[i]
☼ ○ ▬
Congregating around a picnic table with friends just outside
my old high school. One of them talks about their science teacher and how cool
and spacey she is.
“Her name’s Miss Larley. She’s kind of eccentric and
strange. You should get her. I think you’d like her.”
I make my way through the familiar entrance and trot down
the long narrow hallway. I feel my walk is substantially different from when I
used to roam these halls as a teenager. I find a front desk of sorts. Two
clerks, male and female, ask if they can help me.
Me: “Yeah. Can I get a print out of my schedule please?”
Female: “Well it’s going to be 20 for the t-shirt and 40
for...”
Basically I’m being told to buy a package that includes my
printed schedule. I’m given a look of silence as if they’re waiting on me to
give them money.
I make myself clearer, “I’m sorry. I just want to know where
my classes are. I don’t want to buy any products.”
It still doesn’t cross their mind how simple of a request
I’m making. The male walks over to a phone and makes a call.
▬ ○ ☼
Getting out of bed at 1:34 p.m.
White Apricots. Banana.
Errands.
Grilled Cheese with Tomato on a Bagel. Salt n Vinegar Chips.
Honey Green Tea.
At the storage unit rehearsing through a few select songs
that prove the most difficult. Then packing up and scooping up Calum, Darren,
and Devon from the house. We trek out to Norfolk for the show. It’s at a church
in Park Place called Aletheia – down in a spacious cool basement.
It’s a small crowd of people. But Tristan Stewart shows up
at random.
Me: “Tristan Stewart! You’ve returned!”
He was stationed in Qatar for about six months and just got
off a plane a few hours before the show.
...
I open the set with a few originals and covers. Feeling
comfortable about the sound mix and confident about my performance. Snacking on
Trail Mix and Lemonade. Goodwill Falcon goes up next with their synth-driven electronic pop, setting a nice atmosphere. All of us sitting in old wooden
chairs. I just let my ears breath in the sonic goodness. Then, Rugby from
Lynchburg plays their fierce piano-driven experimental pop music.
Calum and I return to the house while the rest of the crew
goes out to Baja’s. He fumbles on the piano experimenting with melodies while I
cook dinner...
Spaghetti with Onions, Mushrooms, Peppers, and Tomato Basil
Sauce. Bagel Garlic Bread.
Enjoying dinner to the sound of classical on the radio.
Benjamin and Rachel pop in for a visit.
...
In reference to remnants of glitter still scattered about
the house from Kevin’s birthday I inform my company, “Dude, I’ve been eating
glitter, shitting glitter, living in glitter!”
...
Ben and I spark a high school-nostalgic conversation about
the people we used to know as teenagers.
They leave.
...
Darren, Devon, Tristan, and James pile in through the front
door. James impresses us with his versatile fart noise abilities. He’s able to
show us ten different ways of producing flatulence. This instills a much needed
laughter spell.
...
I hear the warm sounds of a piano ballad coming from the
radio – a familiar religious tune.
Me: “Oh man this is my jam.”
I turn the volume knob. A conservative operatic voice sings,
“Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great
Thou art!”
James and I sing a long cheerfully.
I got a text from Margot that says, “Hi. I miss you. Can we
hang out?” Why not? I clean up, take a shower, and head over to her
place for a sleepover. And that’s all it really is. Just a little snuggling
before we drift off to sleep at 3 a.m.
[i] All images
by me.
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