Awkward at It's Finest

One of many reasons life is wonderful is for the moments that keep it interesting: meeting new people in new places and having a conversation over pizza and a beverage is such an instance. These are times that happen unexpectedly with a little effort and a lot of fun. But there are also those moments that are interesting but not quite as comfortable: those moments you would like to see the expression on your face to remember how baffled you were. Tonight was one of those.

I believe that people who buy things at Barnes and Noble are normal; the most outrageous are those who sit and read there. I have proof.

So it's the night before Thanksgiving. I'm minding my own business reading Newsweek at 10 pm to get educated on Iraq and memory loss when I see a dark, disheveled figure approach me. He gives it the old,
"It's too loud over there. Do you mind?" Before I have a chance to say "heck yes," the 20 something character plops his books down and throws out the always trusty line,"You look like...a scientist." Yeah... "You know, like the girl on Jurassic Park?"

I haven't really blinked at this point, nor have I removed my hand from my clenched cheek. I have never been so good at being rude, or so I thought. I soon learn within seven gruelling minutes that this fellow is a security guard, working on a graphic novel, feels very "screwed up," although wants to be a psychology teacher, and has once healed a man via hypnosis. To the last comment (since I've remembered after committing to listen for the pure sake of entertainment)I reply,

"Well, that's nice. Maybe you should start charging people for that." I'm pretty sure that's the longest sentence I manage.

To say the least, I'm a bit uncomfortable, throwing equally uncomfortable glares back at him, which he never takes as the intended, "I hate this. Leave me alone." I basically act like I have no life in response to the "personal life" question and tell him of my plan to leave early in the morning for Thanksgiving. I soon learn there is such a thing as a Jewish Thanksgiving. And, since I enjoy learning,I mangage to say, "Well, I didn't know that." I ask under my breath, "I wonder who they give thanks to?" to open up the converstation to Christianity, but soon decide after a few invasive glances from him against it. Instead, I wish him luck on his novel as he stands guard by the hospital.

Instead of leaving, he asks the "so what are your passions" question, to which I reply, "I teach kids because we get to talk about life in the classroom." He doesn't seem to connect school to that and just has a puzzled look on his face. The one-way conversation lasts a few more minutes and I let him ramble, recording the said comments over and over in my mind for later reference.

I soon melt with relief when he gets the call for his toasted bagel. Lastly, since I'm apparently nice despite what I think, I leave the table while I can, catching his eye as I wave him off with my copy of The New Yorker. Afterwards are the moments when you tell the cashier you don't need a bag because it takes too long and you want out of that store. But, you also know you've just experienced a pretty hilarious situation and can't wait to tell someone about it.

The irony of it all is that I just read an article on memory loss and how we purposely memorize things we'll need later. I found myself doing that same things while I conversed with this very strange stranger. I do find it/him/the situation humorous, but also disheartening in ways I won't go into that involve how messed up some people get. But those people do end up becoming brilliant writers-the crazy ones always do. I would be lying if I didn't say I'm the slightest bit jealous. I would be lying if I did not say I'm glad to be at home on my couch, too.

The Where You Are's

Are the past six meals you've eaten out,
Are the cheap Mexican dinners that left you feeling good,
Are watching the far from classy realtiy shows with your roomate,
Are the cups of coffee waiting for conversation,
Are the trips where you spend more money than you should
but waste more time than you'll have in the future.
Are the best times when you realize they exist within
the in betweens.
Are the moments when you stop writing misunderstood poetry
and letting yourself be made fun of as you do.

The In-Betweens

It's 24 when everyone else is 25.
It's seeing an unused raquet meant for spring but it's winter.
It's reading about a girl with leukemia wondering if you'll experience it.
It's listening to that song and wanting to dance,but sitting on a day bed in pajamas.
It's seeing Christmas lights before Thanksgiving.
It's the photos with unshared stories and no place in an album.
It's a wool sweater when it's 65.
It's the dreamed up conversation when you get a look instead.
It's paying rent and always thinking it's temporary.
It's a sponge when the floor needs a Swiffer.
It's reorganizing when the computer waits for words.
It's writing this poem when you fight confessional journaling.
It's what we do when we're too busy, too careful, too unsure.
It's in-between: the young ones cry over it, the wise ones laugh
or just live.
It's not going to breakfast with a couple of 13-yr-olds and planning to just listen.
That's just being where you are and sometimes
That's enough.