I’m not sure I want to forget.
First of all: it was hard to leave California behind. Something was pulled out of me when the plane was taking off and “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” by Iron & Wine was playing. That was leaving home. That was what I realized, even though the whole world would tell you it isn’t true. I still miss it terribly. I miss the humming presence of humanity, the jogs around Berkeley up toward the hills, buying food at the Bowl, walking down the Mission, coming home tired with the smell of the city on me and washing my hands and face, eating the best pizza and homemade soup and huge salads and delicious tea, the clean peace of Pam and Brian’s house, jazz and culture and friendships and acceptance and love all wrapping me up and holding me close so far away from the cold emptiness of my country home and my ruthless college. Watching the TV when Pam and Brian were away; great conversations at dinner when they came back with flowers from the Canyon; feeling in love, deeply and forever in love with that place.
I discovered Billie Holiday and Tom Waits and Coldplay and played them incessantly. I read “Brand” and Eugene Onegin and tried to read Her and couldn’t do it. I felt held, like I hadn’t for a very long time–by the place, by the people, by every detail of my life. It felt like that life had been waiting, patiently, kindly, for me to come and live it. The faces of Central Americans passing by me on the streets of San Francisco. “Tell Me Momma” and “I Don’t Believe You” and “Too Many Mornings” from Dylan’s live ’66 concert blasing from my iPod. Trying to watch “Birth of a Nation;” watching “Apocalypse Now.” Writing letters. Becoming a vegetarian and loving it. The way we unpacked my father’s family. Even walks in long golden sunlight up through the impossibly beautiful neighborhoods of the Berkeley Hills. The night of January 20th when there was such a party at our house. The way I came to love humanity in those seven weeks like I never had before.
That amazing evening on Valencia Street before the dance show, when I found one of my favorite places in the world.
And then it was back here, back to Bennington. My love for Tom Waits blossomed. I was busier and more stressed out than I had ever been in my life. I was working 10 hours a week in the dining hall until I dropped a shift because I was breaking down. I lived with Rachel in a clean white room on the bottom floor of Sawtell–room three. I had the side with the drafty window. Slowly but surely, we decorated the walls with little colorful scraps of our lives. I hung the Tibetan peace flags from Mudita on my closet door. I had some cheap vanilla scent that got old really fast. I had hand sanitizer on my desk and writing quotes on the wall above. My favorite breakfast was yogurt with cracklin’ oat brain, raisin bran, sometimes muesli, peach slices, and strawberries, and often a couple slices of melon. I had coffee every morning. For the first half of the semester I was so busy that I skipped dinner and ran from place to place and felt awful. On Mondays I had Edith Wharton/Henry james from 8 to 10, ate lunch from 11.30 – 12, worked salad duty from 12 – 1, had History of Science (usually with a snack) from 2 – 4, dinner from 5 – 5.30, and salad duty from 5.30 – 6.30. I would usually do homework for the rest of the night.
I got addicted to checking my email this term. I also discovered Will Stratton’s music (thanks to Rachel) and came to love it. I began keeping a little notebook of miscellaneous eyes. I chewed a lot of gum, didn’t go to the gym as often as I would have liked, and felt very clean pretty much all the time. Began making graham-cracker-peanut-butter-raisin-chocolate-chip sandwiches again midterm and got re-hooked. Missed talking to Thalia. Felt ridiculously cut off and isolated.
Tuesday was ceramics 8:20 – 12, lunch 12 – 1, meeting with advisor 1 – 1:30, homework until 4, when I would go to my American Music class in Jennings. Usually walked back with Corinne, a wonderful new friend this term. Had dinner, and then homework.
Wednesday I had no classes. I got up early anyway, sometimes I wrote, usually I just did homework, sometimes went to the gym. Thursday was the same as Monday except I also had music from 4 – 6, and then SSJ in the evening. I usually ate dinner with some combination of Corinne, Emily Harris, Olivia Gannon, Melanie, Rachel, Alex, and Megan Costello. I usually left the dining hall with an apple, or an orange, or a peppermint or spearmint. I discovered Villnöß online in late May–northeastern Italy, most beautiful place EVER. I had shea butter hand moisturizer on my desk, wearing a little green t-shirt that said “Cuddle with someone from Green Mountain College.” It came on a little stuffed owl that Danielle gave me for my birthday. My bed was all white with the colorful patchwork pillow on it. I had my Revolver poster on the wall, a picture of my favorite house in Historic Deerfield, a penguin card from my family, my Wall-E birthday card and 3-D stickers from Rachel, mini-Tibetan prayer flags, an alien I made out of construction paper, and the rhino card. My favorite salad was spinach or mixed greens, cucumber, mushroom, tomato, and feta cheese.
Friday I had no classes, so it was much the same as Wednesday, except from 10 – 12 I had work (helping the cook). Later in the semester I would picnic on Fridays with Rachel, Betsy, Melanie, Corinne, Olivia, and Emily. Saturdays I had salad duty 5:30 – 6:30 and then table-washing until 8. One hot sticky evening I got through it by pretending I was a poor writer in Venice who washed tables at a big hotel to pay the bills. On Sunday I had salad duty in the evening again. Alex and Rachel and I joked a lot, and the most common themes were hippies, your mom, and how everything was fine and great and wonderful. I grew Rachel’s little plants in the window and she usually slept at Alex’s.
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