I should be reading my Biology book right now, learning all about viruses, DNA technology, and the genetic basis of development, but instead I want to write something. I think talking with ACC for a good two hours last night has prompted me to post.
Emily once told me to free write (haven't seen her in a while), and I haven't done so in a while so here goes...
I was the kid who used to climb dirt hills and bike ride in the undeveloped part of my subdivision simply because I could. Standing atop of the hill, I was farther from earth. Still though I was standing on the earth. I was the kid who scaled trees and fences just because I wanted to touch the greenest leaf I could see. I wanted to touch the sky. Grab a handful and taste its sweetness. Does it taste light, like blue cotton candy? I was the kid who had one best friend growing up. He and I did everything together from video games to Cops and Robbers. Oh yeah, and we spent a good three years kissing under his bed. Hey want to go K-I-S-S? Sure do. We would spell it out like that. Increasing the secret. If only I knew that that would be the only time I'd be kissed...maybe I would have treasured it more. I was the kid who loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (still do) and desperately wanted to save someone, to smile at them and say "It's my pleasure."
I was the kid who wrote letters to her fifth grade teacher because I thought she was the greatest teacher ever. She gave out prizes to the highest academic student. I really wanted that stuffed animal to call my own. I watched as it went to a small boy with glasses, and I wanted to cry but instead I began to write to her in my childish handwriting. She would send back letters written in blue ink, the words filling the page. I remember the time she sent me a photo of her dog, a white puppy named Popcorn. That picture went into my memento box. I felt rather important having a teacher write to me.
I was the girl who loved to read (still do). Books were my sanctuary. Reading Dickens and Robert Frost at twelve, I would willing dive into each and every page. I would pour my belief and compassion into these characters. I remember laying next to my bed eagerly devouring the written word. I was the girl who wanted these characters to be real. I could imagine them and wondered about their lives, their hopes and dreams. I wondered if they could be my friend. I was the girl who sat quietly in class, seldom raising my hand. My eyes would constantly track the room, noticing everything. The faint coating of chalk on the teacher's hand, the crinkling of the kid's jeans in front of me, the clear voice of the class comedian cracking jokes across the room. I was the girl who was told to stop handing in novel summaries for English class because I had turned in my quota for the year by the third week of the first quarter. I was the girl who remembered every compliment. After all it isn't that hard since I can count them on one hand. I was the girl people could come to for advice or homework help. I wonder now how many of them even knew my name for I knew theirs. I was the girl who wore a black silk-like jacket like I was cool. I didn't care. I loved that jacket with its deep pockets. It made me feel special all wrapped in silk even if it was fake. I was the girl who never really smiled much. Not real smiles. Those I kept inside where they accumulated in a little black drawer that was seldom opened.
I was the teenager who floated through high school, at least academically. I was the teenager who hated gym class and loved study hall. I would write notes in the notebook that my two friends and I shared in my cramped writing. I would write pages. I would write funny things, stupid things, anything just to make them laugh. I was the teenager who never got in trouble, was always polite. Yes, no, ok, sure. Except for this one time in chemistry I got caught passing a note while reading a book in his class. I shrugged and laughed. It wasn't my fault that I was bored beyond belief. I was the teenager who was plain, the wallflower. I was always amazed when someone knew me. Huh. Guess I am alive. I was the teenager who stood in the bottom of her pool while it was being filled for the summer, feeling the cold water pound my body. My hair plastered to my head. My blood singing. I was the teenager who would take long walks outside and simply stare at the sky. Tasting the raindrops when it rained, letting it wash down my face. I was the teenager who worried about everybody. I was the mother, the caretaker. I wanted to take everyone's pain and make it mine. Swallow it whole and grit my teeth. I was the teenager who memorized the opening passage to "A Tale of Two Cities", parts of "Romeo and Juliet" and "Hamlet" while in math class freshman year. I was the teenager who wrote notes to her sophomore geometry teacher for entirely different reasons than the teacher before. I was the teenager who didn't realize that she liked her teacher. I just thought she had gorgeous eyes, and I didn't think anything of the fact that I would have a permanent hall pass to see her. Nope. She was just an awesome teacher. Right.
I am the woman who is still that teenager and still that kid. I love to read, write, listen to music, stare at the sky and wonder if someone halfway across the world is doing the same thing. I am the woman who lies alone in bed at night and watches the moon trace patterns on the ceiling. I wonder if the moon is lonely, up there in the great big night sky, but maybe the stars are keeping her company. I am the woman who loves biology thus I read ahead in my biology book. I can also tell you a little bit about organic chemistry, psychology, and women studies. I am the woman who walks with a purpose, long strides and head straight. I am the woman who knows how completely false that image truly is. I am the woman who can't dance. My body doesn't have rhythm;I fumble and make jerky movements. Maybe one day someone can help me learn or maybe one day I'll have a reason to dance. I am the woman who loves to love. I love with a ferocity that occasionally stuns me. I am the woman who has a pessimistic (I call it realistic) attitude yet still refuses to give up. I stand strong against adversity for you know what they say about what doesn't kill you. I am the woman who would rather be with a woman than a man, and I would gladly give my heart to a woman. I'd even let them break it, step on it, smash it into tiny pieces, sweep it up, and throw it away for I am a woman who will survive.
Most of all, I'm just me. Isn't that enough?