Carly's Story

New York, New York

Fri, 01 Apr 2005 06:08:44 GMT

As I sit in my room with three friends reminiscing about the first days at GW, we spark a conversation about New York City. This topic really got me going! I love New York. As great of a city as Washington DC is, there is no city in the world comparable to New York. Growing up, my family and I went into the city often. My uncle lived in an apartment before he recently married and moved to a suburb. We also visited great grandfather who lived in the city. My dad’s parents live in New York City for half of the year; yes, they are those Jewish migraters who live in Boca Raton when it is too cold in the north.

Theater, shopping, and best of all: THE BEST RESTUARANTS EVER. Some of my favorites include Tao, Balthazar, Serendipity, J.G. Melon’s, Boom, and Cafeteria. Many of my senior year memories are a result of meals eaten at Boom. The purpose of getting a table was less for the quality of food than the fine service and entertainment. The waiters knew and loved my girlfriends after realizing that we were returning customers. They gave us free deserts and whatnot and we always had the funniest and best conversations.

Each time we went to Boom, we were exhausted from a full day of shopping in Soho and Nolita. The unique boutiques and overwhelmingly fashionable articles of clothing are too much to handle at times. There is so much great stuff that I can never decide what to invest in and usually wind up spending all my money at Boom and on taxis.

Getting back to Grand Central Station can be an issue sometimes, especially after Boom, when our brains are not fully functioning.  Some how, we make it in time for the last train back to Westport, laughing the whole way home.

We love treating ourselves on special occasions to a great time in New York City. For me and my best friends birthday this year, we took 4 friends out to a restaurant, ate copious amounts of food, and went dancing. We have great pictures, stories, and presents! My family and I also celebrate birthdays and anniversaries in New York City, on a much more low key level of course.

There are so many things that I love about the city that I could not possibly sum up everything in one blog, so perhaps I will continue to describe my loves in my next entry. Lastly, I must say how much I love the hot dog vendors. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my dad eat a hot dog, or anyone else for that matter. There is just something about deciding spur the moment that you want a good old weenie that brings a smile to my face. Many people have some distorted idea that the nuts sold on the street are contaminated. This is hardly true; in fact, those nuts are amazing. Not exactly guilt free, but incredibly satisfying to the taste buds. I refuse to buy purses or watches on the street, though. I am pretty sure that they lack in the quality I hope for in an accessory item. That is all I have to say for now.

Home sweet home

Tue, 29 Mar 2005 05:21:43 GMT

Although I have been blessed with such a compatible roommate, it doesn’t really make up for the fact that I’m not at home. I sound like a baby. But it’s true, I miss home like crazy. Who would have thought? In high school, my friends thought that I would be the one to go crazy in college because of the strict regulations enforced upon me by my parents. Instead, I sometimes would be much more content remaining in my dorm on a Saturday night, even though I could be out all night long if I so desired! What has happened to me? I am becoming less and less myself and the month fly by. I know as soon as I return home and am surrounded by my crew from home, my normal self will emerge again.

The weekend after next I decided that I just need to go back. I need to feel comfortable again and be where my heart is. I look forward to warm, healthy meals, clean bubbling baths, and my favorite restaurant’s sweet potatoes fries. I’ll drive my car, help my mom with errands, and then proceed to completely veg out the entire evening… with my dog.  I might bake something, watch lots and lots of TV because I won’t have any distractions. And I will sleep in clean sheets and use clean towels and most importantly, not have to fill up a Brita 400 times a day. I will eat delicious fresh strawberries without having to pay $4 in the District Market, have my dad’s famous omelets, and local pastries. (Yes, this paragraph is so far almost completely devoted to food.)

Many of my yearnings will be satisfied during my stay at home; however there will be so much missing. My friends, school, sports, Weston High School chocolate chip cookies, the thought of knowing who I would be eating lunch with, skipping class to go to the beach. Activities like this will never be replaced. I must learn to move on, as I have many great opportunities ahead, and cherish the things that still do remain close to me even if they are far away.

Her Easter!

Mon, 28 Mar 2005 02:14:23 GMT

Today, she is at her aunt’s house in Virginia to celebrate Easter. She is the epitome of an Italian, which means they are probably having cannoli’s instead of chocolate bunnies! She says that her family has spaghetti for Thanksgiving, and will do anything for some good pasta! I am always amused by her traditions and family life as they are some what dissimilar to mine, qualities that make so endearing. For example, she has approximately 835720489567245086587 cousins. I have four. She is loyal to Lent. I eat bread during Passover. She and her mom scream to eat other from separate rooms of their house. My mom is offended if I use the phone intercom instead of going downstairs to talk to her. Differences such as these never cease to make me laugh.

Although we hang out together, it is rare that we will ever actually get up and go somewhere. This weekend, though, we took a walk after our classes to Eye Street, which was quite an adventure. We then proceeded to go out dancing together. She is a crazy dancer, which makes everything so much more fun because it helps me loosen my limbs. I ended up returning back to our room before she did, and was asleep by the time she came back.

So, today, as I await her presence, I know I can look forward to a thoroughly entertaining account of her Easter extravaganzas. Perhaps she’ll tell me about a flying Easter bunny! The room is very quiet now, and it sure was last night. One would think of it as a treat to have the room to yourself, but I just get lonely. I’m used to sharing my room now, which seems crazy as it is the first time in my life I have ever had to do so for an extended period of time.

Horray! She just walked in! As I was writing about her! How ironic. And even better, she brought back my favorite kinds of Easter candy! As predicted I was presented with a series of wholesome tales told with an ear to ear smile and never ending chuckles. Hopefully there’s more to come!

Tue, 08 Mar 2005 05:15:13 GMT

On the nights that we find ourselves getting into bed at the same time, we become immersed in wonderful conversation. This begins as we are brushing our teeth at our sinks, which are separated by the bathroom wall so that we can converse through a blockade of a wall. Usually, she has completed her routine long before I have. If I am lucky, she is still awake by the time I am done washing up to give me the latest gossip and share her day’s events, as well as listen to mine.

Many of our most prized stories have been disclosed in the late hours of pre-slumber. I have learned a lot about her past, and thus have gotten to know her better as a person though our nocturnal bonding times. I have heard stories about past boyfriends and clumsy moments (which win the first place trophy for most comical and for most numerous). She refers to her life as a “sit-com”; everywhere she goes she creates a dramatic scene. This explains why so many people are anxious to spend time with her; they are guaranteed entertainment. Although there is an extreme amount of pressure on such a reputation, she never fails to meet up to the standard expected of her.

First semester, she must have thought that I had nothing to say about my life. By the time we were in bed I was always so exhausted that I was half asleep while I listened to her, as if she was telling me a bed time story. I barely responded and laughed tiredly when inside I was really cracking up! As I became more comfortable and accustomed to the sleeping schedule at college, I developed the strength to give her my versions of the types of things she would share with me. Surprisingly, she laughed just as hard as I did at some of them. But most of the time, I knew I had told a pointless tale. That is my reputation- a bad storyteller. I have now become familiar with the names of the people in her life at home and the places that she frequents most.

It is a dream of mine to one day experience what I like to call “a-day-in-the-life-of-my roommate.” This would entail five trips to Pat’s Gourmet Cheese steak Restaurant per week, going to Dan’s house, calling her sister a nerd, joking around with her mom, and consoling her dad when he begins to cry when she must return back to school. I would also be provided with backstage passes to awesome concerts in the dark crevices of Philadelphia such as a band called the Starting Line and have no curfew to prevent me from missing exciting moments. My purpose in spending a-day-in-the-life-of-my-roommate is to have the opportunity to spend an entire 24 hours in laughter; this will boost my spirits for at least a few months.

Roomie

Sat, 05 Mar 2005 00:08:31 GMT

Time to change tracks. Onto the next victim. YES! My very own roommate at the George Washington University. Laugh. Laugh until you keel over onto the floor and cannot breathe. Let me present you with some examples of her creative antics: she enjoys laughing at me when I get out of bed in the morning and my pajamas are too high on my waist and my hair looks like my finger made contact with an electric socket, she responds to most things said to her with the phrase “your mom,” enjoys placing me in our dorm’s communal garbage bin, and forgets about the baked ziti left in our freezer, which developed mountains worth of black mould.

Another amazing quality of hers is her lingo, which are unlike any I have ever been exposed to prior to moving into our humble abode. “Snap,” “eep,” and “seriouslyyyyy” are among my favorite. She talks at a rate of million miles per minute, expecting that I am actually processing everything she says, but is ever so patient when I say “what?” at the end of a ten minute story.

The best is how passionate she becomes over the most insignificant issues. For example: we engaged in a good half our session of bashing Colonial Williamsburg. Are you familiar with the venue? It is quite a “hilarious” place, as she would say. It is also very thought provoking, inspiring one to question what person in their right mind would be willing to dress up as a Colonial and seriously acquire the skills of a blacksmith, printer, or butter churner. This conversation was one of the first that introduced me to a series of amazingly funny times that follow us throughout our journey of being each others' first college roommates.

One particular day

Wed, 02 Mar 2005 02:01:59 GMT

I woke up in my friend's high rise apartment in New York City on this cold Demember morning. This was not where I was supposed to have risen. If fact, the plan was, I was going to join my friends in their festivities and return home later that evening. To make a long story short, I completely lost track of time due to the "blurriness" of my conception and missed the last train home. She was not pleased at all. Nor was he. And they let me know it.

She and I had happened to have an entire day planned to roam around Manhattan from museums to department stores, and eventually to a lovely high tea at a lovely hotel. We had been looking forward to this day together for quite some time. The debate over where we would drink our annual tea went on for several weeks prior to this day. Of course, no matter how "under-the-weather" I felt, I did not want to ruin this day and so rejected the choice to just come home when she presented it to me.

She picked me up from my friends apartment building. We had planned to take the train, but due to my poor decision making from the night before, plans were forced to be tweaked with. It was 10 degrees outside. Although she was so disappointed in my behavior from the previous evening, she also did not want to ruin the day; she was kind enough to bring me a toothbrush, change of underwear, and warm boots (thank goodness!) When I entered the car, I could sense her dismay right away. Of course, I apologized incessantly for having caused so much inconvenience and for going against my word. Thats what had bothered her most. The fact that she felt betrayed by me.

As I let her interrogate me, giving her detailed answers as to how the night went so downhill, all I could think about was how embarrassed I felt and how immature I had acted (not to mention how nauseous I was and how much the world around me was spinning!) I tried to explain to her how things like this happen, but she can never understand because it all seems extremely ridiculous to her, understandably.

The point I intend to make, though, is that regardless of what I had done, she too had a strong desire for the day to go smoothly. So we put the current events aside for the remaining hours of the day. A few hours into our venture, I was feeling much better, and all I could think about was the tea and delicious warm scones we were about to indulge in. She is the only person I know who would set aside such poor behavior and give me a day of luxury that I in no way deserved. I suppose the reason she was able to do this was because she knows me better than that, and accepted my regret sincerely. Hopefully, she realized that I knew what I had done was wrong and that I needed to make better judgments in the future. I certainly wasn't going anywhere with my friends for the next few nights, but that should be no surprise!

They call her the worrier

Tue, 01 Mar 2005 05:30:57 GMT

Worry wart. But in every good sense possible. Where are you going to be? Call me when you get there. Where are you? Did you make it there okay? Do you have enough cash? What did you have for dinner? Are you warm enough? You need to eat more protein.

Can all people claim to have a protector with this amount of capacity for concern? I would be amazed if more than 70% of parents fit into this extreme. Of course it is overwhelming at times, but it all goes back to the fact that her nagging/worrying is out of kindness and love. I must remind myself of this during those rushed times when I don’t want to have to think about tedious tasks that seem unimportant to me, but matter a lot to her.

My high school years were full of days and nights dealing with these worries. I may appear to be unappreciative of this quality of hers, and I apologize if this is the case. Sometimes, though, the things that she worried about really weren’t anything worth so much thought, that’s when I became irked. Too many times I did not hold in my frustrations and became impatient; this treatment she did not deserve at all. I suppose if she hadn’t been so on top of me, I might have found myself in a dangerous situation; perhaps this quality is my savior!

I think she was even more worried about me when I was babysitting than the parents of the children who were in my hands. When I was less mature, I was embarrassed to tell my employers why I had to call my mom three times during the hours of my shift. Today, I am able to find sweetness in this and laugh it off. I no longer try to downplay how special the surprise packages she sends me either, or try not to point out the fact that she is at every event I participate in. I am so touched by her desire to be such a big part of my life. You know you have the extreme when she calls you because she didn’t see you online 10 minutes after speaking on the phone because she thought you should be back in your college dorm room already! Hehe

Gparents

Mon, 28 Feb 2005 05:52:57 GMT

Its hard for her as they get older. Of course, it is the natural course of life that we change and people more fragile as we get older, but when you knew people when they were young and energetic, it is a hard process to witness. They are the best, and she is well aware of this. She has brings me into their presence as much as possible; it is important to her that I am close with them. They are so caring, so it is reasonable to understand why she is too. They are so wise. They had done so much. They have been to so many places. They have so many stories to share. They are very generous, but in no way degrade the importance of appreciating what we are able to have.

She tells me so many great stories about growing up. She would go shopping and have lunch with her just like we do. It is sad that she no longer has the desire to participate in such activities; she gets tired quickly. She worries about her mental capacities, scared that her idleness is deteriorating all the knowledge that she once retained. She worries about how small she is becoming. I can only imagine how hard this is, to have to worry about the person who once did everything they could to take care of you. She is lucky they are as close as they are. At least she can be comforted in knowing that he is on top of everything. Age has done nothing to affect his spirits and awareness, and has barely touched his physical strength. (Or maybe that is a result of the midnight trip he takes to his “ice box” for a bowl of Edie’s.) They always refer to her as the “angel” child, as their other was not so cooperative during his childhood. She was respectful and earned everything she was given. She worked hard in school and was always honest. She talked with her about all the things we talk about, they were just as close. They depend on each other the way we do, and always enjoy each others company.

Although it is different now, as she is a little slower on the up take than she once was, she still makes all efforts to keep in touch with her and remain best of companions. There isn’t as much for them to talk about anymore, but her presence pleases her. Understandably, she gets frustrated sometimes; she is upset by the fact that she doesn’t comprehend as much as she should be able to. At the same time, she understands that age is an inevitable process, and makes efforts to ensure that she remains on top of things more than she has. She will continue to be active and get out into the world. I don’t want that to ever happen to her! But if it did, it would give me a chance to take care of her the way she has taken care of me for almost two decades.

No such thing as a real fight

Fri, 25 Feb 2005 06:47:09 GMT

Patient. Understanding. Tolerant. Fair. A family has many complicated aspects; even one that only consists of three people. She is always optimistic about arguments. Everyone has disagreements no matter how well they know each other. She talks things through so that they can be worked out in a way that is beneficial to everyone’s needs. If they begin to quarrel, she stops arguing and leaves the room in order to prevent what she knows will end up as an explosion of emotions.
As human beings, we all need some where to vent our emotions. Unfortunately, she seems to be a frequent target. Perhaps this is due to her forgiveness. When in a bad mood and asked to do something, I have been known to become excessively frustrated and become short with her. Every time this has happened, I am consumed with so much guilt. She never deserves that. It is true that she can be a nagger, but aren’t all caring people? I must learn to have patience like hers. Or remember to retain my feelings instead of passing them onto her.

When we have a disagreement, we know exactly how to compromise. Shopping! Anytime we go shopping, our problems are automatically erased. It as if our fight never occurred. We are peaceful and serene as we stroll along Main Street or through the corridors of the mall. If we’re really feeling indulgent, we’ll buy a new shirt or share a tasty treat. Although it is therapeutic, shopping is not a requirement for us to compromise. Neither of us can stand being on bad terms, therefore we find it necessary to apologize and move on as quickly as possible.

The things we disagree about are never materialistic. They usually have to do with my whereabouts and the fact that I sometimes neglect to follow rules pertaining to this subject. In other words, the only reason we would have to argue is because she is concerned about my safety and well-being. She always wants to know the truth. She is quite unhappy if she finds that I have been dishonest. There were many instances when I told her I was going to the diner, which she later find out was a cover for an alternative location where I would have been found. Because we read each others minds, it never took long for her to figure out the truth. No one deserves to be lied to, especially her. As I have gotten older, I have learned that even if I don’t get my way, being forthright is the best option. She does so much for me, the least I could do is tell her every truthful thing I know and live by.

Work work work

Wed, 23 Feb 2005 05:36:07 GMT

She is a very diligent worker. If only I had the discipline to correct medical reading material all day long. What a saint. Our family was so fortunate that she did not have to be at work for almost my entire childhood. Even when I was old enough to walk home from the bus stop alone, she continued to make sure that she was there to greet me and hear every small detail of my day. She would have a snack prepared for me. Some days, she would have to talk me straight to an activity; she would have a bag of cookies and a juice box ready to take to the car.

She began working part time when I was in junior high school. This job required her to be in Stamford four days a week until approximately two o’clock in the afternoon. The school day ended at 2:10 pm, so she when she arrived home at three, it was time for her to turn right back around and bring me to the ice skating rinks in Stamford, a drive that was at least a half our long at this point in the day. As with anything else she does for me, she did not bear an ounce of complaint. I can only pray that I am blessed with her type of patience.

By the time high school rolled around, I looked forward to the time I was able to spend along in the house, which was quite rare. My sports practices ended after her work day was over. I told her that there was no need for her to only work part time on my account if she wanted more hours. She insisted that she wanted to devote any time she could to being with me.

She is highly respected as a co-worker and recently received a promotion for all the effort she exerts. I visit her on occasion and am familiar with her friends and over seer. Of course, there are some days where I know she would certainly rather be running errands, shopping, relaxing, and doing things for herself, but she doesn’t waste too much time indulging in such thoughts.

I wish that I hadn’t had to work on the weekends during my summer before college; the only days she wasn’t at the office was the weekends, so we couldn’t partake in our usual exertions to town. Now that I am gone, she works full time. We chat periodically throughout the day, especially when she is on her brake, to make sure that we know exactly what is going on at work and at school. Sometimes I am so anxious to talk to her that I call her on my way to class at 7:45 am! One thing I know for sure is that she certainly doesn’t mind taking a vacation day to come to Washington D.C. or to be with me when I am at home.

Birthdays

Tue, 08 Feb 2005 03:47:22 GMT

All I can think about is her coming this weekend to celebrate my 19th birthday. She is traveling all this way with him just to be with me! On occasions such as these she always goes all out. Presents galore, cards of the most sentimental kind, and my favorite foods. Since my birthday happens to be the day before Valentine’s Day I have also been guaranteed holiday appropriate goodies, which include copious amounts of chocolate. She tells me I will be her valentine forever. I can remember most of my birthdays vividly. Until I was 11 years old, she made sure to find the most unique place for me and my friends to gather. We spent hours in the party store shopping for creative favors, determined to put together a package more impressive than your average bag of candy. Following the party, we would return home in the car, which would be filled to the brim with generous gifts. It is so exciting, and exhausting, to open them all.

My 16th birthday was especially memorable. I helped her plan the grandest festival imaginable! Based on her acute knowledge of my taste, she designed a theme that catered to all of my favorite things. Purple, cupcakes, dancing, family, friends, and candy. In essence, she constantly persists in making me feel special. She never skips a single beat.

Today

Mon, 07 Feb 2005 04:22:08 GMT

Walking along the street I amongst crowds of people, yet I am alone. I call her, wishing that we were together like we used to be. Hearing her voice on the phone makes me feel closer to her, but we are physically miles apart. I need her more than ever now, even though I assumed I make it on my own. When I feel trapped and alone, calling her is the only way to ease my emotions. She complains that she cannot find the magic words to comfort me, but she is quite wrong. She is the only person I tell about what is going on inside my mind because I she is I trust with all my heart. Friends, especially new ones, might not have the patience to listen to certain complaints, but she would be willing to provide me with open ears all day.

I no longer take for granted the time that we spend together. I no longer protest the restrictions that would have once mad me so upset. I am basically an adult now, but I have the tendencies to act like a 10 year old child who has been shipped off to sleep away camp for the first time. When I have to leave her I cry. She doesn’t tell me that I’m being a baby, she just holds me while the tears seep into her shirt. She is sad too, and tells me that she thinks about me all the time. Who else would be so considerate? What I miss most is the weekends. Running errands, stopping for coffee, preparing dinner. Always buddies. I also really miss tea; when I attempt to make it myself, I can never seem to add just the right amount of sugar and it tastes so wrong.

Regardless of our geographical distance, we will always remain in touch. She still knows everything about my day; every homework assignment, every friend, every outing. I am never hesitant to talk to her about the things that are usually saved for strictly peer conversation. She won’t betray me, and I would never dream of betraying her. After all, I am a part of her. The experience of being away from her for such an extended period of time is a huge challenge. After having given it a chance, I know it will be temporary. I hope that I can make it through this phase of life without her being near me.

Hardships

Sat, 05 Feb 2005 17:21:46 GMT

The difference between 13 and 18 years of age is closer to the amount of time between eras than it is half a decade. Friends change, people change, and the world is a spinning sphere. Competition, dependency, pressure. Handling these aspects of life is so challenging and stressful, and it would have been impossible had she not been there for the whole ride.

Junior year in high school is known to be the most difficult of them all; SAT’s, college applications, choosing of senior captains, and the various other responsibilities of being an upperclassman. I remember everything she did for me when the tragedy happened more than anything else. On a cool autumn afternoon, we are at a Broadway show in Manhattan. Driving home, she is talking on the phone to my friend’s dad. Upon ending her conversation, she turns around and looks at me with the most fearful eyes. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry Carly.” He pulls the car over to let me cry for as long as I necessary. But all I want to do was get back to where my friends were convening, an hour from where we are. Part way home, we stop to use a McDonald’s restroom. I feel as if I am in a tunnel where people are staring at me through a glass enclosure.

Finally, we reach Lindsay’s house. At this point I have managed to compose myself in front of the parents, as they walk in with me. They go with me to a vigil for Elizabeth late that night, with all the friends and parents. There were enough tears to form an ocean. My friends and I want to have a sleepover because the only way we’ll find comfort is in each other. She wouldn’t let me. I am terrified. We go back to our house and she makes tea. It is so soothing, as usual. She will be more protective than usual in the next few months, especially in regards to me driving.

She invites all of my friends to use our house as our meeting place for making posters and other memorabilia to present at Elizabeth’s funeral. She always loves when my friends are in our home. I am so lucky. She helps us, provides us with food, if any of us can even manage to eat it, and welcomes other parents in as well. I become angry when she doesn’t let me go to the vigil late at night to join the many others who are stationed there. I just want to get as close to Elizabeth as possible. I understand, though, that the only thing she is ever concerned about is my safety. Right now, she is under red alert for my emotional well-being, and does not want anything to interfere with it becoming worse. I just wish she would let me go. Why can everyone else be there but not me? Nevertheless, if it weren’t for her, I might not have ever gotten through this experience with Elizabeth. I cried on her shoulder every day. She allowed me to take my time recovering and understood when I lost focus or concentration, or when I could not bear the thought of being in a certain location.

I repeat the question “why can everyone else be there but not me?” to her millions of times throughout this stage in my life. Why doesn’t she trust me? What is the big deal? No one else seems to have the same restrictions. I tell her that I am going to the diner, even though I will really be at a friend’s house; I wasn’t sure if she would have approved of my being there. She is too smart for these shenanigans. The next day we spend hours running errands, which is another typical venture we regularly partake in. She interviews me on every imaginable facet of my experience the previous evening, until some how I slip and it is revealed that I was not, in fact, at the diner. The few times this happens, she is quite disappointed and perhaps shortens my curfew. Extreme situations were known to result in the loss of my weekend privileges all together. However, she never became angry. She never raised her voice. And, most importantly, she never allowed these events to come between us. Indeed, these events are huge obstacles for me. Being in high school is all about sharing time with your friends; I did not want to be limited any way. But I also did not enjoy being on bad terms with her. She was, after all, my savior. So, I would find a way to get over my grudge and enjoy spending time with her in hopes that she would lighten up on the subject of my social life. Many nights, I would rather be in her bed watching Jay Leno until we fall asleep.

Breakfast is a huge part of discussing the notion of our weekends. Waking to her soft voice, “Good morning Carl,” feels so good that it is indescribable. We walk downstairs together, to the scent of the enormous breakfast he has prepared for us. Egg white omelet for her, Belgian waffles for me. While he reads the business section, we share the Sunday styles section. This is perfect preparation for a full day of shopping.

As I grow

Thu, 03 Feb 2005 03:13:25 GMT

We have spent the entire day under the warm sun. Birds fly over head through the crystal clear blue sky. This must be nirvana. I don’t want to leave. Our footprints disappear into the sand as waves splash against the shore. The sun is setting and we are preparing to retreat back into the room. The air is crisp; it will be a beautiful night. After we cleanse in the shower that has an open window, she applies lotion to my tingling skin, which is pink from the sun’s strong rays. We go into their room to snack on cheese and nuts until it is time to go to the restaurant. At the restaurant we eat a fine three course meal. This routine will take place for one week, each year in my life, at least for quite a few years. I am so lucky to have the opportunity to absorb this experience even once.

On some nights, she and I escape to the lobby for desert and talk about life. She is so interested in what I have to say; so willing to help and support me and all my thoughts. I ask her questions and she gives me advice. These times are part of what has shaped me into who I have become. Then it is time to sink into the soft, white, sheets that feel so cool on my sun-warmed skin. The instant my head plunges into the fluffy pillow I collapse into a world of dreams. I usually cannot recall my dreams, its only the meaningful ones that are still there when I wake up late the next morning. I like to tell her about them, because she understands. She doesn’t judge me based on them and in fact is intrigued by my unconscious thoughts.

Each year, our conversations mature. There are new topics to discuss, things are changing. I am getting older. Nevertheless, she understands me, and never questions any of my decisions. As I grow, it would be so easy to gradually separate from her in order to gain independence as many adolescents do. But I hate the thought of being far from her, I will never let that happen. I would not feel safe.

While we are here, we indulge in our favorite activities: eating, shopping, and relaxing. I can truly enjoy myself because I know I do not have to impress her or entertain her. Our desires are somehow always in unison. If we have a disagreement, we know that an ice cream cone and a new outfit will make everything better.

When it is time to leave this paradise, we are sad because we know that our lives will become busy again. School and work are waiting for us; we can’t spend the entire day by each other’s side. I fall asleep on her shoulder as we are transported back into reality. But this will not hinder our journey together through life. I never doubt that her thoughts are with me. Away from home I tend to spend a lot of time with my friends, but she says that’s okay, that’s what I am supposed to do. I would never want hurt her feelings. She does so much for me without a single complaint.

I have a fight with my best friend and feel alone. There she is; waiting to trap me in her arms and assure that there is no need to worry. I am a good person, she tells me, followed by an explanation as to how to solve my problem. 500 pounds have been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer feel alone or empty. If all else fails, she will always be my best friend, so why should I be so worried about what everyone else thinks?

Birth

Tue, 01 Feb 2005 04:53:38 GMT

The first time we had a chance to meet was full of excitement, joy, and celebration. It is impossible for me to remember this moment vividly although she has told me all about it. I came first, and it would later be determined that I would also be the last. Sometimes, relationships such as these do not work out. This is not how my story unfolds. From the moment that my eyes were first introduced to the light of day, she made a pact with me that we would always be together, no matter what life brought to us. Gentle, supportive, dependable, warm, soft, comfortable. This is how she was; there is no place I would have rather been than under her watchful eye. From that point on she stayed there with me where ever my life took me. I knew that no matter where I was, she was thinking about me, worried, hoping that I was okay. On the occasions that she left me, I was unaware of where she was headed to. It was never for an extended period of time and I always felt assured that I would be safe. When she came back, I would look into her eyes as the chair rocked back and forth. She was the last person I saw before slumber reduced me into a land of dreams and the first when those dreams ended and it was time to start all over again. Sweet, fresh, crisp. This is my home smells. She makes food that tastes like nothing anything you could find in a five star restuarant; it is so much better. The simplest dish is more satisfying when it is made by her because it was made my her tender love and care.

As I grow, there is nothing more comforting than the thought of being with her. We go to fun place. We see great things. And, of course, we always find a tasty snack. Never would I feel hungry, or scared, or sad. She made sure of that. I had anything I could ever need and more. She took me to stores and dressed me in fashionable attire. I could never understand how she could do so much for me with so much pleasure. She was never annoyed or bored and never complained about anything that I wanted to do. How is it possible to feel so devoted to someone? But this stage was only the beginning. The start of an amazing tale that has an unpredictable ending, but one which will inevitably result in happiness.