~ November 06, 2003 - 12:02 a.m. ~
Diversions
I have concluded that there is nothing in the world like six hours in the car to make you take stock of your life and its myriad meanings.
For real.
I got to meet and spend the day with Ivy and Jamie2 , and we had an amazing time. We had so much to talk about, and we just really connected, and we laughed and took pictures, and plotted to set Jamie up with a significant other who makes jewelry (gender nonspecific but the jewelry a must!) and conspired against Ivy�s boyfriend, and tried to keep the dog from eating Ivy�s cigarettes, whilst looking at the massive collection of LOTR figurines and squeeing relentlessly over our impending trip to Toronto. It was so much fun, and I didn�t even want to leave, but it made me think how little I have in common anymore with some of my friends from high school.
I love my Sisters, and I love that I am reaching out and making new friends after a dearth of human contact during college. But my little trips down memory lane of late have made me realize that some of these wonderful people I once knew are just that: memories. And I realized that I don�t want to run into them at a reunion in seven years and not recognized them, or have nothing to say to them. I recently spoke with someone I once considered my best friend in the world, and the conversation was filled with gaping awkward holes, and we had no idea what was going on in each others� lives. I am going to try to reconnect to the people I once loved, because I loved them for a reason, and there is no logic in giving up on old friendships just because the immediate places those people filled in my heart have been displaced. I don�t know that I meant to displace them, and I know it is my own fault for falling out of touch, but I�m sorry I did, and I want to mend my old friendships before it�s too late. Because too late comes too soon.
Talking with Ivy and Jamie, the way we ran from one inexhaustible topic to another, reminded me of Perdita, who called while I was there, and whom I have been trying to call back. This story is for her, whom I have loved, and still love.
�Diversions�
Whenever Perdita and I ever get together (or talk on the phone, or even just IM each other) all hell breaks loose. Our minds doff about in such similarly random and bizarre ways, that it was only natural that we should become such close friends. This, I have concluded, is because I have the mind of a Victorian debutant. Or at least, that is the general �personality� of my subconscious. Tim says I�m vengeful and can�t let go of things because when I get upset, I often bring up upsetting moments of the past. He assumes that this is because I dwell in on them, when it fact the opposite is true. I tend to just blurt out the things that come to my mind when I�m with people around whom I feel comfortable, so without thinking, I just say these things. It�s not because their fresh in my mind. Once I say something or remember something, I often just forget it again, and it is lost in the recesses of my mind, untouched and unconsidered, until something jostles it to the surface again.
If my subconscious could talk, it would sound a little like Holly Golightly, I think.
�Oh hello darling! Why, it�s been simply ages, hasn�t it? I simply can�t remember the last time we � Oh darling hellloo! Why, I was just saying to . . . now where�s she off to? Nevermind, you look just ravishing, and must say that we really � what�s that? Another caller? Oh, do send him in! Heeellloooo! �
. . . and so on. I assume Perdita must be approximately the same way, and yet we sync up so nicely. Whenever we would get together, we would always have some sort of project or plan in mind that would end up being abandoned for random fun. We would spend hours just wandering around the golf courses behind her house singing show tunes, dreaming of improbable (but certainly not impossible!) Broadway careers, and generally being as silly as humanly possible.
Our study sessions were notoriously . . . weird. I won�t say that they were impractical or unprofitable, because our strange methods of studying between tangents led to some groovy mnemonic devices that I�ve retained to this day. Like, I will always remember that the Hapsburgs ruled the Ottoman Empire for over 300 years, but I will also always thing of the Hapsburgs as giant earthworms sitting on ottomans. Don�t ask. All I can say is that on the day we were studying for a World History quiz, the Palm Beach Post ran an article about how earthworms can, if left unmolested by humans, live for over three hundred years, which is incidentally how long the Hapsburgs controlled the Empire. The association, while seemingly arbitrary, is forever ingrained in my brain.
We also spend loads of study time playing with these word blocks that Perdita�s parents kept in the living room.
�On what day did the Boston Tea Party take place?�
� �Drink my hot buttered man-wine.� �
�What the hell . . ? Gimme those blocks, it�s my turn.�
Naturally, these blocks also led to some relatively strange mnemonic devices.
The problem was, Perdita and I laughed too much to be taken seriously by our parents. They didn�t think we were actually getting any work done, but then test time would roll around, and we�d both get As, so they�d shrug and let us go about our business, despite our apparent penchant for meandering off topic.
An infamous example involves our US Government class�s Golden Couple, whom I shall refer to as Justin and Brittany (because that�s who they reminded everybody of), although Justin�s real name could also be a girl�s name. Anyway, Perdita and I were in pretty good with our teacher. We rarely showed up, but we�d hang around her at lunch, during which time I�d grade her papers and log grades. As a result, I think I turned in like two assignments all year, and took only half the tests and quizzes, and still got an A. I cooked the books under her direction, which just goes to show you that she wasn�t doing a good job teaching Ethics, and I was doing a lousy job of learning what she did teach.
Anyway, Justin and Brittany were always sucking up to the teacher when they weren�t sucking face, and the teacher couldn�t stand them. The night before our final projects were do, Perdita and I were cloistered in her room trying to put the finishing touches on our poster, which detailed the US�s propaganda policy during the Cold War (our topic was �The Fall of Soviet Communism�). We were trying to prove that American children were brainwashed at an early age through such nefarious devices as the �Rocky and Bullwinkle� cartoons, to hate Russians. We were also picking out red shirts to wear the next day, and trying to record a loop of the Beatles� song �Back in the U.S.S.R.� to play in the background while we made our report. Clearly, we didn�t have our priorities in line, because all of a sudden Perdita blurts out, �Our teacher lives somewhere in my neighborhood.�
�Oh, really? How do you know?�
�I see her driving home on my way home from school all the time.�
�Perhaps we should pay her a little visit?�
�Ooh. Perhaps we should. Why?�
�Eh, why not? Just to see if we can?�
�Heh, heh. Excellent!�
So we left our glitter-glued sickle and hammer poster to dry and drove out to the guard shack. Perdita�s family lived in an enormously huge and sprawling community with lots of little sub communities, so there was no real way to tell exactly where our teacher lived. But the guards were always pretty lax (they usually just waved you right in without asking your name), so we figured we could get directions from them. We drove up and got out of the car.
�Hi,� I said to a guard.
�Hi, can I help you girls?�
�Yeah,� said Perdita. �We�re trying to find the home of Teacher C. Can you help us?�
�Well, I�ll have to call and announce you first,� the guard said. I was shocked, until I realized that it was about 10:30 pm, and it was an odd time to be dropping in on teachers.
�What are your names?� The guard asked.
�Uh, Justin and Brittany! It�s very important, we need her help on a project due tomorrow,� I blurted.
�OK.� The guard went into his shack and called Teacher C, who clearly yelled something to the extent of �no fucking way� because he seemed to wince as she replied. He hung up and turned to us. �Uh, sorry girls. No can do. She says she�s not expecting you, and she�ll talk to you in school tomorrow. Whatever it was, it�ll have to wait.�
�Awww.� We both pulled our best puppy-dog faces and comforted ourselves with half-price frozen yogurt from a store in a nearby plaza which was about to close for the night. When we got back, we realized we had wasted about an hour, and I had to go home without our work half done. We stayed up all night on the phone, Perdita doing some things at her house, me doing some at mine. We met the next morning before school to change into our red clothes and get to class early, where we were gratified to have Teacher C ask us if we would ever try to do something as silly as try to come to a teacher�s house late at night.
�Um, no, of course not.�
�Well obviously,� she said. �You two aren�t psychos. Not like Justin and Brittany, who the guard said wanted to come over and talk last night.�
Heh heh heh.
