A Cold Night (SOL #4)

A Cold Night

I'm pretty sure my feet control my body temperature, so it was not a smart idea to wear ten dollar "boots" from Target. Especially when said "boots" were bought in Texas, a state that has no concept of cold weather's effects on the body. My northern friends laugh at the thought of 40 degrees being considered freezing, but when the air is saturated with humidity, it's a wet cold that chills you to the core. It was, in fact, so cold that the ring of heat from the bonfire radiated a mere inches from the flame itself. Every time the wind blew, ashes peppered my clothing.

"You might want to get away from the fire," a stranger at the party warned me. I skipped away just as the Black Cats he threw in popped off in quick succession, sounding like machine gun fire. Away from the smoke, I saw the party in full swing. Cheap champagne and Fireball bottles were being passed around and shared among people who clearly did not know about or understand the recent flu outbreaks.

I stayed away. It had been years since I enjoyed a party, and I contemplated why and when I had become such a wet blanket. "I bet you twenty bucks you won't cross it," one guy said to another, motioning toward the display of logs and branches that kept the bonfire alight.

"I would not take that bet. That is really stupid," I told the first guy. He looked at the fire, truly wondering if the feat was possible. He really couldn't be that much older than me, but older than me he was, and I was the one talking sense to him.

"Do you even have the money?" He chided to his buddy.
"Do it and find out."

In the blink of an eye, I wished I was literally a wet blanket.

Slice of Life #3: 9.5.17

My Second First Day of School

Most people would be thrilled to have a redo of their first day of the school year. That’s not to say that I wasn’t happy to see my students or be back in my routine. In fact, those things were amazing. But the circumstances in which I got to redo my first day of the school year were not. The three-day Labor Day weekend started early and lasted eight extra days due to a jackass named Harvey. Hurricane Harvey. I knew that when I went back to school, several students that I see daily would be considered homeless. I knew that the backpacks and neat shoes they were so proud of two weeks ago were gone, replaced by second-hand ones they did not pick out themselves.

The kids started to arrive, and I was greeted with smiles and hugs. I almost wondered if I had dreamed it all up--the storm, the devastation, the horror. Then it hit me. While these kids may have lost their homes to raging flood waters, their toys and their clothes, they gained something wonderful. In every place throughout every drowned city, there was love. People across the nation came to aid those who have nothing left. The students staying in shelters see all different types of people helping to feed them, clothe them, and make them feel safe and warm. The students at home undoubtedly saw the news their parents were watching in which ordinary citizens risked their lives to rescue people off of rooftops.

My students that I thought would come to me at least mildly depressed got to see the best of humanity. We got to talk about the ways that people can help whenever possible, and I do believe that even through this tragedy, we all came out as better people. Maybe Harvey isn’t that much of a jackass after all.

Reflection

Excuse the language, but it’s true. There’s not much reflection for this one. I feel that it speaks for itself.

Slice of Life #2: 8.29.17

Harvey, Go Home

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Text messages come flowing into my phone as fast as the waters in the creeks outside.

“Are you safe?”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Let me know if you need help.”

Never in my life has rain been less relaxing. My mind whirls with thoughts of my parents’ house with my childhood inside, the storage room with my life inside, and my classroom with my livelihood inside. When will it end?

The news reports are less than helpful for my immediate area, but show the devastation in downtown Houston. Places I know well and visit often are replaced with lakes created by the Buffalo Bayou and buckets of rain.

It’s weird. As some reports suggest, people are wondering why Houston didn’t evacuate since it is a well-known flood plain. But, being here, you don’t realize how bad it is until it’s bad. When I look out my window, I don’t see standing water. I don’t see the creek overflowing. I only see pictures on television or Facebook. You think it’s over, but then the rain comes again, and you are left wondering: Do I pack a bag? Do I try to get in the car and leave? Do I stay and watch as my belongings and memories sink to the bottom of the water?

Reflection:

I had never thought of writing as a release before this storm. I tried to read my grad school books, but couldn’t get my mind off the words I wanted to write down for this challenge. I really don’t have much to say other than I am luckier than most right now. I have power, food, water, clothes, and my family and friends are safe (for the most part). If you feel called to help, please seek out donations and make sure they are legitimate first. My school district has damaged schools, but Houston ISD will for sure need more help. Teachers will need books, supplies, anything. Thank you.

Slice of Life #1: 8.8.17

A Trip to the Dentist

I may be the only person in the world that isn't afraid of a root canal. Each time I told someone about my upcoming appointment, it was as if someone had died. "Oh my, I'm so sorry," they would say morosely. I started to feel like maybe I should be scared, but I had jaw surgery six years ago and nothing can be as bad as that recovery. 

Ding! I walked into the cozy waiting room. Michelle, the receptionist, had her usual smile plastered on her face as if everyone who enters is as happy to be here as she is. My Valium started working shortly after my arrival, and the room was beginning to spin. The dental assistant took me to the back.

The next thing I knew, the root canal was done. See, I thought to all those people who tried to scare me, that wasn't so bad. 

Reflection

Coming up with an idea for a story was not the hard part of this challenge. It was thinking about how to tell it in a way that didn't drag on. I tend to be wordy with narrative essays. I am working on my figurative language because grad school has taken the creativity in my writing away. I see places that I could expand on--more happened in the chair that I remember, but again, I didn't want to drag it out. 

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