Are you proud to be an American?

Dark sky, half moon gleaming above it, guides me home. Steering the bright lanes of the highway, windows down, I think, music turned up to distract me. There was so much to say then, words spilling somewhere, gushing. Somewhere in the translation, the words end, confused and garbled in the night. Here is my basic fear: that I will never be able to form my words into thoughts, to create something tangible and real. But then again, I think that this is the beginning of something different, and entirely new part of this life. I intend to think differently about it, waiting for it to happen and then embracing it. I mean, it might work out. Who knows?

For every high, there is an equal yet completely opposite low.
I cried from Kansas City westward for a good hour, letting tears spill down my face with my windows rolled up. I sped past the trucks, other vehicles no doubt wondering what was happening inside that speeding steel box.
We left in good spirits, hugs all around, our belongings packed safely in the trunk. The weekend, which had begun with such a passion, although angry, had ended so well, smiles and my own feeling of contentment at spending a weekend curled in that space with the people I never thought I’d love the way I do.
We sat in St. Louis, sipping on white wine and watching the movie that Emily starred in last year, “American Gothic,” I got a text message. One of our friends was hospitalized for the reasons that no person should ever put on themselves. My addled mind failed to wrap around it, until the next day. Things have settled down now, but there is still some sort of unease in the air. I can’t explain it, don’t want to. But I never thought that this sort of thing would be something I would ever have to face. It’s not real, I kept telling myself, this isn’t happening. But it was. It did.
The drive home was beautiful.
Exactly 866 miles in exactly 12.5 hours. Three stops. Rain at the beginning and at the end. I turned the music up and rolled the windows down. I wasn’t exactly excited to come home, or to leave St. Louis, or even Chicago, but it was finally nice to get home and raid the fridge.
I’m garbled right now. My life is once again on the cusp of something new and different, and I can’t even wait for junior year to begin.
Emily and I can’t wait to start our new lives together.
Let the highs and lows (hopefully few) begin.

Even though the air has a chill to it, the apartment is still hot. Two couches, a card table, end tables, oddly spaced lawn chairs and bits and pieces of our various lives are scattered on the floor. A single lightbulb illuminates the room, casting a pall of darkness into it. The air is silent save the sound of gunshots echoing loudly from the television screen, the only source of noise in the otherwise still room. Blankets and pillows, remnants of the houseguests and various tenants of the quiet building on the street, such a quiet little oasis next to an industrial yard. Waking up in the morning, planes from Midway pass overhead, their jet streams searing sound into the air around the house. Pigeons stalk the balcony, the ever present battle for the grounds that have been theirs since before the boys moved in only a year ago. And yet, this has become like a second home to us, sleeping on the couches and in the beds, sleeping wherever there is room in an at times packed house. The shower is cluttered with our bottles, mingling with theirs, our pink towels, blue, and theirs brown and red. We drive to the beach, play football in the rain, run into the freezing cold waters of Lake Michigan, spend the nights living hard, partying for no reason other than the joy of the company that we share. Card games, laughter, the jokes speed out anew. We are for some reason caught in some strange bubble, with nothing left to hold us back. Two of us sat at the train station, on a crowded street, parked with our hazard lights on, blowing bubbles into the streets of Chicago. A cab driver passes, smiles at me and then asks me if he can have some. We smile, waiting for someone else to join this motley crew. We eat fresh cherries bought at a market on the South Side. We drive the streets, intermingling with the horns of angry drivers and the frustration that I feel in traffic. But there is nothing like the sight of Lake Michigan on your right and the city on your left as you drive up Lake Shore Drive, the epitome of the Ferris Bueller-esque ideals that perhaps we still hold on to. Waking early, we sought the addresses that we had penned earlier, scribbled notes in crayon on a used piece of paper. The phone rings, and the realtor is on the other end, begging to show us the house of our dreams. And we answer, there, arriving a moment late but not quite. She shakes our hands and then we begin the tour, our hearts melting a little at the sight of the quaint two bedroom apartment that I cannot wait to have my name signed to. And so, the adventure continues……..

The alarm clock went off too soon. It was set for five a.m. Tuesday morning. The sun was barely peeking up, pink light overwhelming my eyes. I rolled over and slept until six.
I finally got on the road about seven, seven thirty after the obligatory gas refill somewhere on Colorado Blvd.
From there, it was no stopping until just outside of Limon, when I received a ten minute reprieve from the road courtesy of a Colorado State Patrol officer who issued me a warning. I had seen him coming up behind me and just pulled over before he had the chance. I think he appreciated that. I got a “Colorado State Patrol Official Courtesy Warning” for going “five to nine miles per hour over the posted limit.”
He was a nice dude, so all went well.
I stopped for fuel before entering Kansas.
I stopped for fuel in the middle of Kansas.
I stopped entering Missouri.
I arrived thirteen hours after leaving my house.
It was nine fifteen when I pulled up in front of the Bates’ household.
The sunset was absolutely beautiful. It pushed me through the last good hour of light of the drive. Behind me was the glowing orange sun, set in pink clouds, and ahead of me was the full moon, large and low in the sky.
Emily hobbled out of her house on crutches and we hugged.
We spent that night doing the usual….slept late yesterday morning. Had dinner. Went and visited her dad. Sophisticated, sort of. We watched John and Kate Plus 8 while waiting for him to get home and then we all shared a bottle of wine.
Got home. Stayed up with friends. Locked my keys in my car. Fished them out with a hanger or two. Felt incredibly productive. Slept in.
Emily got her cast off today.
And we are leaving this afternoon for Chicago. late start however, it’s already 2:15 and we are not even close to leaving.
ah, summer.
This was a good choice.

I leave tomorrow on the twelve and a half hour journey that will end in Saint Louis. From there, on Friday, we progress to Chicago.
Apartment hunting (for real, this time).
Fun with Emily.
We shall see how things go.

Two people, up ahead in the bike lane, hold hands, walking slowly. They’re quiet, whispering maybe, maybe silence is the only thing between them. A biker rides past and they shift, she is suddenly uncomfortable with the bike lane. It doesn’t feel right, she thinks, walking in the middle of the road. She is reminded from a scene in a movie. No cars pass. He reassures her that everything is going to be alright, and she smiles, and moves in a little closer to him.
The world is empty, waiting for them to get to their destination. Off in the distance, trees bend and sway in the wind, cars drive off to their destinations, sirens call out urgency, but for this street at this moment, things are quiet, even and restless all at the same time.
It’s like day, she thinks, as her eyes adjust to the night, with more shadows and more peace. There is nothing to fear, she thinks. They walk on, not stopping at the empty intersections, stop signs begging motorists to end their increase of speed.
They walk. It’s quiet between them. They walk on. Her sandals hit the ground, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.
It’s late. The lights of the convenience store beckon, almost unwelcome in the night. They enter, swiftly, then exit the same. They are headed home now, carrying their purchases between them. The quiet is the same. The night is raw and beautiful. Come tomorrow it will have been forgotten for the happenings of another busy day.

Summer is here and gone, almost.
We’re halfway through June already.
I leave next Tuesday for the drive to Saint Louis. From there, we have no plan except to end up in Chicago for awhile and then back to Saint Louis. Emily was supposed to get her cast of the 17th, which is the day I leave, but instead, she’ll have to keep it on. We’ll have a wheelchair for her, so that will make things interesting and hopefully easier in Chicago.
I registered for classes. My schedule looks like this:

Fall 2008: 17 Credits
Monday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3 credits)
Dumbach 228

1-2:15 MW
THTR 111 Introduction to Ballet (2)

Tuesday:
1-2:15 TuTh #3977
CMUN 227 Social Justice/Communication (3)

2:30-3:45 TuTh #2087
PHIL 174 Logic (3)
Damen 238

4:15-7:45 Tu #5293
CMUN 222 Introduction to Cinema (3)
CS 400

Wednesday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3)
Dumbach 228

1-2:15 MW
THTR 111 Introduction to Ballet (2)

2:45-5:15 W #4558
ENGL 310 Advanced Writing: Autobiography (3)
Damen 237

Thursday:
1-2:15 TuTh #3977
CMUN 227 Social Justice/Communication (3)

2:30-3:45 TuTh #2087
PHIL 174 Logic (3)
Damen 238

Friday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3)
Dumbach 228

It’s not great, but it’s not horrible and it’s more credits than I need. I’m majoring in Communication (declared), and then minoring in Journalism, English and Women’s Studies. The pickings for classes weren’t great, especially since it’s now June, but I didn’t do so bad.
I’ll be back sometime before the end of June. The drive is going to be intense, so we’ll see how the car does.
I was going to maybe live in the dorms as a backup option, but they’ve already put someone in the room that I was going to occupy and now they’re telling me there’s a waiting list or something. Also, apparently, I should have turned in a housing contract. I enjoy this time of the year, really. No one is capable of telling you what you need to know until it’s too late.
So, the apartment search, which had died off with the idea of dorm life, is back on, full force.

What if there is no such things as happily ever after?
Is it so wrong to think that there might be?
You want someone to love you unconditionally, for everything you are, and you want to love someone the same. What if it’s one way or the other? What if there is no middle ground? What would you choose?
I can’t tell which is worse…
***
As soon as I can get the pictures loaded, you can hear all about the vacation. And the getting home. And the sun. And everything. It was nice.
But now back to reality and back to the planning.
My next movement will be to St. Louis and from there, Chicago. I am mulling over visiting South Dakota this summer to see Lise.