Seven Years in September

Dear Ken,

It's been a while. Seven years in September. I thought you'd like the update on a few of the pieces of the world you and I had in common. Like, I can't update you on comics, or at least not well... I'll save those things for B. and Zack and John, and probably some other dudes. And S., who knows more than she ever lets on about comics. I can't update you on your favorite living theologians or even the weather in Pennsylvania.

B. is still the kindest and most generous person in our group, maybe in the world. He just moved this year, living in Virginia and working at a job that's important, but that I don't understand.

K. is making art that makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time, and not because it's bad, because it's good. Her cat features in it a lot lately, and I think that's what makes me laugh. As kids she drew dogs, dogs, dogs. She laughed at my fondness for cats, always declaring herself "more of a dog person." Well, time changes people, sir. And shut up. Cats and dogs are both great, so stop being all "Evie is the best dog," because it's not a contest.

S. and P. are still sweet and adorable with each other, as best I can tell. They will travel this summer with little E., and come back tanner, wiser, and sleepier. But they're making a family work. It's so ****ing amazing, I know you'd be totally proud of them. Their parents have been heroes all along the way, too.

Man, your parents. I miss them, too. They've been in Alabama for the last few years, looking for a change. Missing you. Starting over. But we never start over.

Everything I can tell you sounds so hollow when you're so far away.

You'd be glad to know I'm doing what I said I would do. I'm teaching high school English in Morocco. I don't know, Ken. Some days I don't think much about how it is part of my life's vision fulfilled. Some days it's just living, but with more dirt and fewer trees; more Arabic and less English; more strangers, more traffic; more bougainvillea on everyone's fences, and a mourning dove right outside my window, with a mosque just beyond my gate. We can do no great things, though. And, believe me, I am not. But I am trying to do small things with great love. So in all things it is God who will receive the glory.

I decided to draw a tree for every day I teach. I thought you might like that. I will begin the school year with a blank piece of paper, and at the end of each day I'll draw a tree, slowly making a forest. And each year I'll add a new piece of paper, and maybe laminate it at the end of the year? Or let it age? I don't know. But time keeps moving, building something and dying. I miss you.

Love,
Carolyn

Forming a Philosophy of Life

I have recorded my college experiences here, and my first few years of teaching and advising. And now I wonder what comes next. Because, unless I die accidentally, there will be a next thing. And more people. I realized recently that I have been forming a life philosophy, and I am as disturbed as you are that these are not verses from the Bible.

1. People are the same everywhere. 
That's not to say that individuals are not special to me. Individuals are irreplaceable in my life. But so far as I can tell, people present the same problems and the same solutions, the world over. People are going to be petty, ridiculous, overly-serious, and suddenly-political no matter where I live or what job I have. And people are the answer to that particular lonely feeling I get, and that disheartened loss of faith I know so well, and that cluelessness I feel in new places.

2. We can do no great things, only small things with great love.
Ken gave me a bracelet with this inscribed on it, and Mother Teresa, apparently, said it. I have longed to make a difference in the world. I have longed to use whatever is special about me, my sensitivity, my ability to say words backwards, my peculiar family background, whatever I am, to bring some good to the world, to really get the ball rolling toward this goal of bringing people to Jesus, all in their own languages, at the same time, yes, thank you. It's not gonna happen like that. I'm not gonna do this alone. I'm not even at the center of Jesus' plan of salvation. He's assembled a vast team that spans time and space, in which I'm a pinprick of His light; to think that I could do anything greater than small, daily deaths to self as I look for His face in this world of loss, is ludicrous and possibly idolatrous. Thank you, Jesus, for this freedom! May your Kingdom come!

I Remember

how Ken ruined Battleship for me.

I remember sitting in Ken's basement deciding how to pass the time. He really wanted to just "talk" all the time. And I couldn't stand it. It was too intense. I felt as though I were being mined for thoughts. So I walked to the game shelf and found Battleship. Yes. I had decided, and he was going to play with me. But He was so reluctant. Finally, I shoved the game board into his lap and just told him what he would do. He rarely minded that. He thought it was cute, occasionally, when it wasn't annoying. I couldn't tell what he thought this time, as I readied my board.

"D6," I declared.
"Hit," he responded!
"No way! First guess! Alright, D7."
"Hit. Sunk."
"Your patrol boat? Seriously? Well. G10."
"Hit"... and so on.

One by one, I was halfway through annihilating his fleet when I began to suspect foul play. His giggles should have tipped me off. How silly I must have looked to him, my little red pegs on the top of the board declaring my false triumph. I finally turned his board around to find it empty of pieces, not a ship in sight. He hadn't been playing Battleship, he had been playing me. And what a game it was! I didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening, a preview of years to come.

From a Poet I Love

I found this poem by Ken M. M. Ecker from 2009. Go to his poem blog for more: http://poem365.wordpress.com/


Moments on Summer Nights


There are moments on lonely summer nights
When it seems that you can reach up just high enough
to grab hold of a star and pull it down
till you can hold it in your hands and show it off
And squeeze the stardust off into a potion of hope
An elixer in a glass you swirl like red wine
you sip and roll on the tongue to savor.
Damn
If only the stars could last forever.

It's Wednesday. It's February. We're going to be fine.

I just finished reading The Hunger Games. I'm devastated and worthless after finishing a book. Time to go outside for a walk in the dark. Sure, it's melancholy, but not as much as looking at pictures from my high school graduation which I happened upon today. What a windy day. And whatever, Kelly wasn't the only one in National Honor Society. The rest of us returned our hoods immediately after the ceremony to avoid incurring a fine. And it's anyone's guess as to why Sly just can't behave in any of these photos.

Side by Side

Side by side on my dresser
Are two folded papers.

One is the program from a memorial service:
A friend expired at age 25
Because, for reasons I can't know,
In Brooklyn one night,
He decided to jump.

The other is a thank you card:
A friend decided to keep living at age 25
Because, she tells me,
"There is still hope somewhere,
Even when I can't feel it."

Just a Friend

I believed in you from a distance,
when you were at your worst.
I wish I had a part in you now.

The worst of it is your legacy of pain.
If I hold on now, I'm bound to hurt forever,
with the searing pain of red-hot shackles:

Asking what drove you to it,
why you drove yourself,
and alone!


You jumped!

Now I have to let go.

I, who made the mistake of believing
that you knew exactly what you were doing.

What I Would Like to Believe

I would like to believe that you are in California
with an old laptop some friend let you borrow,
then saw you had a necessity for it,
the words pouring forth from your mind at 2am,
like you do. There you sit, a loud TV on in another room,
but you've learned not to complain since the rent is cheap.

And moment by moment, you narrate the madness of passing world
passing life
beautifully
and with your rueful half-smile.

I promised myself I'd be the first to read it!
Before the piece even touched the shelf,
somehow I'd know.
And all the blurred years of ink and heartbreak,
and your illegible pencil-scratch notes,
would begin their healing in me, as
I read about your cross-country journeys,
your smoking up with strangers,
and how you realized it would get you nowhere.

Surviving on meager cooking of your own,
occasionally working up a kitchen masterpiece to share with...

with whom? There I stop.

No one traveled that road with you.
No one knew.
No one knew.

If You Come Back

If you come back

I will write you a poem for every picture of a tree
you deign to send me.

I will go to see that stupid Hulk movie and find a replacement for work.

I will chat online for more than a few minutes: reviewing our chats, I always seemed to be pressed for time.

I will sit with you in your Jeep on the way to your friend's wedding,
and let myself think about your profile against the sunset.

I will not run so hard or so far.

I will let you catch me, hold me, keep me.

But

I know I wouldn't

if you could

Come back.

Some Looking Back

This conversation took place during our last summer of still having conversations. We were both working on moving to Lancaster. Neither of us was sure where we would work or how we would subsist. We were low on cash, and discussed our situations frequently. Also, he and LBC had differing views on cursing.
A Conversation from July 21, 2008

10:18 PM Ken: [...]

  SPONTANEOUS!

  I found five dollars today while i was packing my books and throwing away trash

10:19 PM it was in an envelope from the President of LBC that I got when I graduated but never opened for some reason (hint: reason is that I would need it later)

 me: did the prez of LBC give all of the grads a $5?

 Ken: yes

  it comes with a form

  and a suggestion that you give it back to lbc

10:20 PM me: no

 Ken: and commit to giving five dollars every month

  hahaha

  no joke

  I don't feel even a little bad about this.

  It's GOD's money, right? And clearly he was saving it for my time of need. So LBC can shove it. hahahahhahaha

10:21 PM :P

 me: cuz God said so

 Ken: When I had my exit interview

  's'right

  they talked to me about donating as an alumnus

  and the guy doing the interview was actually (by chance, a bunch of different staff do the exits) the VP of Financial Affairs

10:22 PM and he started it with "Idk what God has in store for you. You know? You could be a millionaire--"

  And I started laughing pretty hard

  and then I said, "I promise, if God makes me a millionaire, I'll give some money back to LBC."

  hahaha

10:23 PM me: lol

 Ken: (Image of myself making out a 100 dollar check and writing something smart in the Memo line."

  )

 me: what would you write? c'mon on now

  my choice would be "because I am now a millionaire"

10:24 PM Ken: "As promised; Hope you don't mind this money from a dirty fucker."

  tell me not to write cusses!

  lol

  you know they'd still cash it, too

  hahaha

10:25 PM me: well, they might mumble something about the money of the rich being stored up for the poor...

  *money of the wicked

 Ken: same diff

  haha

  they might mumble

  but they'd mumble in line at the bank

10:26 PM Nick is convinced they are funded by the CIA

  (LBC)

 [...]

10:30 PM Ken: I know that the VP of Financial Affairs actually told me (when he was asking me to give) that for "some reason" LBC is one of the few colleges that isn't mostly supported financially by their alumni, b/c LBC alumni give a "shockingly" little amount to the college

 me: God works in mysterious ways...

 Ken: So does the CIA!

 me: lol

  i gotta go

 Ken: k

  have fun tomorrow

  don't get too lost

 me: thanks, sorry you can't come!

 Ken: it's okay

 me: i'll try hard not ot

  *to

 Ken: call my house if you get lost and need directions

  Cause I don't work until 5, I'll be packing

 me: expect a call

10:31 PM Ken: haha, okay

  bye!

 me: i'm serious

  cya!

 Ken: okay

  haha

I Doubt It

When I got back from London,
you gently demanded (how could you do that?)
a get-together.
We would decide what to do
when you got here.

You picked me up.
Sunroof open, sun in our hair,
We went to the park.

[My park. My favorite park.
How did you know? Did I ever tell you?
You never forgot a single thing I said.]

"I was thinking we could go fly kites," you said
As you pointed to two kites in your backseat.

[How odd, I had just been thinking about kites, I remember.
Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]

We ran about wildly inexperienced, getting our kites in the air.
Up they flew. Up. Bright. Sun in our hair, on our faces!
I was so relieved
That you had no confessions,
And I no heartbreaks
To share today.

I entangled my kitestring with yours and tried to pull it down.
You smiled and laughed, not to be bothered.
I loved you for it.

[Did you know? Did I ever tell you?]