Jun. 04, 2003 - 19:27:22
Dear Vincent,
What to wear?
It's a question I muse over just about as often as I muse over breathing (that is to say, hardly at all). Every morning, I get up and in my pajamas, pad to the window, snap up the shade and place my hand flat against the glass in the window. If the glass is cold, I wear long sleeves; freezing, a sweater then; warm, short sleeves and pants; hot, a skirt and tank top. Obviously, there are other small decisions to make, shoes, and earrings and other things. But that is how I put together the staple of the outfit I will wear for the day. In the back of my mind, I know that this system is slightly ridiculous. On a freezing day, the glass may be made tepid from the sun. Yet, with some regard to the season and precipitation or lack there of, I get by.
Saturday was a godsend. The sun saw fit to show its face for the first half of the day. Arthur and I had plans to run errands together. It seems an unusual thing for friends to have plans for- and I suspect that it is unusual. But Arthur is busy, as am I, and sometimes in order to fit each other in, putting aside time necessitates running errands during that period of time. So Arthur picked me up and we zigzagged across town. Our final stop was the car wash. (The car wash has conceivably been the undoing of most of Arthur's romantic endeavors within the past few years.) For most drivers, a visit to the carwash consists of deciding wax/no wax, a brief pull through a maelstrom of soapy water and occasionally dealing with the terrified, squalling three year old in the backseat who believes unwaveringly that the carwash is going to eat them. As you may have concluded, going to the carwash with Arthur is none so standard. Arthur, who is very frugal about himself, will not pay the $7.50 to have his car washed automatically. His reasoning? Why pay $7.50, when you could pay just $2.50 to wash it yourself? The hitch is: for each quarter deposited the self wash only gives you 25 seconds of water, soap and the like. If you run out of time, you have to redeposit the starting fee of $1.50. (And so the plot thickens...) Inside the carwash, there is a panel with a single knob on the wall. It is there that the quarters are deposited and the knob is switched around to select things like, "Rinse," "Wax," "Shine," or "Foaming Brush."
It is the job of whomever is with Arthur, to deposit the quarters, yell, "Go!" the second all the quarters are deposited and flip the switch accordingly as Arthur barks out things like, "FOAMING BRUSH!" with a serious look on his face. I am not sure that I would be capable of hollering something like "Foaming Brush" with a serious look. Arthur himself, is a sight to see. He ricochets around the car scrubbing and rinsing, hopping, lunging and skidding and yelling inquiringly, desperately from time to time, "TIME?" Admittedly, I enjoy informing him he has much less time than he does, but he caught on after a while. Though he sincerely promises that he will not get you wet, without fail the soap slaps to the ground and spatters and speckles my legs. And when I change the knob to "Wax" as it mists in a haze across the car I can feel it settling intimately across my skin and clinging to my hair. When time runs up, Arthur puts his arms up and yells triumphantly, "GAME!" and then he laughs. If Arthur did not laugh about himself with me, I may feel altogether more adverse to the carwash. I leave smelling of lemon and gleaming in the way a clean car should, except for the fact that I am not a clean car at all, but a girl.
When Arthur brings me to the carwash, it is a sure sign that his current relationship is on the down and out. At first, the girl plays along. She convinces herself that quirkiness is cute, that she doesn't mind the soap or the wax. Aren't we all on our best behavior in the early phases of a relationship. But after a time, the spattering soap and the lemon wax begin to grate. And soon other things do too, and before you know it... So when Arthur needs me to be his second in command at the carwash I know, as they say, that "it won't be long now." There are other signs. Most recently, he woefully informed me, "She doesn't believe in aliens." "Oh dear," I answered gravely. This is how I know, when his girlfriend is all 'washed' up.
Some things change with a great deal of pomp and glamour, and some things change imperceptibly. Jeff, a person who has never figured significantly into my life beyond casual conversations in front of a copy machine has suddenly become very significant. I suppose that ideally, social hierarchy is something we are all expected to know better than by a time we reach a certain age. Yet it still exists, but rather than be forthright about the games they play, people just deny their existence. Jeff and I, each existing as the other's antithesis it seemed, thus have never had the initiative nor desire to get to know the other, due largely in part to differing scenes. This weekend Jeff and I had a conversation that changed everything, perceptibly. Small talk to forth righted ness. And so facing Jeff today was suspiciously like whiplash. Momentum, and the curious, queasy moment when we found, having skipped the 'what's you favorite color?' phase, we weren't quite sure what to say. The awkwardness was replaced by awareness. Have you ever noticed when you get something new, that you are practically perfectly aware of it? Like a new cat, whenever you move you look down to make sure it isn't somewhere by and you won't stumble over it. But when you've had the cat for a while, you're just as like to fall right over it and even be irritated with the cat as you dash about the kitchen. That's what a new friendship is like. Where before I would have had to extract myself willfully from my thoughts to nod and smile at Jeff, now it is difficult to disregard his presence even when we are both otherwise occupied. Life is filled with stupid ironies. In any case I am glad to have made a friend.
I am absolutely livid about something that happened two days ago, and so naturally I will regale and rant to you Vincent. I have a friend Nick, who is very much, self made. For as long as I can remember, Nick has never relied on anyone. Not even his parents, who admittedly, could not be relied on. Nick always loved school- because it was a refuge. So Nick learned everything there was to know about cars, including how to put them together and take them apart and made an early start of it on his own. Julie, a good friend of Nick's is also self made, but in a different way. One of the hardest things I know of, is refuting the concepts you are raised to believe to be the truth. Julie grew up in a household with some very backward views (racism etc.) and at the age of 18 decided after reading 'The Outsiders' that the things she'd been raised to know as truth could be wrong. In my opinion it takes the strongest of minds and of individuals to intelligently question everything you've always known to be true. And the group Nick and Julie hang out with are all various types of self made people. However, they are a crowd that appears less than respectable. There is an abundance of tattoos and piercing, and as you can imagine, they are a group quickly and widely assessed as 'trouble.' The other evening I ran into them in the bookstore. I ran through to pick up a book about Russian history. Natural talker that I am, I was still talking when the mother of a very close friend and her friends approached us. I introduced her around, made small talk and excused myself as I was in a hurry. The next day I ran into her again in the food store, and the conversation went something like this:
Her: Oh Meghan, we were just wondering, you weren't there with those people last night were you?
Not registering what she was asking me: Pardon?
Her: You know, at the bookstore, you were just passing through, you weren't there with those people?
Still not registering: Right, I was just passing through to pick up a book.
Her: Oh thank god! We were just wondering.
We said our goodbyes and I was about five steps away when the anger hit. Without knowing them, she made a snap judgment on Julie and Nick. And then, without considering that perhaps, they were my friends, she asked me a question that implied insult to them. How dare she diminish them! How could she have the audacity to never bother to find out who they are. They who have worked so hard for everything they are and everything they have and been given nothing and this is how they are treated. And, further more, what would she have done had I had the clarity of mind to say yes? I desperately wish that I had focused on what she was saying and answered, "Yes I was there with them" with my best challenging raised eyebrows. Would she have thought the less of me? How is it, Vincent, that people grow out of so many things characteristic of childhood, swings and chalk and tag and silly insults and cooties... but they never grow out of stereotype and snap judgment?
Lividly,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
