In the past five days I have watched Amelie no less than 4 times. I have played it to keep me company much more often. That leans toward the side of obsessive don't you think? Absorbed into me. I've been a sponge for the past couple days rolling about in quite the cliche reflective manner.
I find myself romanticizing everything. Is this an effort to make something out of nothing or an effort to finally pick up and taste all the things lying around me?
Rewind.
Thursday. It started as every Thursday does and I spent the first half of my day at school, struggling to jam more organic chemistry into my brain. Stubborn Brain wanted none of that. I never ask questions in class. In fact, I generally say nothing unless preceded by my name being called outloud. I scolded myself for this behavior and at the end of lab marched myself up front to the chalkboard with my open notebook to ask questions I'd had lying about. For a moment I was relieved. Dr. B looked eager to help. "Ahh, finally," I thought.. I began to ask my questions and in a matter of seconds he reduced me to a tiny pod. I hate that. It goes against everything I have in me. My face grows red and hot, words start tumbling and inside I'm ready to just turn and walk away. I didn't expect my hand to be pet but didn't find it necessary to be made to feel like a moron. I try so hard in that class. Really. I doubt I'll ask another question.
Sleep evaded me all week and on Thursday afternoon it had caught up with me. After a few errands I found myself at home stretched out like a corpse on the couch. I decided to allow myself an hour of delicious napping and then I'd carry on with my evening plans that included time with my dad and the possibility of a guest here in the evening; maybe we'd cook. A few hours later I woke up on the couch, covered in a thin layer of sweat, immediately berating myself as I came to. In seasonal fashion, I found it completely dark outside. It looked as if it'd been that way for awhile before being discovered by me. I imagined my dad, irritated, finding himself quite justified. Soon I realized that all those around me had chosen that time during my sleep to call and call and call. Messages. For once I returned calls. Dad called then. "Where are you? I thought you were coming tonight?" Me, with much trepidation, yes, I'm sorry, I fell asleep, I didn't intend to sleep so long. Is it too late? It wasn't so I showered, reconstituted myself. I drove, nervous, irrationally nervous to my dad's, the place he resides with his new wife. The same place he's been since very, very shortly after my mom said she wanted a divorce. His wife works at night so I relish that time. It's true.
The evening was so good. From the outside we sat and watched television but it was so much more. My dad, like me, has to move at his own pace with matters that are serious. It was after a couple hours of small talk that he comes out of nowhere with details of sickness and health and of us. He can't look at me when he says, "Our relationship is bad. We have to make it better." I nod. Inside there are words galore. Words for days. I'm quiet. He invited us for Thanksgiving and asked a couple more times later if I thought I could make it. I will make it.
Before then he hadn't called me for quite some time. Anytime we talked it was because I called. Yesterday I spent the day with Mom and he called while we were out. I could hear the wind. He said.. "I just came outside and was thinking about you." My cup runneth over.
Over overstuffed burritos my mom and I spill out words and words and rice and tomatoes and words. She relented after my prodding and told me things I never knew, things beyond anything I could've come up with in my head. A day later and I'm still chewing. It's worse than bubblegum left on your headboard making your jaw ache.
Today, it's all starting to come together. In my romanticizing I have caused myself to swoon over the most mundane things. Again. Is it an effort to make something out of nothing? Appreciation?
Water dripping from my hair into my face. A drive next to the river. A train was zurring by and in glimpses between the boxcars, people walking, setting sun reflecting off the river, colored trees and their fickle leaves. I have been feasting. I found myself filling up inside. My heart was inflating for days and I feared explosion. Wanted that moment to last awhile. How utterly cliche can one girl be? Fill my lungs to capacity and release and do it again and remember. In my head, the soft, warm, pillowy goodness of chocolate cake. The way it feels so good to be warm inside but somehow feels even better after that to feel the contrast of cold air in your lungs. The Fall day I wanted to last. I wouldn't lust after it so much if I'd never slipped on the ice or baked in the summer. I have to experience it all.
In Amelie there's a moment when she realizes what she gives to others but the breath she denies her father's stifled life. A lesson to me.
In life I've always been guilty of waiting. When younger, in high school, there are those occasions, "milestones" if you will. You spend a lot of time waiting for them to happen. It always starts... "If I just had.. If I could just.." If I just had my license. If I could just graduate. If I could only stay out later. If I could just move out! If I could only find love. If I could only graduate. If I could only move out. They happen, in succession. You get some of those things, you do them, you cross them off life's list. These days it's the same with differrent items to be checked off. If only I could paint the walls here. If only we could have a dog. If I could just graduate. If we could just buy a house.
I'm crumpling up my list. It's been written on lined, white notebook paper, tattered at the edges. It's been scribbled on post-its and yellow legal pads, on small pieces edged with cherry blossoms. I'm crumpling it. I have such good things. This is so good right now. I look down to add to my list and miss it. You've heard it before. I've heard it before. This time I listened.
