realization

In the time that my brothers have been away at college, I've sometimes been overwhelmed with a feeling that I am stagnant and that all others are moving---only to find out that that is not at all the case. Here's the thing though:

I'm sitting on my bed, working on my college applications when it hits me. In a matter of months, I will have to put down my laptop, get up, and go to another bed, in another state. I knew that my moving out would be hard on my parents and on my friends. Having been tirelessly thinking of ways to cheer them up (I have a couple cool ideas), I never thought about the fact that they wouldn't live with me, only about the reverse. Hearing my dad's laughter in the next room or driving to my best friend's house so we can just talk and look at the stars won't be things I can do for the bigger part of the year.

As excited as I am about where I'm applying and what I'll learn and do when I get there, there are times when the scaredy cat part of my alter-ego kicks in. And I get lost in the fact that it really is happening.

I guess I just need to focus on the positive side--which is huge, and covered with college students.

phone

You always showed me how to be bold. You always made it okay for me to explore. You made it important for me to laugh. You always encouraged my art, and anything else I did. You saw how important that stuff was to me. I do. You always supported me. You're one of my best friends.

"Meriam hey."
"Hey Sherief. How are you?"
"I'm good I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm well."
"Yeah how was your weekend?"
"Good."
"Listen Meriam can I call you back? I have some friends over." I can feel skin around my eyes wrinkle, where my smile makes them.
"Too popular for your own good already huh?" We laugh.
"No no" I can hear it in your voice that you want to make sure I'm not feeling hurt, and that I didn't feel neglected.
"Ok I'll talk to you later."
"Bye."

I've never been so happy for you than after that phone call. Out in the world, exploring what you love, making the very best of everything that you can. And being happy all the while.

I'm really just so happy for you. And I deeply hope you're okay. Not happy, but okay, meaning I hope you're finding something, and I hope if you're not happy, that you'll get yourself there.

I miss you, but I know you're still ours. And I am glad you're doing what you are. You saw an opportunity, and you took it. You showed us all it's okay to be a tiny bit selfish in your youth, if you think it will benefit you in the long run. There are certain things that don't come around twice.

I hope your new job is fulfilling.
I hope you find a path. No. I hope you make a path.

"No one should ever feel bad doing what they think is best for them." That's what you taught me.

posting

After some consideration, I decided to edit/post some of my old writing. I'm really glad that I did what I did (documented) because there are certain memories, smells, and dreams that I might have lost otherwise. Normally, I wouldn't post anything this personal. There are a lot of things I am hesitant to show to colleges about myself. Or to anyone really. But here's the rationalization: if I don't show myself to colleges, they won't see little anecdotes and idiosyncrasies. They won't know what they're looking over--er, I mean who they're looking over.

If I don't show them what I've got, what chance do I have of being where I want to? I think that's why I'm struggling over the essays. I feel very--on stage.

What's difficult for me is this: it's not about selling myself, it's about showing myself.

It's true, I originally had no intent of publishing these exact works. But now that I will, I think it's good practice for my future. That vulnerability in letting the world see what you've made. No wonder Emily Dickinson was a recluse.

can't reach the wheel

It occurs to me, as we j-walk across the street, at the inconvenience of a little old lady driving a very big Mercedes, that every choice is mine, ultimately. The choices that scare me so much--where am i going? what will i do? how will i survive? The answers to those questions, will eventually be left to me and for some reason that's empowering.

For most people, it's that that's overwhelming. For me, I feel happy that eventually, I can do what I love. I know that scares my parents a little bit, but that's my job isn't it? There are a lot of things I learn from my parents, but their extreme caution toward life is not one that I want to let leak into my consciousness this early in life. It sounds very "Lifetime Original movie" but because of the people who actually believe that I have what it takes to make what I really want happen, I have a certain conviction that I will do what I love in the end. In the next four years, I will study what I am drawn to. When I get out in the real world, I will make that step. It isn't very useful to lean too far forward. If I think for now, and work at what I love to make sure I'm prepared for whatever path I decide to take, I know I will eventually find a place for my passions in the world. I won't be anything because anyone wants me to, or because of the money. I will do what I love. And I will never look back.

I don't think I can creatively afford to hold anything in and assume the predictable, beaten path.
I don't think I have that in me.
I don't think I want that.

rolled up sleeves

My publishing teacher is so incredibly enthusiastic about what he does. It's really beautiful. He loves everything about print; he is always carrying at least one sharpie. Even for the people who aren't that into what he's teaching, they can't help but pay attention because of the sheer joy the process gives him. It really is inspiring to see a man that awed with something, willing to dedicate his life to it, with little regard for monetary gains. He talks loudly, his chuckle--goofy and unforgettable. Down to the very detail, he loves it---all of it. Even rolling up sleeves versus folding them up is down to a science, carefully advising us to fold them patiently so they don't slide down while we work. Patience is very important here.

"I love the smell of ink in the morning. Smells like victory." His smile, infectious.

If I can get by money-wise, and I can be successful in that I study and pursue my dreams, there can't be any room for regret. It might be a little more scary, but I'll only work hard for what I love---nothing else.

stage fright

If you're reading this, may I ask why?
Is it possible that any configuration of letters, of typeface, if arranged correctly, could have an sort of impact on you? Is that what you're reading this for? you want these forms, these symbols to affect you?

I hate to break the news to you, but everything has an effect on you. No matter what you do, you're part of it all. You're a part of everything you ever hated and ever loved. Every post-it, every insult, every piece of artwork that you scoffed at, you're part of it. It must be frustrating, being you, hearing this news. I'm sure when you came here, you clicked your way on over to this fine figurative land, you were expecting something to brighten your day or make you feel something. Well I never promised that now did I?

You came here, without wiping your shoes on my welcome mat I might add, and thought it would be different. You thought I could offer you something that I don't ever want to offer you. This isn't the place for vague definitions of what a sister is, this isn't the place where you'll stock up on anything. Nope.

This is the place where I promise, you'll get lost & stay lost.

elevator

I can’t find my face cream. The Sherief in me says I shouldn’t sleep without putting it on. The Sherief in me says go to bed, you’re tired. That’s just it. Now that you’ve moved and you live somewhere else, I don’t know what the Sherief in me says anymore.

Down the hall is the bathroom we share. Shared? No, we still share it. Neutral yellow and green tones are sponged onto the wall above the marble tiling. Mom and Dad chose the marble; we didn’t care.

I look left. The shower head. I’d always know you were home when the shower setting would be different when I turned on the water. I knew you were home when I saw your car in the driveway all those summers ago. But I really knew it when I heard the hiss of your setting. The hiss of what we shared. A room that was yours and mine.

Most people who came to the house wondered why the two boys didn’t share the bathroom and I be the one to get my own, since I’m the girl. Because Tammer’s room is small, and it’s only fair is the reason we’d give anyone who asked. The real reason was counter intuitive and not one hundred percent logical. But we didn’t care.

When you were home, the shower made a soft swish instead of the lazy glurp that I used. I don’t ever want to switch to my setting. I’ll use yours so I feel like you’re here. I’ll be you.

The tough one. The responsible. I’ll have to be older now. There’s no one to tell me.

I was wandering around the house, looking for my face cream, walking up and down the same hallway. The light bulbs shine on the wood, each moving with me as I walk back to my room, the blurry trails of light guiding me.

I turn off the light. No face cream. I made that decision myself.

My tired body sinks into the blankets. To my right is the bottle cap sitting on my night table. Without my permission, my hand grabs it. In the dark, my thumb rigidly goes over it, stiffly, like an elevator acknowledging each floor with a beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. And then I’m there. Here.

bottle cap

I just remember thinking that this is how it was. This is how it will be.I walked up the stairs, holding it together. I feel the familiar warmth of the wood below my feet as I walk the ever familiar path to my room. There was so much to be done. I walk in and spot a bottle cap in my room. This little memory came back to me, bringing with it a deep reminiscent sadness. This was me remembering you. Remembering everything you made it possible for me to do. You made it possible for it to be okay for us to live and experience things, even if Mom and Dad didn’t always agree. You were the pioneer of the offbeat path, of all things new. I looked back at my hand and the metal edges were digging into my fingers. Did I grab it that tightly?

I could feel the sadness not anywhere in particular, just vague and hard to explain. The metal made a mark on my skin. You were gone. The permanence of the word bore into me. Gone. Gone.

departure

The moment I realized you were leaving, my hand was taking out shirts and socks from the dryer. I remember thinking about how you were probably trying to get everything washed so you could move out. And I remember thinking this might be the last piece of clothing I take out of the dryer. Later you'll have your own dryer, and this will be the dryer at your parent's house. I just remember feeling something as I took the white shirt out and put Adam's shirt in to be washed. He spilled something on it at your going away party.

This might be the last time I feel like I can play the irresponsible teenager role. As you move, I'm given less space to not worry about others. Your leave forces my growing up.

I don't want to sleep. This is the last time you'll truly live here. If I sleep I'll have to acknowledge it all.

You can tell a lot about a person depending on what they say to someone before they leave. Aunt Farhah says a phrase that doesn't really make sense and then laughs at it loudly while you politely smile and graciously nod at her.

I didn't think it would hurt. I just didn't think, so it wouldn't hurt.

I wanted to talk to you about some things. I feel like I should. Tomorrow may be the time. But it might be one of those days.

It's gonna be one of those days that lags on into the next. The whole day mom and dad will reassure us telling us this is a good thing and it will be good. But we all know.

Tammer, Dad and I stand outside waving to the guests. Once their cars leave, this is over officially. Once those Goodyears hit the last piece of gravel, it's over. My eyes well up. I can feel everything that I feel coming outside so everyone can see it. Damn bodily functions. I stare outside, never wanting to admit that I'm crying. I can feel someone walk behind me. Tammer walks in, doesn't say anything, but just hugs me. Just really hugs me. He says almost nothing. Softly, I can hear the words "don't be sad" but it doesn’t feel like he says them, it feels like they were emitted off of his body.

Dad comes out, gives me a hug. He's like the zamboni after the big game. Tammer's there for major cleanup, and Dad is there to help me regain my wit like a newborn deer. I feel his hand on my shoulder, arm wrapped around me.
"As if you're not gonna cry right now." There it is. Welcome back sarcasm. He looks at me, his eyes permanently glossy. We're all rubbing down something that's bound to come out soon. It's like a rock over a flowing hose. Any second we all know what's going to happen.

Our family fades into the family room, transitioning from scene to scene with a fluidity that is constant. We're constantly aware of our relation to one another, and we shift together, like stars or planets in an orbit.

Sherief opens his gifts. After shave. Moisturizer. Money. They want him to be a real man. And I want them to stop asking him to be. Because I can't have that. I just can't do it.

There's a silence after he finishes where we all feel a heaviness. This presence. We're not sure if it's regret or if it's just a thing that no one's made a worth for. This very evasive feeling. A somewhat deep-pitted heaviness.

After he's done, he lies down on the couch. Looking into his eyes; there's a dark blue that isn't usually there. His eye lids lazily force over his eyes. He's tired, and he knows what's coming. It's really gonna happen. Everything impending.

I really can't believe it was tomorrow.
And now it is tomorrow.
Technically, today.

fishbowl

I can't say that I knew what we were doing. There we were, two kids, trying so desperately to be something that no one had ever seen. It damaged both our existences to think that maybe it had all been done before and that there was no escaping that. We were like the guppies in the small fish tank, ever aware of our impending doom. We knew that one day the cheap ninety nine cent green net would descend from the heavens and take one of us out. It had happened to so many before who had never returned. And we knew that one day, we would not be able to swim fast enough. Josh would have you believe that he was the crazy fish who couldn't wait to be collected. And maybe he was that eager son of a gun who was that insane.

And there we were, sitting in my mom's Mercedes Benz outside his dad's house. We were being consumed in a silence. We both knew what that silence was. Conformity would catch us, little green net and all. And no matter what we could do to try to avoid it or deny its existence it would swiftly find its way back into our lives like an annoying little sister or international spy. There was something about that that was so profoundly frustrating. There was nothing we could do to avoid that fact. Forever and always, nothing could ever truly be original. Conformity would run into our room with its friends, walk over to us and curiously say "what are you doing?" It had never been more evident than in that silence.