bear with me

Hey. I have a crazy idea, but bear with me.

Let’s run away.

Let’s go to a place like Paris, or a place like Boston, or a place like New York, or a place like Peru. A place like that, but where there’s no hate. Where you can just breathe deep and breathe easy without a worry of who’s trying to kill you or who’s trying to kill your family or which friend’s name you’ll find on a list or how you’ll explain to children you don’t yet have why there are people who hate them. Because who hates children? Because people won’t hate children in this place. It’ll be fun.

There’ll be deep sea diving and deep breathing and homemade smoothies whenever things get a little stressful, because, I don’t know, some sand just won’t come out of your shoe or something. Because that will be the biggest problem, because there won’t be hate and there won’t be violence and there won’t be panic and there won’t be cell phones and there won’t be biased reporting that changes the course of history because there will be no hate.

Nope, no hate. Only smoothies.

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tmi

JESS sits on a chair on one end of the stage. Faces and speaks toward audience.
MICHAEL, FRANNIE, and EMMA sit on a panel of chairs on the other side. Face audience, speak toward JESS.

All #s should be pronounced “hashtag” aloud. / denotes interruption.

JESS
Stop telling me about your cats. No one cares about the freaking cats!

FRANNIE
My Lil Shmuffy is the absolute cutest! #catsarethecutest!

JESS
Stop. Telling. Me. About your cats. I don’t care.

FRANNIE
Look! Shmuffy’s drinking my bottle of wine! #catsarethecutest!

JESS
Do you even get how hashtags—

FRANNIE
#CATSARETHECUTEST!!!

JESS
I’m going to unfriend you, I’m not even kid—

FRANNIE
This is my Schmuffy in a beanie I made him! #catinthehat

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ode to that guy

We all know That Guy, she says with a sly smile, who has no idea what he’s doing. Don’t be That Guy.

That Guy, she says, who skips the stone without regard for the ripples that cause the tsunami.
That Guy, for whom we buy pom poms and paint posters, just to see he benched himself again.
That Guy, who buys pom poms and paints posters for us, just to see he missed the game by a day.

But what about the That Guy, who skips the stone without regard for the ripples that cause the wave we catch and ride on a day of dismal waters?

That Guy, who buys pom poms and paints posters for us one day late, who remind us that losing sucks, but hey, at least we have That Guy?
That Guy we’ve barely ever spoken to, who as we walk away from a random friendly run-in one afternoon, shouts after us that he likes our blogs?
That Guy, who instead of sensibly telling us to go to sleep, talks us through the anxieties of time differences at 3:45 AM?

Yeah, That Guy may be a girl or a boy. That Guy may be an idiot for skipping stones without regard for whom they may hit. That Guy may be a tweeter, a copywriter, a best friend, a tourist photographer, or even an elevator hummer. And That Guy has no idea what he’s doing. That Guy has no concept of the grins, the giggles, the glimmers, or the pushes up the hill he’s given me.

It occurred to me recently that I’m That Guy Who Takes Those Guys for Granted, and no one wants to be that kind of That Guy.

So thank you, That Guy, although you have no idea who you are. I aspire to be you.

trade

I still remember the way James eyed me down last Monday as he moved the Kit Kat across the desk.

“What are you willing to offer?” He raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes.

My hands were already sticky from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch, and the moisture developing in my palms didn’t help. Don’t show him, I thought. You got this.

I glared into his dark blue eyes and refused to look at the chocolate bar. “How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.

James tilted his head back, cackled, then stopped abruptly and leaned in. “My product is some of the finest this class has ever seen. Heck, the finest this 4th grade has ever seen!” He paused. “So really, what choice do you have?”

“I have plenty,” I assured, though he and I knew I had none. I stole a glance at the rainbow clock on the wall. Recess was over and we both sensed it. Panting and chatty, our competitors filed into the room and took their seats.

“Well then,” he snickered as he sat back in his chair, “get back to me when those options run out.”

I dug my nails into the plastic baggie of cut up apples in my hand, took out my favorite Powerpuff Girls folder, and did my best not to show how upset I was when my nail polish came off or even look in his direction. With one last bit of guts, right as Mrs. Greener was about to start, I turned to him and whispered, “not gonna happen.”

I really hope he didn’t notice I clenched my apples into sauce.
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bobbing for apples

Today, I neglected to remember one fact per apple I hoarded from the cafeteria:

a. I was not going straight back to my dorm

b. I was not carrying a bag, and

c. I cannot juggle.

(a) thus I walked down the street like an idiot (b) holding two apples in one hand and one apple and my phone in the other, like one of those people who juggles at a talent show but hasn’t realized the music already started.

(c),  I bet if I was juggling, people would be pretty impressed.

It turns out this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Let’s remain in metaphor, yes? I’m tempted to take apples because I figure they’ll be good for later then remember that they’re devilishly inconvenient for me now. I forget that I cannot juggle without going from three apples to none, or three apples to three very badly bruised apples.

Because it’s not just about the apples. It’s all the stuff I might be good at; all the stuff I’d like; where I’m needed, when I need it. When I need to help, fix, jump, slide, stay awake, fret, laugh, yell, smile, smile more… and carry three apples.

They say, keep your head above water, but as it turns out I can bob in and out sometimes and still swim against the tide.

They say, bob for one apple at a time.

They say, you can’t juggle.

I know, one day, I might end up on the bottom of the ocean with three bruised apples floating above my head.

They say, don’t mix metaphors.

But I still try, and I’m not sure why.

the true college tour

Slightly abridged version, written for a final paper, based on Lucian’s “The True History.”

Welcome to Barnard! My name is Tova, and I’ll be your tour guide today! It’s hard to believe that it’s been a whole two years since I’ve been in your place: eager to find an academic institution that would find me worthy, eager to find the perfect place to accumulate knowledge and experience. So eager, in fact, that I spent many a sleepless night studying for the SATs, working on supplementary essays, and staring at my computer screen in a stress coma. If I’m not mistaken, that young lady over there is falling asleep just as I talk! Don’t worry, bud. If you’re not up for this tour, please go and take a nap. There’s a really comfy couch on the third floor of that building over there.

In fact, I’m going to give all of you a break. Whether this is your first college tour or your fiftieth, I’m sure you’ve all heard the same El Dorado spiels of grassy lawns and peppy clubs. Some places even create their own unique forms of deceit! I won’t go on calling out other colleges, but I might as well mention the University of Pennsylvania, who told you that there’s plenty to do in the city of Philadelphia; or Boston University, who told you that despite the huge campus, everyone knows each other by name; or the University of Maryland, which claims it houses a bowling alley. Obviously, none of this is possible. But it makes for a hell of a tour, so Barnard followed suit. For the past sixty days, I’ve given countless tours spewing the same old bullshit you’ve all heard since you engaged in this downward spiral that is college apps. I’m not so shocked by the corruption of the tours as much as I am by the credulity of all the suckers I’ve brought around. So, you know what? I can use a break too! Let’s be honest with each other, shall we? I’m going to tell you, right here, right now, that I have no intention whatsoever of telling the truth throughout our time together. This should be fun. Let’s get started!
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break

There’s a
Titanium
Rod
Fused to my
Spine
And I’m
Entirely
Unco-
Ordinated
Which begs the
Question
Why do I love to
Dance?
Now,
Please don’t
Misunderst-
And,
I’m not
Good at
It
In fact I’m
Pretty clum-
Sy and awkward
Just to watch
But when I dance
I get to
Let go
For just a few breaths,
Get to feel as if I have my life together in a way that flows
Get to move like I have any idea what I’m doing
Reach towards the sky and down to the ground and then
My back brakes
Knocks
A reminder
You can’t go that
Far
But I’ll tell
You, it’s worth
Those split sec-
Onds
Of my life moving to the beat

fast forward

Rewind back a second and I’m leaving
Mom, papers, pictures, all I’d recorded
For as long as I can play. Rewind back
To when I left what I knew to learn
Because I knew it was about time

Seems before I’ve gotten my suitcase to close
I’ve tripped in transition, desperate to tip
back my head and drift asleep. I keep leaving
Class, can’t space out my schedule
Without spacing out. I may never learn

Soon I see that there’s a world to learn
To keep my eyes open for. Soon I lose track
Of time, and not just because a new friend
Bumped into my clock during one
of our way-too-late-night heart-to-hearts

During break, I fly back
And quickly learn
This may be the first time
I’ve been so close
To the group I’d soon be leaving

The second I get back I’m desperate for more
To reach, to learn all the books at the back
Of the beit midrash, the ones I’d been
Planning to leave and learn before
Time slipped away

I slipped into denial, told myself it was never time
To fast forward. But I had to leave
But it hasn’t left me yet
No self-definition found, but I keep rewinding
And damn, I’ve come close
Still hoping to learn how to pause…

Stay tuned.

star gazing

*Crisp night air whirls around us
We grin at each other and start a race down the path
I’m running, and my jacket blows into a cape
Flying behind me as I start to laugh like crazy
Surrounded by new, perfectly crazy friends

While stopping to take a breath, the sky
Captivates me in its spectacular clarity
Stark black filled with millions of breathtakingly random sparks
I tip back my head and imagine for a moment that I’m
Flying and floating up among the lights

We choose to lie down in the middle of this path
Surrounded by a sleeping city, but it’s never too late for
Flying. Chatting and gazing while every so often
A hum slips from one of our smiles by accident

Then against my conscious will, breaking the
Calm, a giggle bursts out and moves the friends I’m
Surrounded by to stare for a moment then chuckle along
We keep laughing
So comfortable on the rough, hot, unsound gravel that
We decide to stay for just a bit longer*

the pros and cons of having an imaginary friend

Pros:

  • Stays up late just like you
  • Likes the same things as you
  • Caring
  • Good listener
  • Never more talented than you
  • Always picks your side
  • Always wants you on imaginary team
  • Judgmental looks are invisible
  • You never have to sit alone at the movies

Cons:

  • Keeps you up late
  • Friends sit on him sometimes “by accident”
  • Friends are clearly jealous
  • Easily offended
  • Lacks dimension
  • Doesn’t tie his shoes according to the Shulchan Aruch
  • Insists the Twilight series has value as literature
  • Inability to save you a seat
  • You need to explain to other people why you are not actually sitting alone at the movies
  • Other people’s judgmental looks are not invisible
  • Prefers the term “reality-challenged”