Most of the time, she really liked her hair.
Her bangs were her favorite part. They were angled in such a way that they were shorter over her left eye, where her part was. They swooped over to the right, resting on the hinge of her glasses so that throughout the day they sort of crimped and curved to fit the shape her constant head-tossing forced them into.
She liked the bits right in front of her ears too. When she put her glasses on, she would hook her fingers up under the temples and pull those sections of hair down to fall in front of her ears and frame her jaw. Before she got a hair dryer, she would wait to do it until her hair had dried, so the bits would end up curved outwards from being forced behind her ears from her glasses.
She liked the color. Most of the time, that is. She had been dying it various kinds of red since tenth grade, and it had been so long since she'd really seen her natural hair color she was convinced it was an unflattering color. All she remembered of it was it was dark brown and boring. Once she had bleached her hair and dyed it bright orange, but that had faded to a kind of dried wheat and her roots had grown out. She liked to forget that hadn't happened, it had looked so strange.
Currently, her hair was a dark auburn. She liked how no matter how much she dyed it, her hair retained its natural highlights. She wasn't sure if it was just her hair, or if it was because she preferred natural dyes to the chemical ones.
She liked how it was cut, for the most part. If there wasn't a need to keep it the same until August, though, she knew she'd have someone cut it different, just for the change. Her bangs sloped down on both sides at different angles to a bob that hovered just above her shoulders. And every time she blow dried it, or washed it, she fretted over the length. The style was fine, it was the length that was getting bothersome. It hadn't been quite that long since the last time it had been brown. She would frequently feel the need to pull it back into some semblance of a ponytail, which more often than not ended up as a blob of hair held haphazardly up with an elastic. Recently, during a particularly boring math class, she had french braided her bangs from her part down the right side of her head and behind her ear. She wasn't sure if it looked right, but it served its purpose.
But mostly she liked how, when it was smooth and slightly curled from her new round brush, it would fall just so and she'd see someone that wasn't quite her but someone more.
Saturday, March 13
note on the future
sometimes i get the urge to just write stuff. like, random descriptive ideas that never end up anywhere and i never really mean for them to go anywhere. i just get ideas in my head and feel the need to expand on them.
so, i think that's what i'm going to put here. those random descriptions. rather than cluttering up my regular blog, i guess. hope that makes sense...
so, i think that's what i'm going to put here. those random descriptions. rather than cluttering up my regular blog, i guess. hope that makes sense...
Friday, November 13
november 7
Saturday. Finally! Eleanor stayed in bed until almost 11:30 that morning. When she did get up she grabbed her camera from where she’d left it the night before and took a picture of her just-woke-up-fuck-the-world face. That day was National “A Day in the Life of ____” Day, as created by a guy on Facebook. He made it one of his life goals to create a national holiday, and he was starting with Facebook. All a person had to do was document in some way (mainly pictures) what they did that day.
Looking at her phone she realized her inbox was getting ridiculously full. So she deleted messages, starting at the bottom. Click.
Finally climbing from bed her feet met cold vinyl flooring. She shivered and decided she needed some nice fuzzy socks. After all, the upstairs wood floor wouldn’t be any better. Click.
She carried several plastic cups from her bedside table up to the kitchen and loaded them in the dishwasher. Click. She put the kettle on for oatmeal, finally having raisins to put in it. Click. She was starving and had a feeling just oatmeal wouldn’t cut it that morning so she popped two pieces of her preferred sourdough bread in the toaster. Click. Syrup bottle in the microwave, just to get it warm. Click.
The kettle was nearly whistling by the time the syrup was done, so she poured the water in her oatmeal bowl. Click. While that cooked she prepared her toast: one piece with honey peanut butter, one with butter and apricot jam. Click. She dropped a pat of butter in her oatmeal, poured syrup all along the edge, and put a small handful of raisins in as well. Click. Breakfast is served. She poured herself a glass of the last of her chocolate almond milk and popped an Aleve to try to head-off any pain before it got ridiculously bad. Click. She went back down to her room and climbed in bed to eat. Click.
--
In no time at all it was 3:30. And Eleanor was still in bed. She had finished her breakfast quite a while ago but hadn’t bothered to do anything else. She checked the (fucking) weather, trying to justify why she was still in bed that late. Unfortunately it was a pleasant 63°. Oh well. Click.
Finally she decided she needed to start the day. After all, as Laura had pointed out, that night there was a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show in the Commons, and she needed to be ready for that. She took a shower (click, click) and sent a text inviting others to join Laura and herself (click).
After finally getting dressed (click) she went upstairs to make herself some dinner. For a couple weeks now she had been planning to make her own gravy fries, knowing that she wouldn’t get a chance to eat any for a while (it had been pure luck that the pizza place she went to with a few friends the last time she was home had some). She set the oven to preheat and covered her baking sheet in frozen fries. Click. After putting the tray in the oven, she set about making the gravy from a mix. Click.
While waiting for everything to cook, she noticed the pomegranate on a container next to the stove. I really need to eat that soon. Click.
Finally all was ready. She emptied the tray of fries into a large bowl and poured the gravy over it all. Click. The gravy-to-fry ratio was a little low, so she solved that by pouring the rest of her parmesan cheese on it all, thus creating a simple and slightly strange version of poutine (a Canadian dish of fries covered in gravy and fresh cheese or cheese curds). Click. She sat down to eat her rather unhealthy dinner.
Friday Yasha had gone up to Boston with his girlfriend and a couple friends to see a show. His friends were going for the opening band, who they knew, while he was more interested in the headliner: Dana Fuchs, of Across the Universe fame. Eleanor received a call from him, asking if she could look up directions to a club they were trying to find. She tried her best, but not knowing exactly where they were her help didn’t do much. After hanging up she took a picture of her computer screen with the map still on it.
While waiting for news on Rocky Horror from Laura, she decided to make cookies. They were her usual chocolate chip ones, though the product was far from store-bought cookies. She used the recipe her mom gave her before heading back to school that summer, which in turn was from her mother. Knowing she was baking history seemed to make the cookies better. Liz certainly thought so.
“So, you’re my favorite roommate ever. Don’t tell Cesley, but you are.”
Eleanor smiled and continued baking. Click click click.
Just as she was plopping cookie dough on the baking sheet she got a call from Laura. She continued haphazardly dropping spoonfuls of delicious dough on the pan with the phone pressed to her ear by her shoulder. The small group of Laura, Anna, Nicole, and Eleanor were going to meet at Anna’s apartment to prepare before heading over to the Commons. Eleanor said she would come when she got to a stopping point in her baking.
--
After putting the second tray in she went down to her room to get dressed. Laura was bringing her a jacket for her, and she was excited to dress up.
The year before she had dressed as Columbia, complete with a light orange tube top and black leggings, slicked back hair, and makeup done in her style. Angela went as Magenta and Nicole had butchered some scrubs to go as Frank after killing Eddie. This year, however, she couldn’t really spare the effort. Instead she was going as a random party guest with her black-and-white (and red, the result of two zombie walks) plaid pants, a tight red top, and her sexy boots. She had been looking for an excuse to wear those boots for a while now. They were while pleather platform gogo boots, and she loved them.
Coming back upstairs, carrying the boots in their box, she sat down to wait for the cookies to finish.
--
It’s just before 8:30 when Anna, Laura, and Eleanor leave for the show. At first the other two had expressed worry over Eleanor’s ability to walk in her massive boots, but she soon showed a mastery of them. After all, she told them, she had worn them to several conventions and even a few random school days in high school. She had plenty of practice, and always found a strange joy in being five inches taller. It certainly threw others off.
Upon arrival at the Commons, they located the ballroom that would be showing the cult favorite and queued up to get their props. Into a small paper bag went a sandwich bag of rice, a newspaper page, a glow stick, a party noisemaker, a piece of toilet paper, a rubber glove, a party hat, and a couple playing cards. They found seats near the front and sat down to wait for the event to begin.
--
Eleanor was quite pleased with herself for remembering several call-back lines. Not nearly as many as Nicole knew, but she was doing okay. She remembered all the cues for the props as least, and managed to not fall over or break her ankles while doing the Time Warp in her boots – especially given the amount of rice on the floor at that point. She left the ballroom with a distinct feeling of rice grains in her pants. Nicole had quite a lot in her hair.
On the way back to Anna’s they passed a restaurant that seemed to be having some sort of party. Out front was a line of about ten scooters. Nothing manly, like motorcycles, or anything hipster, like bikes, but slightly lame scooters. Click.
Not quite ready to go home yet, they ended up at a pizza place for some late night snacking. Nicole bought a pepperoni pizza to share. Click. They continued on to Anna’s, with Laura leaving them on the way to go back to her dorm. Eleanor gathered her things and left the jacket for Laura and led Anna and Nicole to her place for cookies. Click. She had to cut them off at one point before they ate them all.
[1425]
[11738/50000]
God, I'm so behind... I'm going to be spending today catching up.
Looking at her phone she realized her inbox was getting ridiculously full. So she deleted messages, starting at the bottom. Click.
Finally climbing from bed her feet met cold vinyl flooring. She shivered and decided she needed some nice fuzzy socks. After all, the upstairs wood floor wouldn’t be any better. Click.
She carried several plastic cups from her bedside table up to the kitchen and loaded them in the dishwasher. Click. She put the kettle on for oatmeal, finally having raisins to put in it. Click. She was starving and had a feeling just oatmeal wouldn’t cut it that morning so she popped two pieces of her preferred sourdough bread in the toaster. Click. Syrup bottle in the microwave, just to get it warm. Click.
The kettle was nearly whistling by the time the syrup was done, so she poured the water in her oatmeal bowl. Click. While that cooked she prepared her toast: one piece with honey peanut butter, one with butter and apricot jam. Click. She dropped a pat of butter in her oatmeal, poured syrup all along the edge, and put a small handful of raisins in as well. Click. Breakfast is served. She poured herself a glass of the last of her chocolate almond milk and popped an Aleve to try to head-off any pain before it got ridiculously bad. Click. She went back down to her room and climbed in bed to eat. Click.
--
In no time at all it was 3:30. And Eleanor was still in bed. She had finished her breakfast quite a while ago but hadn’t bothered to do anything else. She checked the (fucking) weather, trying to justify why she was still in bed that late. Unfortunately it was a pleasant 63°. Oh well. Click.
Finally she decided she needed to start the day. After all, as Laura had pointed out, that night there was a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show in the Commons, and she needed to be ready for that. She took a shower (click, click) and sent a text inviting others to join Laura and herself (click).
After finally getting dressed (click) she went upstairs to make herself some dinner. For a couple weeks now she had been planning to make her own gravy fries, knowing that she wouldn’t get a chance to eat any for a while (it had been pure luck that the pizza place she went to with a few friends the last time she was home had some). She set the oven to preheat and covered her baking sheet in frozen fries. Click. After putting the tray in the oven, she set about making the gravy from a mix. Click.
While waiting for everything to cook, she noticed the pomegranate on a container next to the stove. I really need to eat that soon. Click.
Finally all was ready. She emptied the tray of fries into a large bowl and poured the gravy over it all. Click. The gravy-to-fry ratio was a little low, so she solved that by pouring the rest of her parmesan cheese on it all, thus creating a simple and slightly strange version of poutine (a Canadian dish of fries covered in gravy and fresh cheese or cheese curds). Click. She sat down to eat her rather unhealthy dinner.
Friday Yasha had gone up to Boston with his girlfriend and a couple friends to see a show. His friends were going for the opening band, who they knew, while he was more interested in the headliner: Dana Fuchs, of Across the Universe fame. Eleanor received a call from him, asking if she could look up directions to a club they were trying to find. She tried her best, but not knowing exactly where they were her help didn’t do much. After hanging up she took a picture of her computer screen with the map still on it.
While waiting for news on Rocky Horror from Laura, she decided to make cookies. They were her usual chocolate chip ones, though the product was far from store-bought cookies. She used the recipe her mom gave her before heading back to school that summer, which in turn was from her mother. Knowing she was baking history seemed to make the cookies better. Liz certainly thought so.
“So, you’re my favorite roommate ever. Don’t tell Cesley, but you are.”
Eleanor smiled and continued baking. Click click click.
Just as she was plopping cookie dough on the baking sheet she got a call from Laura. She continued haphazardly dropping spoonfuls of delicious dough on the pan with the phone pressed to her ear by her shoulder. The small group of Laura, Anna, Nicole, and Eleanor were going to meet at Anna’s apartment to prepare before heading over to the Commons. Eleanor said she would come when she got to a stopping point in her baking.
--
After putting the second tray in she went down to her room to get dressed. Laura was bringing her a jacket for her, and she was excited to dress up.
The year before she had dressed as Columbia, complete with a light orange tube top and black leggings, slicked back hair, and makeup done in her style. Angela went as Magenta and Nicole had butchered some scrubs to go as Frank after killing Eddie. This year, however, she couldn’t really spare the effort. Instead she was going as a random party guest with her black-and-white (and red, the result of two zombie walks) plaid pants, a tight red top, and her sexy boots. She had been looking for an excuse to wear those boots for a while now. They were while pleather platform gogo boots, and she loved them.
Coming back upstairs, carrying the boots in their box, she sat down to wait for the cookies to finish.
--
It’s just before 8:30 when Anna, Laura, and Eleanor leave for the show. At first the other two had expressed worry over Eleanor’s ability to walk in her massive boots, but she soon showed a mastery of them. After all, she told them, she had worn them to several conventions and even a few random school days in high school. She had plenty of practice, and always found a strange joy in being five inches taller. It certainly threw others off.
Upon arrival at the Commons, they located the ballroom that would be showing the cult favorite and queued up to get their props. Into a small paper bag went a sandwich bag of rice, a newspaper page, a glow stick, a party noisemaker, a piece of toilet paper, a rubber glove, a party hat, and a couple playing cards. They found seats near the front and sat down to wait for the event to begin.
--
Eleanor was quite pleased with herself for remembering several call-back lines. Not nearly as many as Nicole knew, but she was doing okay. She remembered all the cues for the props as least, and managed to not fall over or break her ankles while doing the Time Warp in her boots – especially given the amount of rice on the floor at that point. She left the ballroom with a distinct feeling of rice grains in her pants. Nicole had quite a lot in her hair.
On the way back to Anna’s they passed a restaurant that seemed to be having some sort of party. Out front was a line of about ten scooters. Nothing manly, like motorcycles, or anything hipster, like bikes, but slightly lame scooters. Click.
Not quite ready to go home yet, they ended up at a pizza place for some late night snacking. Nicole bought a pepperoni pizza to share. Click. They continued on to Anna’s, with Laura leaving them on the way to go back to her dorm. Eleanor gathered her things and left the jacket for Laura and led Anna and Nicole to her place for cookies. Click. She had to cut them off at one point before they ate them all.
[1425]
[11738/50000]
God, I'm so behind... I'm going to be spending today catching up.
Tuesday, November 10
november 6
Friday dawned and Eleanor was really feeling the physical effects of her Wednesday moshing. Her back ached and she just couldn’t wake up – more than usual, that is. But she had two classes to get through that morning before she could relax again. Might as well get up then.
Biology was nothing really new. They finally got to evolution, which the professor was constantly pointing out was “just a theory”. She was working hard to avoid any uncomfortable confrontations regarding the origin of man and the world. Eleanor felt slightly more prepared for that class having studied part of Darwin’s The Origin of Species in English the week before. She tried not to zone out completely.
During her break she checked her grade for the test Wednesday morning. She was excited to learn she had finally swung a B and resolved to continue with those caffeine pills. She knew she’d have to take the cumulative final, if only to get rid of that horrible D, but right then she was glad something was going well in her life. Her back twinged.
English brought the introduction of a new unit: Modernism. For every new section the professor would draw the participants’ ‘world view’: the Enlightenment had been a circle filled with dots (we’re all part of the same universe), Romanticism had been a circle with a single dot in the center (each person is the center of their own universe), Realism/Naturalism had been a circle with dots around the edge and a few inside (we are both within and without the universe). Modernism, on the other hand, didn’t really have a circle. It was more of an amoeba with what might be a circle in a large space. “It’s all in your head” had been the professor’s explanation. Frankly, the drawing confused Eleanor, but she figured the actual lecture would sort everything out.
--
The rest of the day passed in relative boredom. She sat in bed on her laptop, still in her pajamas (having not gotten dressed that morning), secretly hoping someone would suggest something interesting to do. When she went upstairs to make herself some dinner, Cesley found her. There was a Zine Fest going on that night at Gallery 5, a few blocks away from them. Without really knowing what it was Eleanor readily agreed.
Going out meant getting dressed. The roommates met up again upstairs at 8:30 and sat down to wait for Nicole to show up. It was a cold night, in the 40s, and Eleanor didn’t have a heavy coat. She hoped her corduroy jacket would be enough. While she was sitting, she noticed that she had managed to put on all her corduroy: jacket and pants. At least I’ll be warm. Nicole arrived in a thin hoodie, having nothing remotely warm with her, and they headed out.
The fest was not exactly what Eleanor had been expecting – though, she wasn’t really sure what she was expecting in the first place. The first floor was lined with tables, each occupied by a different self-publishing mini-company selling their zines. There was a small stage where a band was setting up and a bar in the far corner. Eleanor and Nicole wandered a bit, not really sure what they were supposed to be doing. Ces was picking up zines, looking at all the printed weirdness Richmond had to offer.
When it became clear that was all that was happening downstairs the three went to the second floor. This space was set up more like a gallery, with graphic and typographic art pinned to the walls. There were several limited (and fancier) print zines on pedestals with cotton gloves for handling them. Being such a ‘fine art’ nerd, Eleanor enjoyed the gallery more than the hectic strangeness of the first floor. It reminded her of the artist talk she went to earlier in the week (gosh, it was still the same week? It felt so long ago), and mentioned it to Ces.
They wandered around for a bit more then decided to call it quits and head back. Nicole hadn’t actually eaten that day, so she and Ces ended up going to Five Guys for a late dinner while Eleanor went back home.
[704]
[10313/50000]
Finally broke 10,000 words! In word the whole document is 19 pages.
Biology was nothing really new. They finally got to evolution, which the professor was constantly pointing out was “just a theory”. She was working hard to avoid any uncomfortable confrontations regarding the origin of man and the world. Eleanor felt slightly more prepared for that class having studied part of Darwin’s The Origin of Species in English the week before. She tried not to zone out completely.
During her break she checked her grade for the test Wednesday morning. She was excited to learn she had finally swung a B and resolved to continue with those caffeine pills. She knew she’d have to take the cumulative final, if only to get rid of that horrible D, but right then she was glad something was going well in her life. Her back twinged.
English brought the introduction of a new unit: Modernism. For every new section the professor would draw the participants’ ‘world view’: the Enlightenment had been a circle filled with dots (we’re all part of the same universe), Romanticism had been a circle with a single dot in the center (each person is the center of their own universe), Realism/Naturalism had been a circle with dots around the edge and a few inside (we are both within and without the universe). Modernism, on the other hand, didn’t really have a circle. It was more of an amoeba with what might be a circle in a large space. “It’s all in your head” had been the professor’s explanation. Frankly, the drawing confused Eleanor, but she figured the actual lecture would sort everything out.
--
The rest of the day passed in relative boredom. She sat in bed on her laptop, still in her pajamas (having not gotten dressed that morning), secretly hoping someone would suggest something interesting to do. When she went upstairs to make herself some dinner, Cesley found her. There was a Zine Fest going on that night at Gallery 5, a few blocks away from them. Without really knowing what it was Eleanor readily agreed.
Going out meant getting dressed. The roommates met up again upstairs at 8:30 and sat down to wait for Nicole to show up. It was a cold night, in the 40s, and Eleanor didn’t have a heavy coat. She hoped her corduroy jacket would be enough. While she was sitting, she noticed that she had managed to put on all her corduroy: jacket and pants. At least I’ll be warm. Nicole arrived in a thin hoodie, having nothing remotely warm with her, and they headed out.
The fest was not exactly what Eleanor had been expecting – though, she wasn’t really sure what she was expecting in the first place. The first floor was lined with tables, each occupied by a different self-publishing mini-company selling their zines. There was a small stage where a band was setting up and a bar in the far corner. Eleanor and Nicole wandered a bit, not really sure what they were supposed to be doing. Ces was picking up zines, looking at all the printed weirdness Richmond had to offer.
When it became clear that was all that was happening downstairs the three went to the second floor. This space was set up more like a gallery, with graphic and typographic art pinned to the walls. There were several limited (and fancier) print zines on pedestals with cotton gloves for handling them. Being such a ‘fine art’ nerd, Eleanor enjoyed the gallery more than the hectic strangeness of the first floor. It reminded her of the artist talk she went to earlier in the week (gosh, it was still the same week? It felt so long ago), and mentioned it to Ces.
They wandered around for a bit more then decided to call it quits and head back. Nicole hadn’t actually eaten that day, so she and Ces ended up going to Five Guys for a late dinner while Eleanor went back home.
[704]
[10313/50000]
Finally broke 10,000 words! In word the whole document is 19 pages.
Monday, November 9
november 5
Eleanor’s phone alarm went off at 3:30 that Thursday morning. She grumbled and hit “snooze,” intending to just lay there for a few more minutes. It would give Yasha a little extra sleep, considering he was the one driving. So at 3:45 she got up and quietly crept to his room, closing his door before turning on his light. No reaction at first, then a bleary groan and a glare. She smiled sheepishly, nervously, sleepily. Those two and a half hours had not been nearly enough.
She put her belt back on and grabbed her backpack, going down to the kitchen to forage for breakfast. She found bagels in the fridge and set about toasting one while munching a Nutrigrain bar. Yasha sat at the counter, eating pita chips and drinking juice. She quickly buttered her bagel and wrapped it in a paper towel for easy transport. They put shoes on and headed out to the car.
“We’re never doing this early-morning bus ride thing again,” she told him moodily in the car. He agreed.
He dropped her off at the Baltimore station just after 4:30. A quick hug and he left, as she shuffled inside to sit and wait. She zoned out, glancing at her watch occasionally. Had this been any other Greyhound trip she would have her iPod out, but her ears were still feeling stuffed up and she didn’t feel like dealing with the volume level necessary to actually hear it.
Just before 4:50 she stood and waited by her gate, printed tickets in hand. The ride to DC was short, the traffic nonexistent, and she dozed in her seat. There was an hour layover in DC, and she thought sleepily how ridiculous their planning was, considering they had just been there not 6 hours earlier. She nodded in and out of sleep, checking her watch when she snapped her eyes open, not wanting to miss her bus. 6:40 came and she stood again, ignoring her achy back. The second leg was much the same as the first, though she thought she may have actually slept a bit there because suddenly they were at exit 79 and it was just about time to get off. They were almost a full hour early, meaning she would have no trouble making her ten o’clock – though she would be vaguely smelly for it.
Rather than wait the half hour for the number 24 bus, she ended up walking back down the street to Broad. Her shoulders were starting to hurt, the combined stress of the pit and having made that trek twice in as many days. She caught the first bus that came down Broad to campus. In the ten minutes between getting back and having to leave, she put on her pajamas (which didn’t smell of beer and sweat and smoke and who knew what else) in the hope they would somewhat disguise her unwashed state. She checked Facebook briefly and was back out the door.
On her way to class she stopped by the campus convenience store and got some pills for her just-starting to hurt muscles.
--
Sitting in bio lab Eleanor examined her arms for any obvious bruising, anything that might give her away. Her left triceps were especially tender, which was strange because that was the side Yasha sheltered for as much of the show as he could. She reasoned it was because she ended up bracing that arm on the back of the guy in front of her, pushing against him hard. Her throat was a little raw and her ears still felt a little stuffed, but she seemed hardly the worse for wear. Compared to Yasha’s kidney damage and concussion, Eleanor was fine – though she was slightly annoyed at having lost an earring.
Nate finished the introductory lecture on the respiratory system in large animals. They were supposed to be dissecting fetal pigs that day, but for some reason the department either didn’t order them at all or didn’t order enough, because their class instead was supposed to dissect rats. Eleanor, for some reason, didn’t have much of a problem with the rats as much as the pigs, probably because they were fetal pigs and her strange hippie ways were very much against that. However, due to the general gross-out factor of all dissections, Nate instead made it entirely optional.
“If you feel like your life won’t be complete without cutting into something in bio 101, then go ahead and cut open a rat. Otherwise, it’s not required.”
In her mind, Eleanor sort of wanted to do the rat. But she had a feeling her unnamed classmates wouldn’t want to – especially since Nate’s previous class had already done one and the rat was sitting on the counter for students to look at if they chose – so she didn’t mention it. Instead they played with healthy and smoker’s pig lungs, looked at slides of lung tissue, and found their vital air capacity. Without the dissection, the class let out a little after 11. She made her way back to the house, stopping by the dining hall to get a sandwich for lunch.
--
She took a nice, long shower when she got back, doing a more thorough examination for other injuries her clothes had hidden. Her knees were slightly bruised from being pressed and banged against the rail, and her upper back and shoulders were starting to ache. She knew it would only get worse before it got better and was not looking forward to the next few days.
She prepared a lie as to why her copper container wasn’t quite finished and headed to the critique. I took it home because my locker has been giving me trouble and won’t open. But when I took it out when I got back one of the feet had broken off and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. It seemed plausible enough. But when she got to the crit she ended up telling the half-truth anyway.
“When I was bending that foot so it would sit flat, the solder broke and it came off. I wasn’t sure how to fix it. And then I noticed the other feet weren’t really in the right places to so I have to fix them all.”
Luckily, only nine out of sixteen students had finished boxes, so everyone had until the next class to finish and fix them. Eleanor planned to go back to the lab on Sunday when Sheal was there, though she had a feeling she wouldn’t.
The crit went well for everyone else, though Eleanor said nothing. She periodically flexed her hands and arms, testing her muscles, but was otherwise silent. During the break and for a few minutes after class she worked on the crochet project in the hall. It had grown a lot since she had last seen it Tuesday, with some chaining reaching above and across the rail and around the steel pillars. It was soothing to work on it, even if standing there to reach the higher parts made her left shoulder ache more. When she got back home she took some Aleve.
--
Later on Ces texted her.
C: Shafer at 730 with Anna and Nicole?
Thursdays were one of the nights Eleanor went to Angela’s and watched TV on the large flatscreen in her dorm’s common room. That night was Supernatural night, starting at 9. She figured she had time, and anyway, getting out was always a good thing for such a shut in. She readily agreed.
Ces and Eleanor left together. They were meeting the others outside Bo Dillaz since it was a fairly central location. Of course, since Nicole was involved, they were waiting in the cold for a good twenty minutes before she showed up – Anna had gotten there fairly quickly. They headed over to the dining hall.
Around 8:45 Eleanor left to walk to Angela’s for their TV night. She rode the campus security escort back to her house afterwards.
[1331]
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God, this took forever to get out... I forgot what I did on Thursday, and now it's Monday, so I've got a lot of catching up to do...
She put her belt back on and grabbed her backpack, going down to the kitchen to forage for breakfast. She found bagels in the fridge and set about toasting one while munching a Nutrigrain bar. Yasha sat at the counter, eating pita chips and drinking juice. She quickly buttered her bagel and wrapped it in a paper towel for easy transport. They put shoes on and headed out to the car.
“We’re never doing this early-morning bus ride thing again,” she told him moodily in the car. He agreed.
He dropped her off at the Baltimore station just after 4:30. A quick hug and he left, as she shuffled inside to sit and wait. She zoned out, glancing at her watch occasionally. Had this been any other Greyhound trip she would have her iPod out, but her ears were still feeling stuffed up and she didn’t feel like dealing with the volume level necessary to actually hear it.
Just before 4:50 she stood and waited by her gate, printed tickets in hand. The ride to DC was short, the traffic nonexistent, and she dozed in her seat. There was an hour layover in DC, and she thought sleepily how ridiculous their planning was, considering they had just been there not 6 hours earlier. She nodded in and out of sleep, checking her watch when she snapped her eyes open, not wanting to miss her bus. 6:40 came and she stood again, ignoring her achy back. The second leg was much the same as the first, though she thought she may have actually slept a bit there because suddenly they were at exit 79 and it was just about time to get off. They were almost a full hour early, meaning she would have no trouble making her ten o’clock – though she would be vaguely smelly for it.
Rather than wait the half hour for the number 24 bus, she ended up walking back down the street to Broad. Her shoulders were starting to hurt, the combined stress of the pit and having made that trek twice in as many days. She caught the first bus that came down Broad to campus. In the ten minutes between getting back and having to leave, she put on her pajamas (which didn’t smell of beer and sweat and smoke and who knew what else) in the hope they would somewhat disguise her unwashed state. She checked Facebook briefly and was back out the door.
On her way to class she stopped by the campus convenience store and got some pills for her just-starting to hurt muscles.
--
Sitting in bio lab Eleanor examined her arms for any obvious bruising, anything that might give her away. Her left triceps were especially tender, which was strange because that was the side Yasha sheltered for as much of the show as he could. She reasoned it was because she ended up bracing that arm on the back of the guy in front of her, pushing against him hard. Her throat was a little raw and her ears still felt a little stuffed, but she seemed hardly the worse for wear. Compared to Yasha’s kidney damage and concussion, Eleanor was fine – though she was slightly annoyed at having lost an earring.
Nate finished the introductory lecture on the respiratory system in large animals. They were supposed to be dissecting fetal pigs that day, but for some reason the department either didn’t order them at all or didn’t order enough, because their class instead was supposed to dissect rats. Eleanor, for some reason, didn’t have much of a problem with the rats as much as the pigs, probably because they were fetal pigs and her strange hippie ways were very much against that. However, due to the general gross-out factor of all dissections, Nate instead made it entirely optional.
“If you feel like your life won’t be complete without cutting into something in bio 101, then go ahead and cut open a rat. Otherwise, it’s not required.”
In her mind, Eleanor sort of wanted to do the rat. But she had a feeling her unnamed classmates wouldn’t want to – especially since Nate’s previous class had already done one and the rat was sitting on the counter for students to look at if they chose – so she didn’t mention it. Instead they played with healthy and smoker’s pig lungs, looked at slides of lung tissue, and found their vital air capacity. Without the dissection, the class let out a little after 11. She made her way back to the house, stopping by the dining hall to get a sandwich for lunch.
--
She took a nice, long shower when she got back, doing a more thorough examination for other injuries her clothes had hidden. Her knees were slightly bruised from being pressed and banged against the rail, and her upper back and shoulders were starting to ache. She knew it would only get worse before it got better and was not looking forward to the next few days.
She prepared a lie as to why her copper container wasn’t quite finished and headed to the critique. I took it home because my locker has been giving me trouble and won’t open. But when I took it out when I got back one of the feet had broken off and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. It seemed plausible enough. But when she got to the crit she ended up telling the half-truth anyway.
“When I was bending that foot so it would sit flat, the solder broke and it came off. I wasn’t sure how to fix it. And then I noticed the other feet weren’t really in the right places to so I have to fix them all.”
Luckily, only nine out of sixteen students had finished boxes, so everyone had until the next class to finish and fix them. Eleanor planned to go back to the lab on Sunday when Sheal was there, though she had a feeling she wouldn’t.
The crit went well for everyone else, though Eleanor said nothing. She periodically flexed her hands and arms, testing her muscles, but was otherwise silent. During the break and for a few minutes after class she worked on the crochet project in the hall. It had grown a lot since she had last seen it Tuesday, with some chaining reaching above and across the rail and around the steel pillars. It was soothing to work on it, even if standing there to reach the higher parts made her left shoulder ache more. When she got back home she took some Aleve.
--
Later on Ces texted her.
C: Shafer at 730 with Anna and Nicole?
Thursdays were one of the nights Eleanor went to Angela’s and watched TV on the large flatscreen in her dorm’s common room. That night was Supernatural night, starting at 9. She figured she had time, and anyway, getting out was always a good thing for such a shut in. She readily agreed.
Ces and Eleanor left together. They were meeting the others outside Bo Dillaz since it was a fairly central location. Of course, since Nicole was involved, they were waiting in the cold for a good twenty minutes before she showed up – Anna had gotten there fairly quickly. They headed over to the dining hall.
Around 8:45 Eleanor left to walk to Angela’s for their TV night. She rode the campus security escort back to her house afterwards.
[1331]
[9609/50000]
God, this took forever to get out... I forgot what I did on Thursday, and now it's Monday, so I've got a lot of catching up to do...
Friday, November 6
november 4
Eleanor woke bright and early that Wednesday morning. She was nearly tingling with excitement for the coming night. That morning’s bagel used up the last of her cream cheese, but she hardly seemed to care. For once she actually got dressed before noon, even going so far as to put makeup on and bring the beer bottle cap earrings she made the week before. She could tell this show was going to be epic.
She left for her biology test, getting there with plenty of time. For once she was actually confident in getting a much better passing grade: all those extra notes seemed to have done her brain some good and real studying hadn’t seemed necessary. Nine o’clock rolled around and the tests were passed out. She whizzed through it, as usual. She was out of the lecture hall and on her way to the city bus stop by 9:30. The bus couldn’t come fast enough.
She ended up taking a different bus than she really needed. She was going to be plenty early to the Greyhound station, so she stopped at a 7-11 for a small hot chocolate. The day promised to be a rather cold one, reaching perhaps the low 50s. She walked the almost-mile to the station, clutching her toasty warm cup and thinking about how to pass the time while she waited for the bus.
Not long after sitting down she was approached by a young man, asking if she had any chapstick he could borrow. She somewhat-reluctantly handed her Burt’s Bees over to him, hoping he would leave her alone after that. No dice.
He began talking to her about where they were going (Florida for him, Washington for her), what they were doing there (going back to school for him, visiting a friend for her), where they were from (Florida for him, Baltimore for her). And when he asked if she had a boyfriend it became obvious he was hitting on her, an event that always managed to surprise her when it happened. In her mind’s eye she was kind of cute if you liked shorter girls with awkward haircuts and glasses. Being told she was pretty, attractive, or anything more flattering than ‘cute’ always managed to confuse her, though she hid her surprise well and took it in stride. She told him no, she didn’t, she wasn’t exactly interested in that sort of thing. She was more the schoolwork type, really.
He asked her where she went to school, what she studied, did she like to party. She answered as vaguely as she could (Virginia Commonwealth, art, not really), trying to show with her short answers that she wasn’t really interested. She pulled out her biology lab binder, hoping that it would deter him. It didn’t. He asked if she had a Myspace, or some other way he could contact her, a phone number perhaps? She told him her phone was dead, sorry.
Mercifully his reboard number was called and he had to leave. She sat there confused and bemused by his actions, hoping no one else would approach her and try that again. Finishing her lab, she pulled out her recently purchased Hitchhiker’s Guide and started reading.
--
The bus to DC was scheduled to leave at 11:15. She was skipping two classes for this little adventure, English and textiles, and hoped she wouldn’t have to go to the other biology lab class the next day. She bought the tickets almost a month in advance with her own money to hide the trip from her parents. Her mother had already gotten kind of mad the month before when Eleanor skipped four classes to work on an overdue project for textiles, so she had no doubt this would garner a similar reaction. That meant no mentioning it in her Facebook statuses or to any friends electronically, blocking her parents from the photo album, and using her own money rather than the credit card her dad gave her the year before for “school supplies only.” It had been tough, especially towards the end there, but she knew it would be worth it.
Her bus actually left just after noon, having been delayed due to issues involving a handicapped person. The driver had been rather vague about the whole fiasco, only telling them that they had to wait for another bus to come because of something or other. She sat next to her backpack in line reading.
The trip itself was rather uneventful. She sat next to a Middle Eastern businessman who snored occasionally and wanted to know how close the DC airport was to the bus stop. She didn’t know. The bus made all the local stops between Richmond and DC: Fredericksburg, Woodbridge, Springfield, DC. It was somewhere around Woodbridge that her stomach area began to feel a little weird. She couldn’t quite decide if it was from hunger, motion sickness (she had been reading), or menstrual cramps (because she knew her period was due that week, but hoped to God it wasn’t that day. Please, any day but today.)
They got in around 2:30 and Yasha was waiting to pick her up. But first she needed to use the restroom, if only to lay the stomach issue to rest. And horror of horrors it was that red devil. Great. She quickly wadded up some toilet paper and left the stall. Yasha was waiting in the terminal.
On their way to his car he gave her two options for what to do until the doors opened at 7. “We can go find the venue and then get something to eat, or we can drive over to Annapolis and you can meet Heather.” Heather was his new girlfriend, and so far she seemed wonderful – especially compared to the two previous buckets-of-crazy.
--
Half an hour later – and several U-turns – they were pulling up to the Whole Foods in Annapolis. Heather worked in the cheese section of the supermarket, and Eleanor was reminded of her own position as such at her own (technically former) place of employment. My Organic Market was a small company that was working to expand in the Chesapeake area – and was decidedly Whole Foods’ competition. It was Eleanor’s first time in a Whole Foods.
It smells strange in here. And it’s huge! They made their way through the produce area to a wall of open coolers where Heather was, in her bright red uniform shirt, finishing stocking. The introductions were slightly awkward, as far as Eleanor was concerned, but she felt better about Yasha dating her having now officially met her. She hadn’t disapproved before, but it always helped to have actually met your best friend’s significant other. He often came to her for advice about dating (though she had little real experience as such) and knowing the other party informed her advice.
They were starving, so they left Heather to her work and wandered off in search of something cheap they could share while waiting in the line. A pizza proved too much ($14? Seriously?) and Eleanor was reminded of how Whole Foods may be large, MOMs was much cheaper. She missed her work. And she made a mental note to email her boss about working over winter break.
The two eventually decided on a rotisserie chicken and a four-pack of root beer. Eleanor handed over the $15 she promised him for gas and because she always felt guilty when he mentioned how he was broke. (Which is why she mailed him $40 last year to help with his finances.) Yasha wrapped the chicken box in his winter coat to insulate it for the drive back to DC and they headed out.
--
9:30 Club was located on V street. Unfortunately, they discovered that V wasn’t a through-street, and spent at least half an hour navigating the streets around it, alternating between ignoring and using Yasha’s GPS. They even stopped to ask a couple for directions. Once finding the building, an unassuming tan two-storey with no actual sign, they began the task of finding preferably free parking. Down V to Georgia, passing up the Howard U parking lot (“What if we need a permit? I don’t want to get a ticket.”), a residential street (“Yeah, all these cars have permits.”), and a few side alleys, they wound up on 9th, catty-corner to the venue.
They hid anything shiny or slightly expensive in Eleanor’s backpack in the trunk (Yasha even locked the release lever next to the front seat) and headed over to wait. It was 5 and in the low 50s. Two hours of waiting. There was an older couple already there, bundled against the cold, who said they had been waiting since 4:30.
Yasha, being the friendly guy he is, got to talking with them, telling them about the concerts they had been to; about his job at the Maryland Renaissance Festival; about being a Russian-Jew with a large nose that prevented effective head-desk actions; about how no, they weren’t dating, everyone thought that though, they were used to it. They tore apart the chicken, still slightly warm after the drive, and sipped their root beers. Yasha pulled out a cigarette.
It was sitting in that line, in the cold, that Eleanor took her next step towards being a “true college student,” as Yasha liked to call it (her first steps had been vodka and shots, which she took expertly and was left giggling and stumbling after). She somewhat guiltily, somewhat reluctantly, took the last drag on the cigarette. The first try she didn’t really inhale, just holding the bitter smoke in her mouth and exhaling it back out. The second try she coughed the smoke back out violently, reeling from the sudden light-headedness that came with the sudden drop in her already-low blood pressure, and very glad she was sitting down. She dropped the filter, too smoke-addled to bother stubbing it out properly.
It was several minutes of coughing and trying to get some fresh oxygen into her system that she could choke out a few words. “I hate you.”
“I know.” He had the nerve to smile. She wanted to punch him, but was still too delirious to do anything.
It was easily ten minutes before she could breathe normally and didn’t feel like the slightest change in height would send her falling. Never again. It had burned in her lungs and tasted horribly bitter. And it was “good Turkish tobacco”, Camels, which apparently tasted better than others. She realized that the three people she knew who smoked – her brother actively, Yasha socially, Liz sporadically – all smoked Camels. And then Yasha reminded her that pot burned hotter than tobacco, and was she sure she wanted to smoke that? She wasn’t so sure anymore, but would likely do it anyway.
Standing slowly, Eleanor told him she needed to go find a restroom. She walked down the block toward Howard’s hospital, having been informed by the other couple about there being a McDonald’s and a Starbucks a few blocks that way. She walked off quickly, trying not to shiver. She saw the McDonald’s first, but it was across the street, and went instead to the Starbucks, cringing internally at having to venture into the establishment (years of her mother working at a competing coffee chain had led her to avoid “the Evil Empire,” but desperate times). She changed the toilet paper, hoping she wouldn’t bleed through. And I meant to bring pads, too. Damn.
Considering the amount of cash in her pocket carefully, she ventured to the counter and ordered a small hot chocolate (none of that ‘tall’, ‘grande’, ‘venti’ shit). She was happily surprised that it was actually less than $3.
By the time she got back to the line Yasha was walking towards her, worried that something had happened to her. She offered him some of her hot chocolate. There was a new person in line behind them, along with a man standing apart, leaning on the large U for locking bikes to. She sat back down and they continued to wait.
--
Finally, a few minutes after 7, there came the call to move away from the wall, and there were three lines so be sure to use all three. She presented her ticket and ID, receiving a large swirly stamp on the backs of each hand. “You are under 21. You are not allowed to buy any alcohol, drink any alcohol, or hold any alcohol. Enjoy the show.” She stashed her ticket and ID back in her pockets, checking what exactly was in which pocket, and went to find the bathroom again.
She rejoined Yasha at the rail, right in the middle. The room was buzzing with excitement, though it was sure to pick up as the show wore on. He made friends with those around them, knowing that once everything got started they would all become very close, so it was best to at least talk to those around you first. There was a guy from just behind them in the line next to them, and a couple of high school boys behind them, and Chris and Adam showed up to their other side and behind. They discussed the opening bands, thenewno2 and Heartless Bastards.
8 o’clock. Show time. thenewno2 came out. Yasha exclaimed over the frontman, Dhani Harrison, son of Beatle George, and how they looked exactly the same. Eleanor spent their set deciding if she liked them and just feeling the way her body vibrated to the music. It’s what she tended to do at concerts if she didn’t know the band. For some reason she preferred recordings over live performances when being introduced to a band because the listener could clearly hear everything. At a show some instrument or aspect may be played up. She could barely hear what Dhani was singing, too engrossed in the thumping bass in her chest and the strange expressions of the drummer. Yasha quite enjoyed them.
The second opener was a more ‘classic band’ (drums, bass, guitar, rhythm guitar, vocals), compared to the strange assortment of the first group (who was playing what now? There’s a megaphone?). Heartless Bastards were harder rock with a woman singer/guitarist who sounded vaguely country. Eleanor watched the bassist and his fingers, reminding herself that was why she had a vague goal of learning the bass, though she was doubtful if she’d ever get around to it. Yasha didn’t much care for them.
She had stopped paying attention to time after a while. When Heartless Bastards left the stage and started clearing their things out to make room for the rest of the headliner’s equipment, she turned around and stared at the crowd. It had gotten noticeably bigger, pressing forward as more people showed up. She was excited, thrumming with nerves. She hoped they were safe from the pit, knowing that he would protect her regardless but not really wanting to deal with it.
And finally they came out. Wolfmother hailed from Australia, sounding like a modern (and better) version of AC/DC. Eleanor stood in front of Yasha, his arms braced on either side of her own on the rail, shielding her from the hoard behind them. Then the sounds ripped them open, and the real show began.
She tried taking pictures, and managed a few good ones in the beginning. They opened with “Dimension,” from their first album, and continued with a mix of old and new (having just dropped their second album not even two weeks before). The crowed pressed forward, and the screaming started. It was chaotic and violent and amazing. They were standing right in front of Andrew, the singer and guitarist, and his three large amps.
As the show progressed the crowd got more and more violent in their moshing. Soon Eleanor had to take out her banging earrings for fear of them being ripped through her lobes and stashed the camera in her pocket in favor of hanging on for dear life to whatever she could, glad her footing was somewhat stable. She was pushed into the rail, shoving backwards in return, jostled everywhere, Yasha always behind her. Not even four songs into the set and she had to let go of the rail because two guys had managed to press themselves forward and in front of her, and Yasha had to hold her around the waist with his fingers gripping her belt tightly. And then he too had to let go, the sheer press of bodies was too great.
In the lulls between songs she felt cotton in her ears. She was manic, shoving others back and smiling wickedly, knowing she would be feeling the ill-effects for several days to come. This is so much more intense than Flogging Molly! Several people attempted to crowd surf, but were quickly passed to the front and into the waiting arms of the bouncers. Eleanor ducked whenever one passed nearby, making sure her glasses were still there, that she was at least somewhat safe. She was a tiny girl, and had no delusions about the pit and how it would tear her apart if Yasha wasn’t there. As it was one surfer kicked him in the head, and he was punched several times in the kidney.
Whenever the crowd slowed down a bit, she lifted her face, stared at the ceiling, and worked to get a few good breaths of fresh air. The press of bodies was sticky with sweat, and she relished those brief, clear breaths.
The show was a blur, the frenzy was so great. She wielded her sharp elbows at anyone who shoved into her, working to hold her own as best as she could. Near the end, during a slower song, Yasha managed to shove them forward and claimed a small section of the rail again, providing more shelter and stability to Eleanor. She turned to Yasha and spoke directly into his ear, “If this gets any more violent, hand me over to the bouncer.” She wanted to stay for the whole thing, but she was tiring and already achy. The bouncer would get her someplace safer and she would meet up with Yasha at the car.
They played the encore, ending the show with Eleanor’s favorite song, “Joker and the Thief.” And slowly the floor began to empty. Her ears were stuffed with cotton and her throat was raw and she was sure she’d feel worse the next day. But she was running high on endorphins and didn’t much care at that point. Even going outside, where the temperature had dropped considerably, didn’t deter her much – the cold didn’t even register at first. They shuffled excitedly to the car, pulling her backpack from the trunk.
Midnight. They got gas for the long drive back to Baltimore and Yasha’s house. Yasha called Heather while navigating them out of the city, taking the highways at 80. It wasn’t until they were on the Baltimore beltway that Yasha realized they should have stayed at his uncle’s, rather than driving all the way back home. They made it in less than an hour. Quietly entering his mom’s house they crept to bed, knowing they had to get back up in a few hours; Eleanor had a 4:50 bus back to Richmond and a ten o'clock class after that. She was asleep within minutes of lying down, her phone alarm set for 3:30.
[3233]
[8278/50000]
This took so long to get out because I wasn't able to actually write while on that excursion. Stupid real life...
She left for her biology test, getting there with plenty of time. For once she was actually confident in getting a much better passing grade: all those extra notes seemed to have done her brain some good and real studying hadn’t seemed necessary. Nine o’clock rolled around and the tests were passed out. She whizzed through it, as usual. She was out of the lecture hall and on her way to the city bus stop by 9:30. The bus couldn’t come fast enough.
She ended up taking a different bus than she really needed. She was going to be plenty early to the Greyhound station, so she stopped at a 7-11 for a small hot chocolate. The day promised to be a rather cold one, reaching perhaps the low 50s. She walked the almost-mile to the station, clutching her toasty warm cup and thinking about how to pass the time while she waited for the bus.
Not long after sitting down she was approached by a young man, asking if she had any chapstick he could borrow. She somewhat-reluctantly handed her Burt’s Bees over to him, hoping he would leave her alone after that. No dice.
He began talking to her about where they were going (Florida for him, Washington for her), what they were doing there (going back to school for him, visiting a friend for her), where they were from (Florida for him, Baltimore for her). And when he asked if she had a boyfriend it became obvious he was hitting on her, an event that always managed to surprise her when it happened. In her mind’s eye she was kind of cute if you liked shorter girls with awkward haircuts and glasses. Being told she was pretty, attractive, or anything more flattering than ‘cute’ always managed to confuse her, though she hid her surprise well and took it in stride. She told him no, she didn’t, she wasn’t exactly interested in that sort of thing. She was more the schoolwork type, really.
He asked her where she went to school, what she studied, did she like to party. She answered as vaguely as she could (Virginia Commonwealth, art, not really), trying to show with her short answers that she wasn’t really interested. She pulled out her biology lab binder, hoping that it would deter him. It didn’t. He asked if she had a Myspace, or some other way he could contact her, a phone number perhaps? She told him her phone was dead, sorry.
Mercifully his reboard number was called and he had to leave. She sat there confused and bemused by his actions, hoping no one else would approach her and try that again. Finishing her lab, she pulled out her recently purchased Hitchhiker’s Guide and started reading.
--
The bus to DC was scheduled to leave at 11:15. She was skipping two classes for this little adventure, English and textiles, and hoped she wouldn’t have to go to the other biology lab class the next day. She bought the tickets almost a month in advance with her own money to hide the trip from her parents. Her mother had already gotten kind of mad the month before when Eleanor skipped four classes to work on an overdue project for textiles, so she had no doubt this would garner a similar reaction. That meant no mentioning it in her Facebook statuses or to any friends electronically, blocking her parents from the photo album, and using her own money rather than the credit card her dad gave her the year before for “school supplies only.” It had been tough, especially towards the end there, but she knew it would be worth it.
Her bus actually left just after noon, having been delayed due to issues involving a handicapped person. The driver had been rather vague about the whole fiasco, only telling them that they had to wait for another bus to come because of something or other. She sat next to her backpack in line reading.
The trip itself was rather uneventful. She sat next to a Middle Eastern businessman who snored occasionally and wanted to know how close the DC airport was to the bus stop. She didn’t know. The bus made all the local stops between Richmond and DC: Fredericksburg, Woodbridge, Springfield, DC. It was somewhere around Woodbridge that her stomach area began to feel a little weird. She couldn’t quite decide if it was from hunger, motion sickness (she had been reading), or menstrual cramps (because she knew her period was due that week, but hoped to God it wasn’t that day. Please, any day but today.)
They got in around 2:30 and Yasha was waiting to pick her up. But first she needed to use the restroom, if only to lay the stomach issue to rest. And horror of horrors it was that red devil. Great. She quickly wadded up some toilet paper and left the stall. Yasha was waiting in the terminal.
On their way to his car he gave her two options for what to do until the doors opened at 7. “We can go find the venue and then get something to eat, or we can drive over to Annapolis and you can meet Heather.” Heather was his new girlfriend, and so far she seemed wonderful – especially compared to the two previous buckets-of-crazy.
--
Half an hour later – and several U-turns – they were pulling up to the Whole Foods in Annapolis. Heather worked in the cheese section of the supermarket, and Eleanor was reminded of her own position as such at her own (technically former) place of employment. My Organic Market was a small company that was working to expand in the Chesapeake area – and was decidedly Whole Foods’ competition. It was Eleanor’s first time in a Whole Foods.
It smells strange in here. And it’s huge! They made their way through the produce area to a wall of open coolers where Heather was, in her bright red uniform shirt, finishing stocking. The introductions were slightly awkward, as far as Eleanor was concerned, but she felt better about Yasha dating her having now officially met her. She hadn’t disapproved before, but it always helped to have actually met your best friend’s significant other. He often came to her for advice about dating (though she had little real experience as such) and knowing the other party informed her advice.
They were starving, so they left Heather to her work and wandered off in search of something cheap they could share while waiting in the line. A pizza proved too much ($14? Seriously?) and Eleanor was reminded of how Whole Foods may be large, MOMs was much cheaper. She missed her work. And she made a mental note to email her boss about working over winter break.
The two eventually decided on a rotisserie chicken and a four-pack of root beer. Eleanor handed over the $15 she promised him for gas and because she always felt guilty when he mentioned how he was broke. (Which is why she mailed him $40 last year to help with his finances.) Yasha wrapped the chicken box in his winter coat to insulate it for the drive back to DC and they headed out.
--
9:30 Club was located on V street. Unfortunately, they discovered that V wasn’t a through-street, and spent at least half an hour navigating the streets around it, alternating between ignoring and using Yasha’s GPS. They even stopped to ask a couple for directions. Once finding the building, an unassuming tan two-storey with no actual sign, they began the task of finding preferably free parking. Down V to Georgia, passing up the Howard U parking lot (“What if we need a permit? I don’t want to get a ticket.”), a residential street (“Yeah, all these cars have permits.”), and a few side alleys, they wound up on 9th, catty-corner to the venue.
They hid anything shiny or slightly expensive in Eleanor’s backpack in the trunk (Yasha even locked the release lever next to the front seat) and headed over to wait. It was 5 and in the low 50s. Two hours of waiting. There was an older couple already there, bundled against the cold, who said they had been waiting since 4:30.
Yasha, being the friendly guy he is, got to talking with them, telling them about the concerts they had been to; about his job at the Maryland Renaissance Festival; about being a Russian-Jew with a large nose that prevented effective head-desk actions; about how no, they weren’t dating, everyone thought that though, they were used to it. They tore apart the chicken, still slightly warm after the drive, and sipped their root beers. Yasha pulled out a cigarette.
It was sitting in that line, in the cold, that Eleanor took her next step towards being a “true college student,” as Yasha liked to call it (her first steps had been vodka and shots, which she took expertly and was left giggling and stumbling after). She somewhat guiltily, somewhat reluctantly, took the last drag on the cigarette. The first try she didn’t really inhale, just holding the bitter smoke in her mouth and exhaling it back out. The second try she coughed the smoke back out violently, reeling from the sudden light-headedness that came with the sudden drop in her already-low blood pressure, and very glad she was sitting down. She dropped the filter, too smoke-addled to bother stubbing it out properly.
It was several minutes of coughing and trying to get some fresh oxygen into her system that she could choke out a few words. “I hate you.”
“I know.” He had the nerve to smile. She wanted to punch him, but was still too delirious to do anything.
It was easily ten minutes before she could breathe normally and didn’t feel like the slightest change in height would send her falling. Never again. It had burned in her lungs and tasted horribly bitter. And it was “good Turkish tobacco”, Camels, which apparently tasted better than others. She realized that the three people she knew who smoked – her brother actively, Yasha socially, Liz sporadically – all smoked Camels. And then Yasha reminded her that pot burned hotter than tobacco, and was she sure she wanted to smoke that? She wasn’t so sure anymore, but would likely do it anyway.
Standing slowly, Eleanor told him she needed to go find a restroom. She walked down the block toward Howard’s hospital, having been informed by the other couple about there being a McDonald’s and a Starbucks a few blocks that way. She walked off quickly, trying not to shiver. She saw the McDonald’s first, but it was across the street, and went instead to the Starbucks, cringing internally at having to venture into the establishment (years of her mother working at a competing coffee chain had led her to avoid “the Evil Empire,” but desperate times). She changed the toilet paper, hoping she wouldn’t bleed through. And I meant to bring pads, too. Damn.
Considering the amount of cash in her pocket carefully, she ventured to the counter and ordered a small hot chocolate (none of that ‘tall’, ‘grande’, ‘venti’ shit). She was happily surprised that it was actually less than $3.
By the time she got back to the line Yasha was walking towards her, worried that something had happened to her. She offered him some of her hot chocolate. There was a new person in line behind them, along with a man standing apart, leaning on the large U for locking bikes to. She sat back down and they continued to wait.
--
Finally, a few minutes after 7, there came the call to move away from the wall, and there were three lines so be sure to use all three. She presented her ticket and ID, receiving a large swirly stamp on the backs of each hand. “You are under 21. You are not allowed to buy any alcohol, drink any alcohol, or hold any alcohol. Enjoy the show.” She stashed her ticket and ID back in her pockets, checking what exactly was in which pocket, and went to find the bathroom again.
She rejoined Yasha at the rail, right in the middle. The room was buzzing with excitement, though it was sure to pick up as the show wore on. He made friends with those around them, knowing that once everything got started they would all become very close, so it was best to at least talk to those around you first. There was a guy from just behind them in the line next to them, and a couple of high school boys behind them, and Chris and Adam showed up to their other side and behind. They discussed the opening bands, thenewno2 and Heartless Bastards.
8 o’clock. Show time. thenewno2 came out. Yasha exclaimed over the frontman, Dhani Harrison, son of Beatle George, and how they looked exactly the same. Eleanor spent their set deciding if she liked them and just feeling the way her body vibrated to the music. It’s what she tended to do at concerts if she didn’t know the band. For some reason she preferred recordings over live performances when being introduced to a band because the listener could clearly hear everything. At a show some instrument or aspect may be played up. She could barely hear what Dhani was singing, too engrossed in the thumping bass in her chest and the strange expressions of the drummer. Yasha quite enjoyed them.
The second opener was a more ‘classic band’ (drums, bass, guitar, rhythm guitar, vocals), compared to the strange assortment of the first group (who was playing what now? There’s a megaphone?). Heartless Bastards were harder rock with a woman singer/guitarist who sounded vaguely country. Eleanor watched the bassist and his fingers, reminding herself that was why she had a vague goal of learning the bass, though she was doubtful if she’d ever get around to it. Yasha didn’t much care for them.
She had stopped paying attention to time after a while. When Heartless Bastards left the stage and started clearing their things out to make room for the rest of the headliner’s equipment, she turned around and stared at the crowd. It had gotten noticeably bigger, pressing forward as more people showed up. She was excited, thrumming with nerves. She hoped they were safe from the pit, knowing that he would protect her regardless but not really wanting to deal with it.
And finally they came out. Wolfmother hailed from Australia, sounding like a modern (and better) version of AC/DC. Eleanor stood in front of Yasha, his arms braced on either side of her own on the rail, shielding her from the hoard behind them. Then the sounds ripped them open, and the real show began.
She tried taking pictures, and managed a few good ones in the beginning. They opened with “Dimension,” from their first album, and continued with a mix of old and new (having just dropped their second album not even two weeks before). The crowed pressed forward, and the screaming started. It was chaotic and violent and amazing. They were standing right in front of Andrew, the singer and guitarist, and his three large amps.
As the show progressed the crowd got more and more violent in their moshing. Soon Eleanor had to take out her banging earrings for fear of them being ripped through her lobes and stashed the camera in her pocket in favor of hanging on for dear life to whatever she could, glad her footing was somewhat stable. She was pushed into the rail, shoving backwards in return, jostled everywhere, Yasha always behind her. Not even four songs into the set and she had to let go of the rail because two guys had managed to press themselves forward and in front of her, and Yasha had to hold her around the waist with his fingers gripping her belt tightly. And then he too had to let go, the sheer press of bodies was too great.
In the lulls between songs she felt cotton in her ears. She was manic, shoving others back and smiling wickedly, knowing she would be feeling the ill-effects for several days to come. This is so much more intense than Flogging Molly! Several people attempted to crowd surf, but were quickly passed to the front and into the waiting arms of the bouncers. Eleanor ducked whenever one passed nearby, making sure her glasses were still there, that she was at least somewhat safe. She was a tiny girl, and had no delusions about the pit and how it would tear her apart if Yasha wasn’t there. As it was one surfer kicked him in the head, and he was punched several times in the kidney.
Whenever the crowd slowed down a bit, she lifted her face, stared at the ceiling, and worked to get a few good breaths of fresh air. The press of bodies was sticky with sweat, and she relished those brief, clear breaths.
The show was a blur, the frenzy was so great. She wielded her sharp elbows at anyone who shoved into her, working to hold her own as best as she could. Near the end, during a slower song, Yasha managed to shove them forward and claimed a small section of the rail again, providing more shelter and stability to Eleanor. She turned to Yasha and spoke directly into his ear, “If this gets any more violent, hand me over to the bouncer.” She wanted to stay for the whole thing, but she was tiring and already achy. The bouncer would get her someplace safer and she would meet up with Yasha at the car.
They played the encore, ending the show with Eleanor’s favorite song, “Joker and the Thief.” And slowly the floor began to empty. Her ears were stuffed with cotton and her throat was raw and she was sure she’d feel worse the next day. But she was running high on endorphins and didn’t much care at that point. Even going outside, where the temperature had dropped considerably, didn’t deter her much – the cold didn’t even register at first. They shuffled excitedly to the car, pulling her backpack from the trunk.
Midnight. They got gas for the long drive back to Baltimore and Yasha’s house. Yasha called Heather while navigating them out of the city, taking the highways at 80. It wasn’t until they were on the Baltimore beltway that Yasha realized they should have stayed at his uncle’s, rather than driving all the way back home. They made it in less than an hour. Quietly entering his mom’s house they crept to bed, knowing they had to get back up in a few hours; Eleanor had a 4:50 bus back to Richmond and a ten o'clock class after that. She was asleep within minutes of lying down, her phone alarm set for 3:30.
[3233]
[8278/50000]
This took so long to get out because I wasn't able to actually write while on that excursion. Stupid real life...
Tuesday, November 3
november 3
Tuesdays were lazy mornings, at least compared to other weekday mornings. Eleanor’s first class wasn’t until 12:30, so she slept in a bit. Her phone alarm woke her at 9, and every five minutes for the next half hour. Nothing new there. But what was different about this morning was all the motion coming from the kitchen. The faint sound of music told her at least Ces was up there making breakfast. For some unknown reason Eleanor didn’t want to go up when someone else was there. But at 9:36 she was hungry, and the need to eat overwhelmed her need to be by herself while doing it.
Coming up the stairs the smell of omelets hit her. Ces has been cooking. Liz was there as well, just putting bread into the toaster for her own breakfast and turning on the coffee maker – a pink affair decked out in Hello Kitty as well, another addition from Ces. Disappointed that she would have to wait for her bagel, Eleanor decided to get something else to eat. She got down her Pampered Chef microwave pot and began gathering ingredients for Coco Wheats. She added some of the chocolate almond milk in addition to regular milk for that extra chocolate kick.
--
After a quick shower she set to work writing her paper for English. The intro paragraph had been written the night before, so it was all downhill from there. She knocked the whole paper out in less than an hour.
--
She left for class just after noon, even though it had been moved to a building closer to her house. The regular lecture class had been replaced with an artist lecture in the Art Foundation building, which was, in essence, down the street. Realizing her timing error, she slowed down and walked all the way around the building to waste as much time as possible. Finally coming around to the front, the automatic doors opened, and she stopped dead, staring at the floor.
There, as if waiting for her, was a large duct tape arrow pointing to the stairs.
To anyone else, the arrow simply pointed out the alternative method of ascending the building. But to her and several of her friends it was a memento of one spectacular day last November. Yasha had come down for a visit, wanting to try out something that a friend of his had tried at her college: duct taping a person to a wall. The other group had been unsuccessful, but Eleanor weighed barely 100 pounds, and with Yasha’s ‘skills’ they were sure to succeed!
And so, four hours and three and a half rolls of duct tape later, she was suspended a foot above the ground in a sticky silver blanket. She then proceeded to peel herself off the wall, hanging precariously for a moment by one arm before dropping the last few inches. She walked almost a mile back to the dorm still wearing the tape, random bits of trash stuck to the sticky side by her friends.
Back to the present. Taking a few steps forward and around the other people gathered in front of the elevators she marveled at the arrow’s continued existence. I wonder if anyone will ever bother to pull the tape up? Wouldn’t it be awesome if it stayed there till I graduated? The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.
The lecturing artist was a young Chinese-American woman, Helen Lee. She described herself as a glassblower and graphic designer, using blown glass vessels to make letters. She was interested in language and the body and how they intersect and interact. It was one of the more unique and engaging artist lectures Eleanor had been to, and was definitely glad the usual class had been replaced with this.
While walking to the Fine Arts Building and her next class she sent a picture of the tape arrow to Yasha and to Facebook as proof of its continued existence. She stopped in front of the giant yarn contraption spreading along the railing. There was still almost half an hour until class, so she pulled out her hook and set to work adding more to her octopus of the day before.
Time for class. Pulling out her keys she attempted to unlock her locker and get her tool box out. But the key wouldn’t turn. I just opened it last night! What happened? Ten minutes of trying and still nothing. She was frustrated. Another girl in the class noticed and tried her hand at it, before calling over the only male in the class for a try. Finally the tumbler turned and the lock popped open. Grumbling she pulled her box out and started unloading tools, setting to work.
She finished the tension lip and sanded the main container with successively finer grits of paper. But all the soldering stations were filled, so she spent a while wasting time. Finally, an opening. She soldered the bits of the lip together. She soldered pieces of wire to the bottom of the container which would become the rivets for the plastic pearl feet. Class ended, they all cleaned up. She kept working.
She had finished the rivets and was adjusting the angles of the feet when one of them broke off. It had been soldered with easy solder, the lowest heat one. There was nothing she knew of that could be done, and with the deadline just two days away (though one of them didn’t count) there was no time to start over. She was going to wait for Sheal to get back from her class and ask for help, but she was getting restless. She finished the rest of the box. The lid was assembled, the clay sand dollar was attached, the body was polished. She decided to just leave it and make up something about the foot coming off ‘in transit,’ rather than hot gluing it on and risking her grade.
As it was the other three feet didn’t quite match up. The box, even if it had all four, didn’t sit quite upright, listing to one side. When she held it up in the correct orientation two of the feet appeared to be almost centered along the bottom while the lone foot was sticking out the side. It was too late to fix it. The rest of the box was finished and clean; it would just have to sit crooked. She was not looking forward to the critique on Thursday.
It was 8 before she walked back home. She had gone to a sandwich shop earlier for dinner, ordering a salad because her hands were brown with copper dust and no doubt covered in other unpleasant substances. Such things had never really bothered her in high school. She would frequently forego the rubber tongs in the photo darkroom, preferring her own fingers, and consequently she imbibed small amounts of toxic chemicals over those four years. But this was a new kind of horribleness, one that she could actually see. So she ate her salad with a fork.
Arriving home a voice greeted her from the bowels of the house. It was Nicole. Setting her bag down – but not before fishing out her copper container – and grabbing a pint of ice cream from the freezer she ventured upstairs to Liz’s room to be social for once. Ces had gone to JMU for an event with a friend and would be back later that night. Eleanor sat on Liz’s nice carpet – hers was the only carpeted room in the house – eating her ice cream and lamenting the shortcomings of her project.
Soon the already ridiculous conversation going on around her divulged into reminiscing about Destiny’s Child and the Spice Girls and all those other good girl bands of the 90s. Eleanor sat there with her laptop – having traded her ice cream tub for the device after a while – listening and laughing at the antics of the other two. Her own childhood had been filled with different music, having never really had the opportunity to pick the radio station: talk radio or classic rock or the rotating mix. She wasn’t a very musically-minded child, though she had certainly grown to be a musically-independent young adult. She wasn’t really sure when the shift had occurred but the change had been for the better, she reasoned. It had gotten to the point where she could not stand silence. Silence was something to be beaten viciously with a blunt object. She thrived on sounds and music, even if she wasn’t really listening to it; it was more for the noise, the not-silence.
Around 10 she left them to their own devices and set up in the newly-furnished living room. She played her own music and wondered when exactly Ces would get in.
She anticipated the coming day, for it promised to be an amazing one – even though it started with a test.
[1487]
[5045/50000]
Coming up the stairs the smell of omelets hit her. Ces has been cooking. Liz was there as well, just putting bread into the toaster for her own breakfast and turning on the coffee maker – a pink affair decked out in Hello Kitty as well, another addition from Ces. Disappointed that she would have to wait for her bagel, Eleanor decided to get something else to eat. She got down her Pampered Chef microwave pot and began gathering ingredients for Coco Wheats. She added some of the chocolate almond milk in addition to regular milk for that extra chocolate kick.
--
After a quick shower she set to work writing her paper for English. The intro paragraph had been written the night before, so it was all downhill from there. She knocked the whole paper out in less than an hour.
--
She left for class just after noon, even though it had been moved to a building closer to her house. The regular lecture class had been replaced with an artist lecture in the Art Foundation building, which was, in essence, down the street. Realizing her timing error, she slowed down and walked all the way around the building to waste as much time as possible. Finally coming around to the front, the automatic doors opened, and she stopped dead, staring at the floor.
There, as if waiting for her, was a large duct tape arrow pointing to the stairs.
To anyone else, the arrow simply pointed out the alternative method of ascending the building. But to her and several of her friends it was a memento of one spectacular day last November. Yasha had come down for a visit, wanting to try out something that a friend of his had tried at her college: duct taping a person to a wall. The other group had been unsuccessful, but Eleanor weighed barely 100 pounds, and with Yasha’s ‘skills’ they were sure to succeed!
And so, four hours and three and a half rolls of duct tape later, she was suspended a foot above the ground in a sticky silver blanket. She then proceeded to peel herself off the wall, hanging precariously for a moment by one arm before dropping the last few inches. She walked almost a mile back to the dorm still wearing the tape, random bits of trash stuck to the sticky side by her friends.
Back to the present. Taking a few steps forward and around the other people gathered in front of the elevators she marveled at the arrow’s continued existence. I wonder if anyone will ever bother to pull the tape up? Wouldn’t it be awesome if it stayed there till I graduated? The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.
The lecturing artist was a young Chinese-American woman, Helen Lee. She described herself as a glassblower and graphic designer, using blown glass vessels to make letters. She was interested in language and the body and how they intersect and interact. It was one of the more unique and engaging artist lectures Eleanor had been to, and was definitely glad the usual class had been replaced with this.
While walking to the Fine Arts Building and her next class she sent a picture of the tape arrow to Yasha and to Facebook as proof of its continued existence. She stopped in front of the giant yarn contraption spreading along the railing. There was still almost half an hour until class, so she pulled out her hook and set to work adding more to her octopus of the day before.
Time for class. Pulling out her keys she attempted to unlock her locker and get her tool box out. But the key wouldn’t turn. I just opened it last night! What happened? Ten minutes of trying and still nothing. She was frustrated. Another girl in the class noticed and tried her hand at it, before calling over the only male in the class for a try. Finally the tumbler turned and the lock popped open. Grumbling she pulled her box out and started unloading tools, setting to work.
She finished the tension lip and sanded the main container with successively finer grits of paper. But all the soldering stations were filled, so she spent a while wasting time. Finally, an opening. She soldered the bits of the lip together. She soldered pieces of wire to the bottom of the container which would become the rivets for the plastic pearl feet. Class ended, they all cleaned up. She kept working.
She had finished the rivets and was adjusting the angles of the feet when one of them broke off. It had been soldered with easy solder, the lowest heat one. There was nothing she knew of that could be done, and with the deadline just two days away (though one of them didn’t count) there was no time to start over. She was going to wait for Sheal to get back from her class and ask for help, but she was getting restless. She finished the rest of the box. The lid was assembled, the clay sand dollar was attached, the body was polished. She decided to just leave it and make up something about the foot coming off ‘in transit,’ rather than hot gluing it on and risking her grade.
As it was the other three feet didn’t quite match up. The box, even if it had all four, didn’t sit quite upright, listing to one side. When she held it up in the correct orientation two of the feet appeared to be almost centered along the bottom while the lone foot was sticking out the side. It was too late to fix it. The rest of the box was finished and clean; it would just have to sit crooked. She was not looking forward to the critique on Thursday.
It was 8 before she walked back home. She had gone to a sandwich shop earlier for dinner, ordering a salad because her hands were brown with copper dust and no doubt covered in other unpleasant substances. Such things had never really bothered her in high school. She would frequently forego the rubber tongs in the photo darkroom, preferring her own fingers, and consequently she imbibed small amounts of toxic chemicals over those four years. But this was a new kind of horribleness, one that she could actually see. So she ate her salad with a fork.
Arriving home a voice greeted her from the bowels of the house. It was Nicole. Setting her bag down – but not before fishing out her copper container – and grabbing a pint of ice cream from the freezer she ventured upstairs to Liz’s room to be social for once. Ces had gone to JMU for an event with a friend and would be back later that night. Eleanor sat on Liz’s nice carpet – hers was the only carpeted room in the house – eating her ice cream and lamenting the shortcomings of her project.
Soon the already ridiculous conversation going on around her divulged into reminiscing about Destiny’s Child and the Spice Girls and all those other good girl bands of the 90s. Eleanor sat there with her laptop – having traded her ice cream tub for the device after a while – listening and laughing at the antics of the other two. Her own childhood had been filled with different music, having never really had the opportunity to pick the radio station: talk radio or classic rock or the rotating mix. She wasn’t a very musically-minded child, though she had certainly grown to be a musically-independent young adult. She wasn’t really sure when the shift had occurred but the change had been for the better, she reasoned. It had gotten to the point where she could not stand silence. Silence was something to be beaten viciously with a blunt object. She thrived on sounds and music, even if she wasn’t really listening to it; it was more for the noise, the not-silence.
Around 10 she left them to their own devices and set up in the newly-furnished living room. She played her own music and wondered when exactly Ces would get in.
She anticipated the coming day, for it promised to be an amazing one – even though it started with a test.
[1487]
[5045/50000]
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