August 17 - An Email to Shelby

Maybe I will post a more refined description later, if not:

I'd rather say all this in person (maybe I'll get the chance to later), but:

1. Me: "Well in Heracles in Hylas my point of view got messed up over time becuase I took so long to write it. First Heracles was practically in love with Hylas but by the end he was so annoyed with the kid that he got sick of him, when I meant to keep their relationship the same."

Him: "Well you know that's more human though. Sometimes when you're around someone so much they start to annoy you but then... once you're apart from them you realise how much you missed them."

Ha.

2. Me: "Well, I have ten more minutes. What do you want to do?"

Him: "Want to waltz?"

And we do. This time he says I can't look at my feet so I'm looking right up at him. And I mess up a lot but we're really close this time--physically. Touching. Like his hip (if guys even techically have hips) is touching mine. Gulp. And I mess up and our legs get messed up and he's acting very nervous, but not in a "I hope people don't see us" way, strangely in a "I really like you way". Which is fun and good but also terrifyingly weird.

3. Him: "I brought some of my story for you to read. It's on my laptop."

I get really excited. Eventually: "And a total of how many people have read this story?"

"Zero. Well, unless you count me."

ZERO!!! I WAS THE FIRST!!

4. First hug. Interrupted by a custodian. I'm hugging and suddenly Mr Luck says awkwardly, "Oh, I'm--" and gets out of the hug. "Just saying goodbye to Sam." I turn around and see the custodian.

"Oh, just wanted to make sure you two weren't kids," she says. HAHAHAHA.

Second hug. I've never liked the sound of a heart beating at all, but this time we were so close I could hear his heart beating. Which was actually kind of cool.

Last hug. For the third time he says he's going to miss me. Kisses my hair (which I hope did not taste like shampoo because I was in a rush this morning and didn't get all the shampoo out of the left side of my hair--luckily he kissed the right). And I rub his back. And when we're done, oddly, he does a boyfriendy-girlfriendy thing and leaves his hands on my hips for a very long second. And we're both looking at each other--I swear he looks like he wants to kiss me--but doesn't. Thank the heavens, that might have been too weird. Or the custodian might have reappeared.

And all was scary and grand. I will explain more once I get to talk to you. Sorry for this lengthy rant, but I had to get it out of my system.

LOVEEEEE! And I want to hear about your first real day too when we talk!

"August 3rd--that's practically July!"

I can’t say it’s the end of an era, because I know it’s not. But it is.

It’s as if the story splits in two here. One part of this thread is cut, the other continues on.

This is what I always feared--a time you can never go back to and worse, a time you might one day forget. I’ll never be able to come back to the halls of bright red lockers, pass the trophy case that was once set on fire by a chem demo gone wrong and head into my favourite room of the school--usually finding it disappointingly empty or aggravatingly full. I can’t go back to the time where I was stranded in this little box of school--my only refuge being that one classroom, my only thoughts being “please, let this classroom save me, get me out of here” and it did.

It gave me a glimpse in to the future. Said it could only get better from here. Gave me a look at what it feels like to be accepted, nourished and intellectually awesome. Gave me a look at what a real conversation is made of--not just frivolous gossip and teenage complaints. Gave me a glimpse at being supported and gave me a whole lot of confidence boosts (but I needed every one of them). It showed me what the future will be like and for that, I call it the Ultimate Time Machine.

Now we’re bonded, but bonded because we chose to be. We’re not tied together anymore because we all live in the same space 5 days a week--no, we’re actually making an effort to come together. And it’s that effort that changes things, but also that effort that makes our bond so much stronger.

To document the best day of my life...

The Best Day in the World. Ever.

[in a bulleted list]

• It all started with the choice of outfit. Black pencil skirt, white collared shirt, black and white heels. The best bag that I own--the breifcase.
• Independence in the form of a car and an egg and cheese croissant.
• Realizing that my headphones broke... on the only week where I will virtually never be taking the bus.
  
• A second block prep period in which Mr Luck and created an epic tale of the Field of Awesome (Mr Luck: red, Mrs Jackson: blue, Shelby: silver sparkles, Me: gold sparkles) using the "next" technique. I would give the intro and when it was his turn to add on say "next." Details of the actual storyline to follow.
• A not too shabby grade on the Latin Test it was assumed I had failed. (88%)
• A rather nice lunch outside in which I ate dried cherries. Wonderful.
• Magistra telling us that she had never tried and will never try Ben and Jerry's ice cream because she's afriad she'll get addicted to it and will have to be sent to ice cream rehab.
  
• A test in fourth block where I actually tried and may have done quite well on if my interpretation of Wallace Stephens' poem was correct.
• An after school experience of glory. We discussed the stupid people on sound-off, voted on which of the conceptual physics cranes would win tomorrow. Mr Luck and I had our elbows inches away while laughing and pointing at the Belgium physics conference in 1911. Finding Mr Burley's face in the physics conference of 1911. Looking at Mrs Jackson's new screensaver which has all the constellations rotating in a sphere. Mr Luck and I "discovered" we are both pisces--and that we dominate nearly 1/3 of the sphere. Mrs Jackson knows more constellations than I do. Impressive. Discovering that Mr Luck and I laughed at all the same times and found the same things funny. Watching young children sing "Viva la Vida" and some Scottish lady sing a song that Mr Luck was humming afterwards in his room.
• The best goodbye one could ever hope for. A look over the shoulder, eyes glowing, a sincere "Have a good night" and an earnest "you too".
• Getting a pedicure and only being able to think about the multi-verse soap bubble theory.
• Hearing "Accidentally in Love" on the way home and hoping that everyone in the Field was somehow magically hearing it too.
  
• A cheesburger with... bacon?! Yes.
• Presumably, an excellent episode of Fringe. (It's only 7.)
  

Overall A+.

Eulogy of a Time Traveller

"When all my days were spent by a telephone
That never rang.
And all I needed was a call
That never came."

+ + +

Throwback

Once a day, he would take the time to look out at the field where he had first seen the strange and enchanting purple flash of light. Often he would sneak glances throughout the day--tiny, fleeting moments in which he pictured a set of four figures out across the field. Often he would have split second memories of the way his love's eyebrows slanted upward with worry, the way his voice crackled under pressure, the way he would rest his skinny hand atop Gregory's shoulder while his eyes flooded with concern.

But these were frivolous moments--actions or habits that could play themselves before the Prince's grey eyes within seconds. It was only after tea, after changing into his nightgown and shooing away the last of his servants that the Prince would allow himself to fully commit to retelling the story which constantly consummed his heart.

Fingers curled around the outer frame of the window, the boy peered out onto the moonlit scene playing before his eyes. There it was again. A flash of purple light. Meeting Perry. Suspenders. Walking to the tavern. Recieving a cloth to clean his wound. An arguement with Perry over... what was it? Something petty and unimportant. Shoving Perry's shoulder and then...

"His eyes," the Prince narrated to himself in a distant whisper. "That entire basment. Full of time machines and electricity and plastics and all I could seem to look at were those lovely eyes. So... striking. And beautiful. And almost pulsating with fear.

"Beautiful fear. The only emotion that ever looked good on him. Right on him."

A smile pressed on his lips. How he wished he could write all of this down. Scratch ink onto a page--indestructable ink--which would ensure his story was never lost.

But his story could never be found. A madman's writings they may call it. He could be jailed. For madness and much more.

"Pretty," the Prince continued, bashfully blinking as if he were saying the words to Mr Orsted himself. "The most beautiful light. He had the most beautiful light inside of him. He would get angry, sad, disheartened whenever anyone questioned him--and they did that often. But as soon as I asked him to explain his machine--his creation--to me, he... he had the most fabulous light."

"That's all it takes," Gregory smiled coyly at the moon and swung himself forward to get a better look at the field. "And Perry," he sighed sympathetically, tilting his head. "How I miss you, Perry." He said still to the moon. He liked to imagine that the three of them still watched the same moon, same stars, but as Mr Orsted had so pessimistically pointed out, that wasn't true.

"I love you, Perry."

A bow of the head. Hands gripped either side of the window frame, tears dripped from either side of the pale face. "I love you, Perry," he croaked.

He pulled his arms in, cowered his body inward, but stared loyally up into the moon. "I love you both."

"I love you too, Mr Orsted."

If only words could travel centuries.

Third Concert Etude, Un Sospiro

The two of them are both leaning back and forward simultaneously—her back resting against a rickety, metal filing cabinet that’s been here longer than he has, her left ear tilting slightly towards the crappy pair of computer speakers, her right ear tilting entirely towards him. Her eyes seem to be fascinated by the track name and her left hand is secretly tapping out the beat. He too is watching the counter on the computer screen: :21, :22, :23. He too is leaning against the back of something—a chair this time—and he too is hunching forwards making sure he’s got a good view of both the computer screen and the door.

There are strings between them. Oscillating, nervous strings making up the forces that pull their two bodies together, just as Brian Greene theorizes.

Vibrations climb into their ear buds—sound waves—the exact same sound waves at the exact same frequency. At the exact same time.

Electromagnetic radiation shoots into their eyes in the form of visible light.

The vibrations are full of more energy than any string at the atomic level has ever held. They are pink and gold and have tints of white. They are like the music emanating from the speakers—she explains, “When you hear it, it’s so light and effortless. But I bet on paper it’s uh pretty intense.”

He agrees with vibrant eyes. He agrees with an elsewhere, sarcastic smile. He agrees with a look that she thinks reads, “I don’t want to leave.”

You. This school. This part of my life.


She wonders if he will ever think of this moment after this moment. And she is almost sure he will. She is almost sure he will.

http://video.aol.com/video-detail/liszt-concert-etude-no3-un-sospiro/478098224/?icid=VIDURVMUS10