A Series of Scooches and Wiggles

Do you mind if I sit here?

Yeah. No! No, I mean no. I don't mind. Sorry. I'm zoning out. Sorry, wow. No, sit down, go ahead. Please.

She pats the seat and her nose scrunches up in an embarrassed grin.

Okay, great. I sit down and drop my backpack on the floor in front of my chair. I find the button on my armchair and press it, pushing the back of my seat with my shoulders. It doesn't work.

I push harder, digging my heels into the floor. Suddenly, the button clicks and the seat fully reclines.

Shit.

I lean forward and hit the button repeatedly until the seat flies forward and smacks into my back.

I look over and her nose is smiling again. Her mouth is a false frown trying to hold in a giggle.

I don't know what to say so I just make a face.

How's that going? she asks.

I roll my eyes as I push back on the seat again. Sooo good, thank you for asking.

You look like an idiot.

What? my mind asks and my eyebrows furrow in bewildered amusement. Did you just call me an idiot?

The button clicks again and I start to fly backwards once more. I catch it this time so I'm still more vertical than not. She snorts.

There's gotta be a trick to this, I grumble.

Not really, she says. I'm Steph.

Oh, yeah. Uh... I'm Andrew.

Introductions always catch me off guard. I sit back and try to feel like less of an idiot as the trees outside our window begin to slowly roll towards the back of the train.

Here we go, she says quietly. I convince myself that she was just thinking out loud and don't respond.

She's in a red sweatshirt with dirty blond hair tied in a pony tail. She can't be any older than me, I figure. Thin framed glasses sit on her nose and her head rocks back and forth to music playing in her head.

It is silent for a moment and I begin to close my eyes when she turns back to me.

You ever ridden on one of these things before?

A couple times, I say with a nod.

They take so long, don't they?

Six hours. Well, if you're going to Chicago it's about six hours.

Yeah, I'm going to Chicago. She lifts her feet up onto her seat and crosses her legs. You live in Chicago?

I go to school there.

I don't live there really, either. My brother does.

Cool.

Yeah. He got into an accident.

Oh wow... I'm sorry.

Yeah. He's not dead or anything, though.

Oh. Well... uh... that's good.

Yeah.

And we're silent. It's my turn, but I can't find anything to say. I look forward while she goes back to the window.

Nothing is said for the rest of the trip until she needs to use the restroom. I scooch back as far as I can into my chair like a jerk while she tries to wiggle elegantly past my legs and into the aisle.

Gentlemen are supposed to stand up for ladies, aren't they? I feel like a turd.

I start to doze off and my eyes close. Minutes later she taps me on the shoulder. I start to scoot back in my chair again, but suddenly my mind double clutches and decides to be a gentleman. I move to stand up, but because I've already begun the scooch she's already begun the wiggle past. And as my feet are tucked under my chair, the only way for me to stand is to bend my knees and arch my belly up and out to hoist myself upwards. We end up in an awkward tableau and she shimmies back out into the aisle.

Oh my, she says with a smile. Thank you, sir.

My brain doesn't register this as it is too focused on being embarrassed and after she takes her seat I slowly sit down again myself.

Eyes close. Nothing until Chicago.

We arrive at Union Station and I grab my bag. She grabs hers and I am all too aware of her presence as she follows me out of the train. She strolls along at my side down the platform.

My brain thinks of a number of things to say but can't pick one to save its life.

So nothing is said until we escape into the station through sliding glass doors.

Bye, she says turning left.

Oh, uh... yeah, I mutter turning right.

Good-byes always catch me off guard.

Bye.

She smiles with her nose one last time and we go our separate ways.

Ode to Laundry

Laundry from right out of the dryer
You are my favorite.
You are so fresh and also so clean.
So fresh and so clean, clean.

Remember that one time you used to be dirty, laundry?
Do you remember that one time?

But now you are clean.
And you are warm.
You are warm to the touch and warm to the smell.

You are warm to every sense I have, except sight.
But even then
Even then, if I were to take you outside in cold tempertures I would see steam
I would see steam rise from you up into the cold air
And then
Even then my sense of sight would know
Would know how warm you are
My laundry fresh out of the dryer.

And I am so sorry, clean and warm laundry.
I am so sorry that I forgot the dryer sheet.
I always forget the dryer sheet, laundry, and I am so sorry.

But I am folding you, laundry.
I am folding you fresh out of the dryer, I did not even let you sit
Sit and wrinkle.
I did not even let you sit and wrinkle, laundry.

You are folded now. Folded and warm, laundry.

We are best friends, laundry. You and I are best friends.
And we will be until the end of time.

And we could be so much more, laundry.

If only you had ovaries.

I Would Like To Be Tired, Please

It's nearly six in the morning. I am no more tired than I was in the middle of the day. And that, thanks to spuuurng buurnk and plenty of sleep, was not tired at all. My eyelids are not one pound heavier than they were hours ago. And due thanks is, once again, given to spuurnngnnggg bururrrnnk. But seeeriously. It's nearly six in the mooorning. You think I'd be at least... kind of tired.

And so it has been. Three nights in a row. And so it shall be. Until the end of time.

If you are awake now too, let me know. 'Cause we should date or something. I'll buy you a coffee. A muffin. Sex. Oatmeal. A cinnamon roll.

Yeah. I said sex. Snuck it in there, really. What can you do, right? I'm a man.

No, but seriously. We should date or something.

The Campfire Song

It's late. And very dark. I can't say how late it is, though I am sure it is well past midnight. I hobble down the wet, grassy hill in slippery shoes and salute the few who remain.

It's becoming chilly out. A chilly night is Mother Nature's clever way of reminding us that summer has a tendency to not last forever. As the chilliness of tonight's night indicates, this particular summer will be no different and is coming to a fast close.

I sit down by the bonfire that once was and sigh. Sighs follow in response and agreement.

The four of us left stare at the stars.

It's funny, really, the moments we tend to remember. The moments that come to mean something beyond a good time and hearty laugh. Laughs can be revisited, some even grow with time. But there are moments that one realizes, once they have come to a close, will never be experienced again. And there is a painful beauty in that.

I wish it were enough to cherish the memory. But there was a comfort in the moment I miss.

A comfort in the silence and in the collective realization that we were each as equally terrified as the person sitting next to us. Terrified of change, of the unknown, of the looming, intangible future.

And I can remember all I want to, but I will never feel the same way I felt that night.

We just talked, really. About nothing in particular. Nothing to relate here. But that particular night stays as one of the moments I miss the absolute most.

Coupled with the comfort was a desperation. A need to latch onto this comfort and the common ground we had found so effortlessly sitting around the burning embers at the center of our four point circle. A need to tell our story, to be understood, to throw words onto the embers and watch them make some sort of spark, no matter how small. A need to make sense of ourselves.

I've never been so contented yet emotionally overwhelmed.

And, hours later, while we climbed the wet, grassy hill together and headed for our cars we were quiet. And we said our silent good-byes.

The Question Game

You know how Chicago’s also called The Windy City? Aptly so. I’ve almost lost my jacket a good one thousand times and have had to check routinely to be certain my face hasn’t fallen off quite yet.

My roommate, Dan, and I are headed over to some friends’ place. He’s quiet for one reason or another. Well, that’s inaccurate. He’s not speaking. But he’s certainly not quiet. The man breathes louder than an elephant in labor. And though I can look past it most of the time, I want nothing more right now than to shove a sock in his mouth and kick him in the nose. Too bad I’m not as flexible as I used to be and my high kick leaves something to be desired. But I’ve got the sock ready to go and have started stretching on a daily basis, so… watch your back, pal.

We arrive only partially numbed to the core and our friends buzz us in. We’re greeted by a loud laugh and a string of unrelated comments and jokes that I never really pay attention to. Another roommate of mine, Nick, is here. This is where his girlfriend, Ashlee, lives. Her roommate is the one with the huge laugh. She also has gigantic tits. This isn’t a realization anyone comes to on his own, no sir. In fact, her tits are her favorite topic of conversation and she’s bound to point them out to you before you have a chance to get her name.

Insert boob joke here.

Dan laughs. He always laughs at her. I can’t tell if he likes her or if he just likes those tits. That is assuming the two (three?) are mutually exclusive.

I sit down next to my second roommate. He’s tiny. And has a floppy Mohawk courtesy of the sheers I got for this past Christmas. They work like a dream. Just ask his floppy Mohawk.

We’re waiting on some new guy. Ashlee met him at a coffee place the other day. Well… he hit on her incessantly, rather. And, as she embraces the uncomfortable situation, she invited him along with us tonight. To be honest, the night’s potential to be remarkably awkward is what pulled me out of my nap to tag along.

The phone rings. It is sitting closest to me so I answer it.

Hello?

It rings again. You have to press the talk button. The round button. Press the round button in the middle of the--

I find it.

Hello?

Nothing. I was too late…

It was probably Ashlee’s new buddy trying to get buzzed in. He’ll call back. Sure enough he does.

I find the round button right away this time. Hello?

Press 9 to let him in.

I press 9.

No no no no no no, you gotta hold it.

I hold it.

… does he even know what room we’re in?

Tits runs into the hallways to find him. We all wait. She comes skipping back into the room moments later tailed by one of the mousiest looking kids I have seen in my life. I have never known someone to squiggle and squirm so much ever. Ever. He grins, nods, introduces himself, and continues to speak about what becomes an endless supply of absolutely nothing for the rest of the night.

Glances and grins are shot around the room as we all try to be polite.

Let’s play the question game! Tits yells, interrupting Squirmy in the middle of an absolutely riveting monologue about how surprisingly easy it would be to steal a boat.

All you have to do is find one you want and untie the thing, really. Easy as pie, really. I mean… really.

The question game isn’t so much a game as it is a… getting to know your neighbor… activity. There’s a box of cards, someone volunteers to be the reader (I’ll do it, Squirmy shouts) who (me, I’ll do it) takes a card and reads the question written on the card and everyone goes around the room giving their answer.

Any volunteers for reader? (I’m a great reader, please me. Please me, oh god please.)

I’ll do it, I shrug. Tits tosses me the cards and the game begins.

It really is delightful. Some of the cards turn out to be silly, but the best part about being the reader is that you get to dictate which questions are too silly to be read aloud. “Which historical sporting event would you have liked to bear witness to?” and “What’s the perfect age?” are easily skipped.

It’s funny which questions spark the most conversation and how willing and civilized people are when it comes to a debate.

“What is more essential to humanity: science or art?”

Naturally, everyone in the room screams art right away, which I find silly. Though I would have answered the same. I just find it interesting that no time for thought was needed. Science has become the absolute evil opposition to the artist and/or religious man.

I say something seemingly eloquent but terribly vague. I just don’t think the question is as simple or obvious as everyone makes it seem. And though I know there is a point I would like to make, I can’t find it, so I take a lot of words and spin them in circles until I sound mildly convincing.

Everyone nods. Squirmy starts to give his answer and everyone winces. We need Oscar music or something.

The game continues for quite some time.

“What would you say was your most spiritually defining moment?”

And the room is silent.

It’s funny, really. So many questions produce very predictable answers, but ask a question that prompts a story or gives us a reason or opportunity to open up and we’re all over the place.

We’re waiting for an excuse to share a secret or be candid about anything personal or… mysterious.

It’s Ashlee’s turn. I’m sorry, she says to Squirmy. This kind of story doesn’t make for a great first impression. But…

… so I’m getting raped, right?

And we freeze.

Wait… what? Dan asks. I nod along with him, but never would have asked. (He explained to me later that he never would have asked either, he just honestly though he had misheard.)

The room is silent. Tits is obviously the only one who has heard this story before. Ashlee shrugs it off and continues.

There are pictures of Jesus all over the room, right? He’s just… he’s just staring at me. And the next day I can’t… I can’t go to school. I can’t face this, you know? And he’s there. And this gives him the opportunity to talk to people about this, tell them about me, start… rumors about me and by the time I get a chance to tell anyone anything he’s been to them first and no one believes me. No one. Some people still don’t. Most people still don’t… The next day I have no where to go. No one that I know to talk to. There’s a church in my neighborhood that I go to. I can’t really… talk to anyone there. The need to cry is overwhelming and the only thing I can say is just… I need somewhere to stay. I have nowhere to go. Please. And I remember they didn’t say anything, they didn’t ask anything, they just took me up stairs and to a room, sat me down and told me where they would be if I needed anything. And they left. And I sat in that room for hours. I didn’t cry, I didn’t go to sleep, I just sat there. And there are pictures of Jesus all over the room, right? He’s just… he’s just staring at me. But for whatever reason I feel safe. This is the first time in so long that I feel safe. And even though He couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening to me, He gave me a place to stay and He helped me feel safe when no one else would. And I don’t even know if I believe in Him…

She stops and I’m looking at my feet.

That’s a good one, Squirmy says. And he begins to give his answer to the question. I share a glance with Ashlee and she makes a face. I make one back.

We could really use some Oscar music or something.