February is a month to forget, for the most part. The Portland trip was fun. I didn’t take any pictures, but he did take me down to the waterfront. The river that runs through Portland is dirty and reminds me of the Chicago river, but there’s something beautiful about it. Bridges span it and boats churn their way slowly up and down it. I was cold, shivering in my jacket. We walked there, and then walked through downtown for a little while before catching a train out.

I can’t help but wish for summer. I’m happier then, carefree, not cold. Even though it’s only two and a half months away, so much has to happen between now and then. Dentist visits, school, work, time can’t go fast enough.

I touched the accelerator, easing left and flying past the car in front of me. The music was comfortable, loud and vibrant, yet not so much so that my ears started to complain. The car seems to enjoy it, being driven. It hugs curves like it knows that I’m pushing it faster; it likes the unspoken need to compete. As I enter Denver, driving past Mile High, the highway makes its beautiful curves and I speed up. Going the speed limit or just above, enough to avoid the police presence I so dread has been too easy for the car. I nosed it above 90 right oustide of Ft. Collins, not daring to hit 91. I slowed, letting the car ride along on the windy road at the speed limit, no, two miles above. 77 set the pace for the drive. I felt at peace then, Denver surrounding me, the mobile public around me. The traffic flow didn’t slow, but the volume increased, and I found myself surrounded by them too. I was at peace, then, for the first time in too long. I breathed a sigh, in the one place I can call my own. When I got home, I pulled into my little parking spot in front of the house, marked out of the snow. I stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the music and just sitting. I am comfortable there. The car knows that.
I play my iPod on shuffle. It’s a recent development. I used to just let it play the songs I knew, but lately I’ve been realizing that there’s never too much time for anything, not even music. Let it play. You’ll be surprised.
Also, have you checked your karma lately? Make sure you’re on the good side of the world. A woman approached me last night as I sat in the car. She asked me in jest if she could have my hat, but I told her it was my boyfriend’s and I think he might be a little upset if I just ran off and gave it away. She told me she wasn’t going to rob me, and I laughed. “I’ve already been robbed,” I told her. She told me to buy a gun and I laughed again, telling her I am against guns in all forms. Wouldn’t war be less prevalent if we had to face the people we’re about to cut down in the name of freedom? She told me she was trying to get seven dollars so a woman would watch her child. I smiled, “I’m just as poor as you are,” I said, handing her a dollar. She told me I had a nice car, and I smiled. I do.
Everyone says, “They’ll just spend it on drugs.” So what if they do? What would you spend it on? It’s a dollar. Whether or not you need it more than they do, and sometimes, trust me, I am pretty sure I need it more. But, here’s the thing…They always say that what goes around comes around, and on the off chance that might be true, I want something good to come my way. Isn’t that why you believe in God? On the off chance he’s real? (My point is not that you should buy drugs with your money, it’s that you would throw it somewhere else. Also, that was not an attack on religion by any means. I sometimes wonder if I’ll be more religious someday.)
On July 7, 2007 Danny and I went dancing. It was the first night we ever held hands. That night, wearing a new dress, I went out, stopping at the gas station first. A woman there told me I was beautiful. I was, that night. She seemed ashamed, but that may have been an act, I’m not sure. She asked me for money, and feeling generous, I gave her all the cash I had on me, seven dollars. Now, you ask, what’s the significance of that? Seven, on 7/7/07. Karma. Luck. Whatever. That night I got what I had wanted since the summer began. I held his hand.
Today was the 3rd day I’ve owned my car. I hit 33,333 forty miles before I arrived home. That has nothing to do with sevens. I’m just making sure you know where your karma stands.
Also, P.S. I Love You is a great movie. I cried buckets.

The car search began and ended this afternoon. After putting in a description of what we wanted: A Honda Civic, 2001-current, black, blue or silver, four doors, we waited a few days and received a response. It was Shoreline Mist, a grayish color-silver with a hint of something else. The something else was gold in early afternoon, blue as the snow feel, and steel as I pulled up and parked out front tonight. 2006. 33,000 miles. One owner. From Pueblo. It is beautiful. Once the snow has stopped, I’ll post pictures of the interior and the exterior in better light. It runs beautifully. Acceleration is not a problem at all. Tight turning radius. Love. Lots of it.

Grandma Mary and Aunt Sally arrived to witness the show, seeing it, they expressed their approval. Sitting in the car on the way to AAA, Mom gave me a talk. She warned me that we may want to walk away, and not to let our emotions get the better of us. As we accelerated onto the highway, I believe that all thoughts of walking away left her mind. She agreed.

I, of course, have fallen in love.

The first two days after he left were the worst I’ve experienced thus far. I realized how alone I really am in Denver. I have work and school to keep me busy, but nights are long and weekends stretch out forever.
I bought plane tickets that week, not knowing that the stress of what we were facing was about to tear us apart. As usual, he came to the rescue.
I’m settling in. Things are different.
Dairy Queen cut my hours because I am unwilling to work in Highland’s Ranch. I’m in the market for a second job, one that will look better on a resume and will possibly give me a new direction. I want to keep the one I have now, and supplement my income.
I’m going to see him in a week. Friday morning, I’ll be back on Monday morning. I am counting the days. I can’t wait. I’m flying out early, I’ll get coffee in downtown Portland and wait for him to get done with classes and then take the bus down from campus.

The room is crowded, filled with students too young to know their baggy pants and greasy hair won’t make them cool forever. They file in, walk up to the desk where a thin woman sits and complain about the wait time. Then they sit down. The young men wear baggy hooded sweatshirts and sit with hats cocked off the sides of their heads. The girls carefully applied thick makeup this morning rimming their dim eyes in dark lines and pulling on tight pants to impress their male counterparts.
The clock on the wall keeps track of the slow passage of time. Some of them shift in their seats, uncomfortable, clearly nervous, desperate to hide it so no one will notice. A thirty-something man sits with them, a student, returning back to school to get a degree.
A shrill voice complains to the two exhuasted looking students manning the desk. The thin woman has a pretty face, but is dressed in clothes very unbecoming. She struts around with a stack of papers in her hand, not realizing that she herself is just like the girls whose chairs line the wall. She flips her hair with her hand and smiles, trying to be authoritative while the kids’ eyes glaze over.
Registration problems are the reasons these people crowd into the room that is seldom used otherwise. They whine and mope, complaining amongst themselves, finding solidarity in the anxious crowd.
Then a name is called. Attention is riveted toward the desk. They are no longer a group of misplaced youths.
They are hopeful; their eyes betray that much.

He left today, another traveller arriving at a destination. We cried in the airport, as usual, and when I got home, I realized I was alone for the first time in a month. Not alone as in having an hour or two to myself, but alone as in no one around. Katie is back in Ft. Collins. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I only scheduled nine credit hours. There wasn’t much available, and nothing much I wanted to take.
It’s strange to know we won’t be getting tea anytime soon or that I won’t see his headlights pulling into my driveway. It hurts, actually.

Inside this cold strange sanctuary I am comfortable.
I haven’t stopped to breathe, yet, and I’m sure that once I do, I’ll find myself in a position to be productive.

Here I am, home, breathing easy.
Mountains surround me, catch my attention as we drive.
Danny picked me up; as usual, it involved a little bit of running, a big smile and an even bigger hug.
Heat. No cold like Chicago here.
Morning bright and blue, no gray.
Days stretch on forever, time slipping away.
Ah, I start work tomorrow.
No bueno.
I don’t own any more Dairy Queen clothes.
Danny’s mom likes me.
I love their yellow lab Emma.
Katie and I got into our own set of mischief last night. It was nice, to be back doing the things we’ve always done.
Stella’s tea.

There they were, sitting at the bottom of a box left over from freshman year: The stamps.