At one point he said, “Look, life is what you make it and I feel the monastery offers an elevated existence that is actually more real than the synthetic bullshit Walmart-ized vibe of the twenty-first century . . . ” Our group leader, Lisa, is constantly trying to get him to talk in the present about the details of his life, but he just won’t: He’s completely obstinate. Daniel is not a physically big guy. When we both stood up to stretch at the break, I noticed he was just an inch or two taller than me, like five nine or so, but his personality was well over six feet. I’m sure this class will do nothing for him, but he’s at least entertaining.
It is clear to me that Lisa is in way over her head. She smiles constantly at all our wan faces while speaking from note cards about how we are going to work on “connecting with people” and “feeling comfortable with ourselves” while we learn to “embrace ourselves as social beings.” Read the crowd, lady.
We sit in a circle in these lame white folding chairs. Against the wall there is a dusty table that has flyers about “surrendering to a higher power” and a plate of cookies, but I can’t eat them because the entire room smells musty. Not appetizing. I start counting the yellowed, dirty tiles on the floor and become acutely aware that this room is used for an AA meeting after we are through, as if our future selves will be visiting to show us a vision of what is to come for all of us.
Suddenly, I just start thinking about how I’m at least twenty pounds overweight, how every bag of potato chips is a single serving bag to me, and how sitting on my ass for hours at a time is an Olympic sporting event in my world; I start obsessing on all the different flavors of potato chips I like, especially barbecue, and then I start thinking about all the brands of barbecue potato chips I like and how I don’t like Pringles; how sometimes I see how small a bite I can take or how long I can keep one chip in my mouth before it dissolves, I actually time it; how I look for all the same size chips and keep them in groups according to size and amount of BBQ flavoring, and I realize I am having an OCD anxiety attack but cannot do anything to stop it and that’s when I think that probably someday I will have to be committed to a mental facility of some sort and of how I will have to go home and write this letter to the committee so they will know I am at least cognizant enough to know I should be sent somewhere.
In the future, if someone looks into what might have caused my demise, these letters will be proof that this class was part of my fall into psychosis. That I was prescient about where I was going.
Lisa: Danielle, why don’t you turn to Iggie and tell him something about what you would like to do in your spare time?
Me:
Lisa: Danielle, remember, there are no wrong answers to be given here. And be sure to look at Iggie and use his name when you address him because that is gracious and a sign that you are open to connecting with someone for conversation.
Me: Iggie, I think it would be cool if I had some really good ideas about what to do in my spare time so I didn’t have to be here on a Tuesday night.
Daniel laughs.
What I’d like, actually, is a gigantic magical eraser that I could rub over everyone in the room and watch as their faces and bodies slowly turn into rubbery fragments that fall to the floor. Then I’d get a broom and sweep up their powdery remains and dump them into the ashtray cans that are everywhere in this church basement. Then for fun, I’d like to run out the door and keep running until my face is chapped by the wind. Maybe I would cry for a very long time because I just erased all the people who are most likely my kindred spirits, and I can only feel disdain for them.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 12/12
Essay #9: Things I’ve Seen
(Ms. Harrison wanted us to give a “rich and detailed account” of something “significant” we have seen. I pick a bad topic. D+)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
I have seen things that will not be discussed here, and I have seen things that will be discussed here but probably shouldn’t be, but you assigned the essay and so I’ll leave your reaction up to you and call it your business. You should be aware that when you assign an essay topic like this to teenagers of the twenty-first century, you are going to get some interesting responses that go beyond descriptions of the lame holiday decorations at the mall or whatever. The world is not like it was when you were young. (Not saying that you are old, just saying the world is different, that’s all.)
From across the street, I’ve seen my neighbor, a forty-year-old corporate executive, buy pot from this kid who drives a Hummer, which is an abomination to the planet, according to my father. My parents don’t like our neighbor at all, but it’s not because he buys weed from the Hummer-driving kid. They don’t like him because he’s living with a woman who is only twenty-two. Although my parents are very judge-not-lest-ye-be-judged kind of people, on this issue, they judge.
When I’m walking the dogs, I’ve seen this dealer sing songs from his car to alert Ken, the corporate executive neighbor guy, that his delivery has arrived. All the dogs bark when this is going down because they have instincts. Sometimes, the dealer gets out of his car and pees (I don’t know if I can say that in this essay, but I did see that) on the lawn. The dogs all want to pee then, too, which can get kind of messy.
I’ve also seen my father walk across the street and speak to our neighbor. I’m only speculating here, but I’m pretty sure that my dad was talking to our neighbor about the inappropriate nature of his drug dealings when there is a teenager living across the street. It would be a lot funnier if what I had seen was my father buying weed off him. (JK)
Teacher comments: Do not write about contraband. You are capable of description beyond what you demonstrated here; such a topic is beneath your intellect.
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #1 from Marv
(I give him a B, mainly for effort.)
Danielle,
Your teacher, Ms. Harrison, tells me that you are a very good writer. She suggests that we may make more progress together if we put our ideas into writing rather than talking. I thought it was an intriguing idea since you seem hesitant about expressing yourself in conversation when we are together. This is very unorthodox, but I spoke with your mother, and she felt it might be a good idea. She, too, lauded your writing ability, and hey, you never know, our communications back and forth may support the budding author within you. What do you say?
Marv
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #1 from me to Marv
(My attempt to humor him and validate the cashing of his paycheck. I slide it under his office door.)
Marv,
I do like to write. However, I have no idea what I would write to you.
Danielle
*SECRET ME-MOIR ENTRY* 12/14
Secret #5: The Pied Piper
Today I watched Jacob lead a pep rally with the whole school—elementary, middle, and high school. It was chilly outside and I sat shivering in a back row bleacher. The crisp air may have been one reason I was shaking, but I think there were feelings I’m not sure how to describe bubbling up from inside and shaking all my parts.
The rally was outside on the football field, and the student council and the athletes went nuts with it. They got all the people who live in the houses surrounding the school to sign permission slips about noise so music could be pumped out of huge speakers. A local radio station sponsored the event and a DJ came. Keira wore the panther mascot suit, and even though I didn’t want to have this thought, she reminded me so much of a friend I used to have. It was the way she was dancing around the crowd, her musicality, I guess I’d call it. When she swayed to the beat, her body looked like a letter S, my favorite letter. S is sophisticated, sexy, sultry—a seductress letter. When I dance, I am just a bouncing O. An O is an outcast letter. Anyway, she was popping in and out of the crowd and letting some of the young kids jump on her back. Watching her was what Ms. Harrison would call sublime because her grace
was both beautiful and painful to experience. I teared up watching her.
Jacob was on the microphone the whole time, introducing the football players and leading cheers and the games. Whenever he asked for volunteers, like for the balloon toss or the pie-eating contest, practically the entire student body, three hundred people, raised their hands—everyone just desperate to get up and be near him.
After all the games, he let a bunch of fifth graders smash the remains of the whipped cream pies all over him, and he just laughed and embraced all the little guys who were eager to hug him. Everyone was cheering and laughing and throwing confetti and blowing noisemakers, and I sat quietly in a back bleacher being totally enamored of Jacob’s charisma. That’s the thing about him I can’t escape. I, like everyone else, am pulled in by his charisma.
When the bell rang to signal the end of the rally, he couldn’t shake the line of kids running behind him. And even though I physically veered away from his devotees on my way back to class, every other part of me was following his trail.
*MARV MISSIVE* 12/16
Letter #2 from me to Marv after I see him at the nutrition break and he asks again if I would consider simply writing down some things I think about.
(Marv, that’s really vague. But I do it, and this is what he gets.)
Marv,
Recently I have thought about how difficult it is to go through life fat. My thoughts may be because the holidays are coming and my mom bakes like a fiend this time of year, and I have no willpower to resist her treats. Being fat is far more difficult than being a woman, or a member of an ethnic underclass, or a paraplegic, or a midget. I say this, not to diminish the difficulty of those minority groups, but to highlight the fact that those poor people can’t help their positions, and so people cut them some slack.
When you are fat, people assume it is your fault. And even if it is, why does it have to matter so much? Ancient Samoans had it the best because the bigger the woman, the hotter she was. Los Angeles is no ancient Samoa, let me tell you. In this city, I’m a painful reminder of what the svelte could become should they neglect their pilates classes and regular plastic surgery appointments. On this campus that is so lovely, (seven perfectly painted Spanish-style stucco buildings, fifteen large transplanted trees, forty-five shrubs, eighty-four rosebushes—that’s right, I counted—one guy constantly leaf blowing the place) I’m a real eyesore.
Lately, I’ve just been thinking about how much it sucks to be fat. Thank God it’s winter and I can hide under some layers.
Danielle
*AUNT JOYCE E-MAIL* 12/16
E-mail #1 to Aunt Joyce, who I just desperately need to help me
Dear Aunt Joyce,
I know you are in New York on business and I know you are really busy, but I really need to talk to you about something, and I’m hoping you can just find time to read this and then give me advice that rescues me like you have always done.
I am hopelessly in love with someone I will never have. Don’t even think about writing back with a phrase that starts “Oh, Danielle, you don’t know that you’ll never have him.” Trust me, and just regard my awareness enough to know that he will never love me. And, by the way, he has a girlfriend, and the point isn’t that he won’t love me, the point is that I love him, and I wish I didn’t and I don’t know why life gives you these feelings that can’t be reciprocated or acted upon. What the hell?
I don’t want to talk to Mom about this because I can tell when she looks at me she still sees me like I’m eight, and I just don’t want advice designed for an eight-year-old. Also, I’m just not sure Mom understands pain, and, don’t take this wrong, but somehow I think you do.
Please just take these feelings I have, work some magic with them, and give them back to me in a way that is more manageable.
Your dorky niece, Danielle
*AUNT JOYCE E-MAIL* 12/16
E-mail #1 from Aunt Joyce, who always responds when I need her to
Ah, Sweet, Sweet Danielle,
How blessed you are to know love in this way, and you just so happen to be revealing it to me near the holiday that symbolizes miraculous birth. Your literary mind surely sees the significance. This is the emergence of great hope.
You feel love! That’s terrific. Come on, girl. Look back a few years. Did you think you would thaw enough to let feelings of this sort foment? This is the magic of love. I know you wonder how I can speak with such authority while I remain single and childless, but those facts are not reflective of the true experience of love. Marriage and children do not always follow love. The feeling is the gift itself, so think about that. Look at how something so invisible can have such powerful effects. Doesn’t that say something to you about the nature of reality? Perhaps all is not as you see it in your world. I’d bet my life it is not.
I love you, kid.
Your Forever Aunt Joyce
P.S. Listen to me when I tell you, your mother understands pain.
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #2 from Marv to me
Danielle,
I thank you for your candor. It is not easy to write down the thoughts that fill the mind. I know that you and your mother are taking a yoga class together, and I think this is a wonderful thing. Being active can be just the medicine you need. I can write about how I do not see you as you see yourself, but that would not address any of your feelings. Your feelings are valid to you right now. I hope I can help you shift your perspective.
Sincerely,
Marv
*DANIEL E-MAIL . . . very interesting new heading* 12/19 E-mail #1 from Daniel, the guy in social skills class
Hi, Danielle,
It’s Daniel from that class. Obviously I got your e-mail from the completely intrusive one that Lisa sent us all, encouraging us to connect with each other outside of class. I didn’t know how she got our e-mail and I told my parents I thought she was breaking the law by stealing my e-mail address. My parents said they gave her my e-mail when they signed me up for the class. That is so like them. I’m contacting everyone because I think we should ambush Lisa in the next meeting about the way she runs these classes. What do you think?
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 12/19
Essay #10: Things I’ve Felt
(Ms. Harrison seems to want to know everyone personally. How noble. B-.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Ms. Harrison, for the last few days, I’ve “felt” this essay topic is somewhat intrusive. Feelings are private things. Also, the holidays can be hard for people, so to ask about feelings at this time of year may be considered insensitive by some. However, ultimately, I’ve decided to defer to your authority.
I have felt things in my life that are now contained and controlled by what I can only describe as spigots. I try to keep the spigots tightly shut most of the time in order to prevent a flood of emotion on my insides and to manage my day as sanely as possible. However, recently, one of my feeling spigots has loosened. It seems as if this particular feeling has activated a spigot, which is now turned to a permanently stuck position of full-throttle flow. This feeling just keeps flowing over every other feeling whose spigots are either much smaller or very tightly locked. While this spigot thing is really annoying in a lot of ways, it is intriguing in others.
For a long time all my spigots seemed to be turned off. They were apparently rusted shut. Feelings had nowhere to move about or spread out, so they just dried up, I guess. I couldn’t even muster a trickle. I was blocked up and feelingless for a while. But now that I have this flooding gush of feeling about this thing I can’t really expand upon here other than to say it involves an issue of the heart, I recognize there is just no stopping a feeling once the spigots start to turn. What I’m trying to say is that feelings are very powerful forces. They are spigot turners.
I’m wondering what effect this one loose spigot is going to have on the other spigots. I can only hope and pray that any other lo
ose spigots will release positive feelings, things that might help me become a more interesting person. Although, I think by some accounts I may already be interesting but in a bubonic plague kind of way. The bubonic plague is very interesting.
Oh, also, I wanted to tell you that the other day when Heather commented in class “that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” . . . as if she would know or have any idea about Nietzsche . . . I wanted to tell her “That is total bulls**t. That which doesn’t kill us just almost kills us.” That’s how I feel about that. Heather always gives me an ax to grind.
I’m sure now you are going to suggest that I see Marv because of this whole spigot thing and my animosity toward Heather, but I’ll tell you upfront that I am seeing him already so you can save your time on that.
Teacher comments: Very provocative, but don’t write judgmental comments about your classmates. Using asterisks does not mean you are not using profanity!
*DANIEL E-MAIL* 12/20
E-mail #1: I write back to Daniel
Daniel,
I saw that Lisa sent an e-mail, but I deleted it before I opened it. I don’t think she’ll listen to us. She’s a woman on a kamikaze mission.
Danielle
*DANIEL E-MAIL* 12/20
E-mail #2: Daniel writes back to me
Thanks for writing me back. You were the only one who did. I like your idea of deleting all her e-mails rather than my tactic of reacting to them. I’ll have to get revenge some other way. Hey, have a good holiday.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 1/9
Essay #11: A Picture Is Worth a 1000 Words
OCD, The Dude, and Me Page 4
