Tayari Jones Reading

Before attending the Tayari Jones reading I was dreading spending my evening somewhere other than my couch. However once I got there I was quickly amused by her humor and talent. Even though I really enjoyed listening to the actual reading it was the Q and A afterwards that really impressed me. I was so impressed by how down to earth Tayari Jones was and how she gave us advice as though we were all writers of the same caliber. She really made me feel like I could go home and write something well. She also impressed upon me the notion that you have to write what you feel compelled to write without worrying about the criticism of those around you. Her entire attitude towards writing was really inspiring and made me appreciate for the first time what it must be like to be an author like her.  

Social Insecurity

This is obviously a crisis. I press refresh over and over again on my iPhone but its no use. I can hardly believe what has appeared on my newsfeed. I give up on the failed mobile Facebook stalking and resort to texting. One after the other I send messages to my best friends about what has just transpired. Truthfully he and I no longer talk. We aren’t even friendly towards each other. That doesn’t change that we are perfect for each other. It has been the same story for five years. Easy come and easy go.  Yet each time his changed relationship status appears on that tiny screen my stomach drops and my heart starts racing. He just keeps going through these girls. What will it take for him to notice my existence? Sighing I return to his page. I continue to hit refresh in the miserable hope that it was a mistake or my eyes has deceived me the dozens of times before that. A phone call pops up on my screen and forces me to quit staring and instead discuss the possibility that I am truly invisible with each of my friends that calls me in the next few hours. Is it a problem when you need to carry your phone charger in your schoolbag for use throughout the day in class, at the library or at Starbucks? Certainly not when social emergencies such as this occur. 

Delivery Disaster

            A frigid chill revealed the man’s breath as he hoisted himself out of his sedan. Closing the distance between himself and the glass doors before him, the wind swept between the cluster of brick buildings. Blinding light from the streetlights above caused him to blink as he slid his phone out of his pocket to contact his delivery customer. He bitterly shook his head in anticipation of the meager tip he was certain he would soon receive. After hanging up the phone he swung open the frosty glass door and took refuge in the toasty hallway.

        The man could not help but be reminded of a hospital hallway despite the scattered beer cans and dirty floors. There was an eerie, clinical buzz about the room that made him slightly uncomfortable. Stifling down a yawn as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arm began to go numb as he held the greasy pizza and sandwiches.  Stumbling by in heels and mini skirts, a group of loud, drunken girls passed through the hallway practically unable to stand.  Shaking his head the man impatiently checked the gleaming, silver watch on his left wrist.

        Squinting out the chilly windows he spotted a group of men sauntering through the parking lot. Giving them little thought he sighed and twisted his gaze to the windows opposite him. A gust of icy air whooshed around him making him shiver despite his think, layered clothing.  Similar to the rush of air that just passed by him, a sweeping blow to his right side caused him to plummet to the ground in a crumpled heap.

http://www.collegian.psu.edu/archive/2012/01/17/delivery_driver_attacked_.aspx 

A Perfect Potato Sack

          Sporting a hem that was far below my knees, my navy blue jumper basically reached my knee socks.  The neckline was practically up to my chin. A nightmare for the average fourteen-year-old girl. But to me? It meant not having to brush my hair in the morning or put on makeup. While wearing it I was accepted and included and surrounded by others who understood me. If wearing that ugly jumper meant being around my best friends for six hours a day then I would wear it for the rest of my life. Sadly, I was only given four years to wake up at 5 a.m., groggily stumble on a bus and sneak coffee and bagels into homeroom, where we napped on the floor with sweats on over our jumpers.

         A classic Catholic School uniform, it transformed itself in so many ways over the four years I spent in high school. While freshman year was characterized by its bagginess and all the ways it reminded me of a potato sack, sophomore year would be characterized by its familiarity and becoming shorter and tighter thanks in part to the chocolate chip cookies and chicken fingers in our cafeteria. Junior year we received our rings with their brilliant stones shining against the navy monstrosity that was the Nazareth Academy potato sack. Yet senior year brought the most changes. In the nostalgic midst of choosing colleges and saying our goodbyes, we stapled our hems shorter and came to terms with the fact that they would no longer zipper. Thus revealing the left armpits of our white collared shirts.

         So many special moments were shared in the modest glory of an outfit that made me feel like a nun and not even mind. Friends who attended public schools would constantly poke fun but they simply did not understand the benefits of having questionable hygiene, eating too much food and acting like dudes with over four hundred other like-minded teenage girls. At the time it was easy to take for granted wearing the same thing each and every day but in the illumination of the past I can appreciate each rip, tear and stain in its course fabric as a reminder of where I came from and where I learned who I am. I occasionally gaze at it still swinging in my closet and four years worth of friendship, laughter, tears and learning flash before my eyes. From the torture of freshman week to wearing it out to dinner in Disney World after graduation, I grew up in a potato sack.