A Visit

It will never be like it was before. The carefree freedom that comes with childhood has come and gone and I childishly half expect to return to those years on Monte Carlo Place every time I am with Trey. We have passed through the teenage wasteland, and it was beautiful. Now I am face to face with a man who I shared boyish dreams with, half expecting them to never come true, but they have. He has married (married before me), followed his dreams, been true to his heart, and has copied no one to become himself. There are only traces of the boy I left behind in 1999. There are only traces of that friendship that was forged while living next-door to each other for eight years. I am forced to wander around and pick up the pieces of my friendship with him and run with them. We don’t get as far as we used to with reminiscing. There is so much in the dark…too much. We can only grasp for the friendship we used to have that adulthood and responsibilities have now stolen from us. I can tell our hearts scream with desire for things to be like they were. We were so close. Neither one of us took our friendship and shattered it on the floor, but each day, week, month, and year that have passed beginning with the day I moved away from Fort Collins has slowly eroded away what had been building up for eight years. I wrote back in 1999 that a part of me died when we left Fort Collins. I used to think that was foolish thinking, but it wasn’t; I couldn’t have been more right. Trey and I were that close for a reason. God brought us together. I wonder if God’s purpose for our friendship has expired? Are we just wasting time trying to jumpstart this old car? Friendship is so delicate. We didn’t mean to alienate ourselves, but we did, and in the end the truth is this, the way it was before, that was the part of my heart that died the day I left Fort Collins. How sad. I can’t change it. I can only hope that things return to what they were, but after seeing Trey today, that stranger that I considered a brother so long ago, I realize that the past we have is only attainable through those sudden explosions of remembrance, bouts of laughter, long sighs, and smiles. What lies ahead of us is completely up to us, and entirely unknown because it will be wholly different than what lies behind us. That isn’t what we want, but it is what we are getting. And I feel we will make do and see what the purpose of this next friendship serves.

Drive-up Banking

I don't go to the bank that often because I don't have a paycheck, but every once in a while I get small amounts of the green stuff coming my way from odd jobs. Actually, this check was blue, not green. So, the drive-up teller at the bank is not a place I visit often, but I still know how to approach the three lanes ahead of me. It isn't hard. I choose the shortest line.

For example, today I drove up and there was already a car in the first lane. There was also a car stopped behind that car while the other two lanes were open. I was presented with two spots without anyone ahead of me. Easy, I chose lane two. This happens a lot. Are people blind? I just think it is one of those weird instances where people are afraid to take the initiative. Call me a fool. Make fun of my presumption all you want. I think I am right on this one. This even sounds absurd to me, but oh well. We are so used to being herded around like cattle and following one another that I think we are a little scared when we don't see a queue where there should be one. Yes, those two empty lanes are there to serve you. Don't be afraid. You aren't going to get shot if you decide to bypass the one or two cars ahead of you for a shot at being in the front of the line.

The bankers have thought this through. They realize that the drive-up is pretty popular. This led them to build three lanes, instead of the measly one. Get this, they also made room for three tellers to work the drive-up. How marvelous. You probably sit behind the car in line because you think there is only one teller, so what is the point in getting in the second line? The bank also pays attention to when it gets busy in the drive-up. When it does, like when all three lanes have cars in them, they send tellers back to take care of the rush. So, next time when you pull up to the drive-up teller choose the open lane. You have nothing to lose. You will be served immediately, or you will just have to wait for those ahead of you to finish their business with the bank. It is also likely that someone will come to your rescue and fill one of the open teller positions in that back window. You will save time. And, I won't have to marvel at your stupidity any longer.

Class isn't in Session Anymore

UNST 1000 - University Studies - Once a week I found myself in this class that lasted until noon. I was pressed for time to get some food in my body that I wasn't going to puke up before practice at 1:30. I couldn't eat that much, and plus, it was Washakie, therefore, really crappy food. What a bummer of a class to end the course series on. There is nothing here that is really all that memorable, just a sliver of what it was like to be a freshman, but that is something to hold on to. It seems like the only thing I know, or want now is to have another year of college. Naturally, it is weird to imagine a time in which I was a foreigner at that beatiful university in that beautiful state.

9/11 Morning

THEA 1000 - Introduction to Theatre - I find the first memory, of a class so long ago, interesting. Although I had a great professor for this course, enjoyed learning some theatre history, the class experience tends to be overshadowed by one morning.

I was a freshman at UW in the fall of 2001. It was September. I went to class on 9/11. I knew that four planes had gone astray; two flown into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and another crashing to a green Pennsylvania field, but I don't think I fully grasped the consequences, the ramifications of these events. Indeed, not one of us could see then how the world would change in the years to follow. If I had fully understood this calamitous event it is likely that I wouldn't have gone to the lecture late that morning. Maybe, somewhere in my sub-counscious, my walk across campus that morning was the earliest coping mechanism that I had--to get on with the familiar and to grasp for something understood. I had seen so much on TV that morning that was unspeakable, inexplainable, and completely foreign to my "world" that for an hour or two I wanted to run away from it all. I didn't get very far.

On the day of the attack no one knew exactly how many people had died. Many made educated guesses based on the number of people working in the buildings on a daily basis and so did my professor that morning. I remember him saying that there could be 30,000 dead in each tower. As we would all find out in the weeks to come that number was extremely inflated, but at the time it seemed completely reasonable; no one knew how many had evacuated the buildings, or how many were out of reach of the cascading rubble when the towers fell.

As you might expect, we didn't spend much time talking about Greek drama, Voltaire, or the Enlightenment that morning. The class was full of students, many probably trying to cope in the same way I had, having an open discussion about the days events and where the ripples of this tragedy might lead.

For me, a whole semester in this course is summed up by this memory. Although we did spend hours learning about the history of the theatre, and how actors perform certain actions on stage, it all seems to be overshadowed by the event of that semester. 9/11 seems to have this kind of effect on many of us. We will never forget the day that for some of us occupies a week, month, or even a years worth of memories.

Espanol - With squiggly thing over the 'n'.

SPAN 1010, 1020, and 2030 - Spanish 1-1, 1-2, and 2-1 - I am sort of cheating here, but these classes all blend together. I took all three of these courses in consecutive semesters, Monday through Thursday, and at 8 a.m. This was a painful thing to do because I was up at 5:30 for swimming or weights for the first three days of the week.

I hated Spanish. I am not going to lie. However, I am really glad for what little of the language I retained from these semesters. My limited knowledge of the language has been helpful in some circumstances.

I spent all this time in Spanish in high school thinking that I wouldn't have to take a foreign language in college. Wrong. To master my native tongue at UW I had to spend three semesters studying a foreign language. Sweet. It wasn't all that bad. I met some really cool people. I met some messed up people. My last Spanish professor really loved drinking. This is a presumption. She let me do a presentation in Spanish on my really tall, talking Treebeard doll. This one speech was the highlight of my Spanish career. Treebeard has four phrases in his memory and I converted every word into Spanish, except for the "hobbits".

Two more ebullient blogs on my coursework are coming soon.