-I would always secretly open the plastic eggs the night before the hunt, in order to check which colors had the most dimes and which had my favorite jelly beans. and for the longest time I would never eat my chocolate bunny, I would always make him my pet instead. I hid them in my closet.
and Easter Bunny,
I always liked the blue basket, but you always gave me the yellow one instead, I was the little sister and yellow was more girlie ( but over the years, yellow became my favorite color.) My brother liked peeps and I liked carmel eggs.the easter bunny always knew, as well as the big brother of the family always knew to let his little sister win the hunts-
and to us, that was what the holiday was about, it was our story- chocolate for breakfast and hunts that lead into the early afternoon.
( and today, to us- that is what it still is.)
the weird thing was that today was senior skip day ( and yes, 4/20) and are teachers brought us lunch. We woke lazily from the nights that will soon end and we posed for our class senior portrait ( which ironically was ’ Dazed and Confused’ themed). I woke from the prior evening of brie and baguettes, cherry tomatoes and strawberries. I woke from the realization that being able to escape our town within seven minutes will not always be an option and that Boise really does kick ass. Tree lined streets will always be home and liberal beliefs do not have to drowned in red. I woke from the realization that I graduate in a month, but I still swing on the swings and pretend it is third grade.
We roamed past the broken sidewalks through the singing cars and to the stereotypical sky of romance and cliche hand holding.
Today our class posed in the park named after the foothills that pause as a camels back. We dressed a different generation and played the roll of smiles and laughs and that our soon-to-be transition will be seamless.
Though tonight she called me and asked me what was wrong. I stumbled. She saw it in my face from the pictures today, she saw it in my silenced laughs. ” Those photos weren’t you and your glow and giddiness.”
I stumbled again.
I thought. I thought this is all that I have been waiting for? There is no skip day in 1st grade, in 6th or even in 9th. There is no year that May is this significant or no other time my mother has been this sentimental.
I thought this would be easy.
that brie,your hands and those tomatoes.that sky, those photos and that weed. those laughs and these people, those trees. These times.
It all came to me. My face couldn’t hold it together. But that doesn’t mean you have to worry. And neither will I.
( there is so much to come and this is part of it.)
They just don’t tell you this in those 80’s high school films of high school senior glory. They only highlight the bad haircuts and oversized neon sweaters.
Bard College
I have been eyeing you from across the country, I applied without much hope, I was accepted three days after I had gotten my tonsils out. I was drugged up and dreary, but I guess I wasn’t dreaming.
I have now flown to you, I have taken the trains along the Hudson River to get to you.
and now,
Bard College, I have fallen in love with you.
I am going to attend you, and I am crying and laughing and jumping and planning and eating and leaping and cuddling with my mom- from the happiness of this day.
Things do work out.
Its days like this that make me remember. and realize.
Heres to you, and you and you.
For making me realize. For making everyone realize.
