Cold, flat. Cold and flat. How else to describe it? The morning, especially. Nothing but cold and flat. It will gradually get loud. Much louder. The ground will shake, too. Thunder, actually. I will remain still for quite some time. Other times I will slide, roll, and spin to a stop, where I'll feel a sudden drop. A drop much like the time I was abandoned.
Not abandoned, set free! I just wish it wasn't so painful. I bounced and bounced and finally landed flat, my face down in the pavement, hoping I'll see the sun again.
The sun...bright and warm. It really brings out my color. I've almost forgotten what the sun felt like on my face, although my back has definitely enjoyed the rays. Maybe one day my glint will catch the attention of my next owner, and I will finally travel once more!
The day has grown hot and the ground thunders, as promised. It's almost torturous, but I am hopeful. Suddenly, I am picked up! A voice sweetly rings in my ears as she holds me up to catch a better glimpse of my face. Can I help you? I would love to help you!
She sets me back down on the ground, grateful and satisfied. I am face-up.
"Now someone who needs you will find you," she chimes, and continues her journey.
I am thrilled to feel the sun on my face! I wish I could thank the girl who helped me. I can finally fulfill my purpose and change someone's luck, if only for a day.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Rebecca Goes to Washington pt. 1
Fun fact: I hate flying. There is absolutely nothing fun about it. Turbulence is a nightmare. I know just about every way a plane can crash. Most of all, I loathe take-off. Zack and I were invited to visit his family one weekend in the July of 2009. I was excited to revisit the place I would future call home--until I found out we were flying.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
“My dad offered to fly us up,” Zack said.
“Oh…that’s cool.”
He noted I lacked enthusiasm. What enthusiasm could I muster when I kept thinking of all the things I would need to take care of before my demise? At least my bed was made.
As was customary, Zack and I arrived as close to the minute as possible, being part of the last ten people to board the plane. We got to choose our seats, which meant all the people who had boarded before us had chosen seats with a buffer seat in between, leaving no place for us to sit together. I took the last seat in the back of the plane while Zack had to ask a woman to hold her baby instead of giving it a personal floatation device (you know, in case of emergency).
I was seated between a sports-nut who read Sports Illustrated the entire flight and a woman who, put delicately, left me half a seat. She had chosen that seat to be less of a burden, which I can admire, and I felt bad for imposing on her space. After the death riot I call take off, she pulled out a Cosmopolitan magazine, one I happened to carry also. I figured it would be a nice way to bond with her, an unspoken friendship, a way for me to say, “hey, we’re all in this together.” I’m sure she thought it said, “I’m going to stay on each page you do to freak you out.”
Later on in the flight, a flamboyant male flight attendant took our drink orders.
“Diet Coke,” the woman next to me ordered.
“D-Sprite. I will have a Sprite,” I blurted. I didn’t want her to think I was that creepy.
At last, at long last, we arrived at SeaTac. Landings I actually enjoy. The thrill of a controlled hurtling to the runway gives me reassurance I will live to die another day. I met up with Zack who described to me his flight, in which he sat next to a three-year old who sang the latest pop songs. I told him I held my arms at ninety degrees in front of me for two hours.
Since I had to settle for less-stalky Sprite, I darted to the bathroom. I settled into my booth and proceeded to, well, booth. I heard a woman walk in with her young son in tow. I normally don’t have a problem with mother’s bringing their little boys into a public restroom, but I do when said little boy takes a peek through slats in the door while I’m boothing. Zack found it hilarious, of course. I found it violating and annoying.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw the boy with his good-parenting deficient mother and, surprisingly, father. I pointed him out to Zack and swore vengeance.
The offer still stands.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Stranger Secrets
Some days, I'll see a person on the street and wonder what their agenda is. I want to know where they are going, where they were before, and if they are enjoying themselves.
What saddens me sometimes is there is another side to people that I will never get to see. Whether it be family, friends, or strangers, they have a part to their life I don't know about. It frustrates me, not because I'm nosy, but because I want to know how they're doing.
Yesterday, I saw a woman walking down the street with rolling backpack trailing behind her. My first thought was, "why do people still use those things?" But it got deeper. What was in there? Where was she going with it? I continued to think about her relationships, wondering if there was any drama in her life. If she was in love with anyone and if they had a nickname for her. What if she wasn't in love, was she suffering?
Today, I saw a man sitting alone in a deli, eating and gazing out a window. I imagined he was thinking of how hard his life was, how he hated his job and was anxious to get home. But, for the moment, he focused on his lunch, letting everything else fall by the wayside. I was probably completely wrong in my assumptions, but I will never know.
My thoughts have spread to everyone in my life. I will never know the true nature of my parents relationship and the small dramas playing out in their lives. I'll never fully understand the lives and emotions of my friends, if they are happy or if they are longing for something more and different. I'll continue to wonder about the strangers I pass and their secret lives.
Every Sunday, a website I follow posts secrets of people who anonymously sent them on postcards. The testimonials usually read how liberating it is to share a secret with the world, and some leave little notes and secrets in books wherever they go, feeling glad that they have a secret shared with a stranger. How great it would be, I think, if everyone shared a secret with a stranger and a little bit of you was revealed.
To all strangers and non-strangers alike, whatever the destination and whatever happens in your lives, I hope you are happy and someday willing to share a part of yourself with the world.
What saddens me sometimes is there is another side to people that I will never get to see. Whether it be family, friends, or strangers, they have a part to their life I don't know about. It frustrates me, not because I'm nosy, but because I want to know how they're doing.
Yesterday, I saw a woman walking down the street with rolling backpack trailing behind her. My first thought was, "why do people still use those things?" But it got deeper. What was in there? Where was she going with it? I continued to think about her relationships, wondering if there was any drama in her life. If she was in love with anyone and if they had a nickname for her. What if she wasn't in love, was she suffering?
Today, I saw a man sitting alone in a deli, eating and gazing out a window. I imagined he was thinking of how hard his life was, how he hated his job and was anxious to get home. But, for the moment, he focused on his lunch, letting everything else fall by the wayside. I was probably completely wrong in my assumptions, but I will never know.
My thoughts have spread to everyone in my life. I will never know the true nature of my parents relationship and the small dramas playing out in their lives. I'll never fully understand the lives and emotions of my friends, if they are happy or if they are longing for something more and different. I'll continue to wonder about the strangers I pass and their secret lives.
Every Sunday, a website I follow posts secrets of people who anonymously sent them on postcards. The testimonials usually read how liberating it is to share a secret with the world, and some leave little notes and secrets in books wherever they go, feeling glad that they have a secret shared with a stranger. How great it would be, I think, if everyone shared a secret with a stranger and a little bit of you was revealed.
To all strangers and non-strangers alike, whatever the destination and whatever happens in your lives, I hope you are happy and someday willing to share a part of yourself with the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)