The Old Mill

 The Old Mill in the middle of the desert. It was further from the parking lot that it seemed. Two miles round trip didn't account for the getting lost and the getting lost a second time. There was a broken down old car decaying. Felt like the end of the road. Beyond only mountains. Walked a little further. A large man was walking toward me. Was he a mirage? He wore a bright white mask. I asked, "Is the old mill further?" He seemed tired. "Yeah, it's just under that ridge." He pointed. I followed his finger down. There was nothing there. A woman appeared, huffing and puffing behind him. She grumpily futzed with a medical mask in her pocket trying to get it on before I passed. She was so worked up she broke it, announced so, and held it over her face. Lots going on there.

Kept walking and walking. When we arrived at the park the ranger eyed our shorts and said she hoped we had warmer clothes. We had sweatshirts. It was so quiet and chilly. Now, unplanned hours later, the sun was getting hot and we were out of water. Suddenly the mill. It appeared only once we were there.

I loved it immediately. Blue and tin, a broken track. I longer to touch the wooden side, but it was behind a fence. A small room with a mysterious window. I stared into it. Who used to stare out? Alone and clear.

Why was it so beautiful to me? I was in a natural wonder and my favorite part was the heap of garbage. It was people's livelihoods and it didn't work out. Maybe my whole self electrifies because either they hated it and became free. Or they put all their hopes in the world in that shack and it broke their hearts, but something else happened. Was it a mirage?

The rivers run, but soon run dry. / We need new dreams tonight.

The Battle of Who Could Care Less

"Congratulations," he told me. "For what?" I asked. He told me it was an honor to join NHS. It wasn't (to me). Like, everyone who applied got in. I mean, sure, you have to have a 3.5 GPA and commit to community service or whatever, but I really didn't care. I actually didn't even want to join. It felt like some weird fake pat on the back club. The point? Unclear. I was leery of what we were "supposed" to do to get into college. The things I really cared about didn't seem to be relevant, and I resented that. The SAT was supposed to be a great equalizer, but the rich kids all took a Saturday class.

I could have dropped it, but I felt spicy. He never congratulated me on anything. Truly nothing. We went to speech tournaments almost every weekend where I went on stage and got trophies and usually only the freshmen marveled. I worked very hard, but I did it alone in my bedroom. I stopped having nerves after my first round of junior year. I came in cool and did my thing and left with hardware. I was cast as the lead in the school play. I narrowly got an A in physics. But he didn't even shrug. It didn't bother me. I accepted that any and all high school achievements were fake. He was punk-ish, so naturally, he would too. But then he said congrats on the stupidest extra curricular activity known to teen. And I just knew, knew, so suddenly and surely it was because he was in it. I wasn't graceful.

"It's interested you told me congratulations for that. Because you don't tell me congrats for anything else." A shadow of disgust before he shrugged and went to his desk. A couple rows from mine. A few weeks later, I, still trying to make good on my philosophy that none of it mattered was talking to a friend. "I guess I don't really care I got a Nationals spot. I already accepted my place at the state drama program." He turned around, from within a separate conversation, feet or miles away, just to say, "Liar." Now I shrugged.

But I did end up skipping the drama program for Nationals. My coach told me either choice was a good choice, but people who do really well usually go twice. The decision makes no sense to me now, and I don't think it did then either. I've always liked theatre more than standing around doing monologues in classrooms. I wanted to badly to go to that program. There'd been a write-up about me winning the invite in the local paper. My friend Jimbo cut it out and gave it to me and everything. I don't remember the day I called and said I wasn't coming. Or why.

Dancing in the Streets

Yesterday my neighborhood erupted in an all-day party. It was torture it happened this way, but the payoff was so sweet. I woke up so early yesterday, in a sad mood. The heaviness of all these days weighed on all of us. But I was also heavy for other reasons. This has been a record year in self-exploration for me. Every month could be one hundred years. I remember adults saying of their teens and twenties--"I didn't know who I was." And I would also respect that but think to myself, "That's so strange. I know exactly who I am." I wasn't wrong exactly. I just didn't know why I was, and now I think I do--or at least I know I am finding out.

So I woke up early. Before 6. Rain on the forecast, I decided to run immediately. Been going without headphones for the past few months. Trying truly to imagine and clear my head. The pitter pat began. It felt right and not too intolerable. I finished my route as the real droplets started falling.

Since it was still early I decided on a rare bath. I lit a candle and tried my new celebrity stress relief fizz. In the quiet, in the dark, I tried to do the exercises my therapist encouraged me to do. I sat in a hot little ball, hugging my knees. Willing foreign thoughts out. I had just stepped out and toweled off when I heard Puhg knock at the door. I opened it and I couldn't read his face. He just asked if I had looked at my phone, which I hadn't. But I knew. All I had to do was ask, "Did it happen?" And he said yes. We ran to the living room, turned on CNN. My student from Chicago had texted, "yayyyy!" It was 8:33. I ran to the balcony and screamed 'IT'S OVER!" A woman across the street was also out in her pajamas yelling in joy. I just screamed and screamed and screamed as though being exorcised. Neighbors all came onto their balconies to do the same. I walked out the front door to the interior foyer of our building and yelped, "GOODBYE DONALD TRUMP!" Apartments erupted in cheers and applause. Puhg started pacing around not knowing what to do with this adrenaline. He said he wished he had a sign. He started desperately taping together printer paper. I brought him 2019's vision board. He flipped it over and wrote "YOU'RE FIRED" on it. I was in a sweatshirt and pj shorts. We ran outside and starting jumping. People slowly joined. Cars honked and honked and honked. So many windows down blasting FYDT. My favorite was seeing this girl I know from the building standing quietly with her arms crossed, just sort of taking it in. But twenty minutes later she was cheering, then screaming. A woman was driving by, screeched into an open street spot, got out, surveyed the scene, kinda clapped a little bit. About an hour later I saw her skipping around with a Harris sign she inexplicably found. We brought down a bottle of champagne and popped it in the street. My favorite reality show host picked up the cork and took a photo with it. Someone brought out a boombox. A car pulled into the gas station across the street and people danced on their rooftops. I briefly entered the party zone, which was the true best. I stayed for one Beyonce song before deciding even though everyone was religiously masked and no one was touching, it was still a pandemic.

We were wiped by 1 PM. We picked up a tuna melt for Puhg down the street. We passed one of the hobbits having coffee. I ordered two Impossible Whoppers from Burger King and we watched that new Rashida Jones movie on Apple. The noise outside didn't stop. The crowd sang "Since U Been Gone." At 6 we watched the president-elect speak COHERENTLY to our country. He did not mention the stain in the office, and I like that. I laid in bed watching TikToks for I don't know how long. Played with the hamster. Went to bed early on the first cold night of the season under a new comforter.