CHAPTER TWO
The alarm does wake Jade up, but thank god she has an early morning class she has to get up for too. She didn't set an alarm for herself because she knew that you'd set one, which is really strange to think about, but you don't ponder it for long. You rush off to orchestra with your violin, and Jade to whatever class she's taking. She's wearing a rainbow tie die shirt and a khaki skirt. You're wearing black jeans and a dark purple shirt with the same kind of makeup and hair as yesterday's.
You see the others in orchestra are a little bit weird and only slightly talented though obvious hard workers. You'd taken private lessons for six years and are playing eleventh grade level music. It's good because the violinists in orchestra could really use a good lead.
The English/writing program is as good as you'd always hoped, and you know you won't feel restricted here. The sky seems to be the limit, and you know you'll enjoy writing several emotional and retarded haikus about it.
"Bounty of options,
I am graced by a clear sky.
Unrestricted me."
Math is math is math, but you're right, because you and the teacher do get along famously. Science is boring, but you know that it could be unnervingly useful in the future, maybe as a psychologist, so you pay attention anyway. Biology at the very least might help, and thank goodness that's what you're studying this year. You'd hate for all of this information to go to waste. History is a subject that will surely go to waste on you, the information you gather there is the kind that is immediately destroyed at the beginning of the summer. You don't see any reason to remember anything they tell you, but you do anyway. Not out of your own will, but because it's something you just naturally do. Knitting club is amusing, you have plans to knit a large squid in a week. It would be a record for you.
Then there's psychology. Of course it's dumbed down a bit so you and your classmates can understand it, but it's still a lot to grasp. You can't seem to take enough notes. This first day you learn about the anatomy of the human brain and several details on that subject. You could not be more excited for the rest of the classes to follow.
When you get back to your room you've got homework to do. A couple notes on some American war, a page of problems for math, what was guaranteed to be the only worksheet in English all year. Psychology as an elective doesn't have any homework, or not usually.
The whole rest of the week flies by in this manner, with some practicing of violin and knitting involved. You check out the blog that Dave ironically manages. He and Jade really seem to be hitting it off, you're prepared to place bets on their immanent coupling.
Finally it's the weekend. No classes, just time to hang around and do nothing. You're not really sure what type of nothing you should be doing, though.
"Dave, John and I are all going for a walk around campus. Do you want to come with us? We're just going to hang out for a bit and then eat and stuff." Jade suggests. You agree, and you bring your needles and some yarn in a little purse just in case you get bored or rejected. You find the latter more likely.
You guys find a nice spot where it will just be you guys, under a tree off to the side of the main school building, on the large front lawn. You wind up knitting anyway while you talk with them in the shade, just to have something to do with your hands.
"Rose, you're never there after school ends." John says. "What do you do after school?"
"I take the offered psychology course as an extra class at the end of the day." you say.
"What do you during lunch?" he asks.
"I'm in knitting club. I go every day." you say.
"Morning?"
"Orchestra."
"You have a totally packed schedule." John says.
"John's a total fucking deadbeat with no hobbies." Dave says.
"That's not true, I watch movies and I collect movie posters and stuff." John says. "You're a total fucking deadbeat, Strider." Strider is Dave's last name, apparently.
"Okay, watching bad movies un-ironically is not only the lamest thing to do ever but is also not a hobby." Dave says. "And I do things, I manage a blog. It's the shit, man, in case you haven't heard about it. The fucking shit."
"Totally." John says, accompanied by an eye roll. "Just like those glasses are the shit and that band you listen to is the shit."
"That's right, bro." Dave says. "I am the fucking shit." You're almost having a hard time following the conversation while maintaining a high quality of scarf at a rapid-fire knitting speed, but you manage. The yarn you're using is multicolored, you got it from the manager of the knitting club. They gave it to you because of 'how awesome your skills are', or at least that's how they phrased it. You're thinking this scarf will be for Jade.
You can see on Jade's face an expression of mild disapproval, most likely she disapproves of all the arguing, but you can see also that she's starting to get used to it. It probably will never stop, considering those boys and how they are with each other.
Somehow, Dave ends up sharing an ironic rap with you, and you end up in deep conversation about the role of rap as part of the collection of popular music genres and how it got there. Well, it may be deep on your end, but less so on his end. John and Jade have nothing to offer to the conversation so they just watch in mild bemusement. You don't listen to rap, really. You think there's a band Dave would like that you listen to occasionally, though it might be too mainstream for his obvious hipster tastes. It disbanded recently and is known for the electro-jungle feel of their music as well as the ironic lyrics. He would take well to the irony.
You find yourself ten minutes later in a completely different conversation, on the song 'Ironic' and how Dave actually listens to it ironically. Then you take a big step forward and question his irony in a psychological way.
"Really, Dave." you say. "What more is ironic about many of the things you label with irony then the fact that they're not actually ironic? How deeply do you understand the concept of irony?"
"You don't understand because this is some deeply ironic shit I'm bringing out." he replies. "It's ironic on so many levels, it's like a fucking hailstorm of advanced irony. It's so fucking advanced that ironic professors of irony wouldn't even get it. They'd be all like, 'What is this advanced ironic shit? I don't fucking get it because it's fucking Strider level irony.'"
"Because you're 'the shit', right?" you ask.
"Exactly. Fucking right." Dave says. You're not really sure how feces somehow became a symbol of respect, power, and worship, but you're not ready to get into another debate with Dave about one of the concepts he holds dear to himself. You're sure he'll be a field day to analyze when you know more about psychology. Him and Jade, with her intuition. You're not really sure if psychology can help you with how the intuition works, though. It seems like it could be something more than that.
You all wind up eating another pre-made sandwich. It's as disgusting as it was the first day.
"I'm going to do my best to acquire a microwave as to prevent any further loss of brain cells by way of hideous pre-made sandwiches. I have to say, they are at the pit of the pre-made food ladder. The worst. Nothing worse than pre-made sandwiches." you say.
"Bagel-dogs." John says. You raise an eyebrow. "They're these disgusting hot dogs wrapped in something like whole-wheat raw dough. Usually the dough is loose around the dog, the dog is too salty, and basically everything sucks."
"I'm not sure that's worse than what I'm eating." you reply.
"I'm not sure what you're eating, but you should be eating what I'm eating." Dave says. You pretty much decide to mentally tack on 'ironically' if you ever write about this. 'Dave said ironically' would portray how fully immersed in misguided irony he is. "It is the mother-fucking pinnacle of pre-made food. It is the shit. It is the most delicious cuisine that has ever touched my wet tongue. Like a fucking symphony on my usually underwhelmed tastebuds."
"Mine's okay." Jade says with a shrug. She has the ability to pretty much ignore everything they say. Pretty much but not totally, because you notice how she blushes a tiny bit every time Dave turns towards her while speaking or every time he uses her name.
"I have to say, I like the microwave idea." John says. You smile a little bit, because you knew it was a good idea, but still.
"I can do well with a microwave." you say, somewhat unnecessarily. "I've made leek stew with a microwave before."
John looks at Dave and Jade. "If she gets a microwave, we're all going over there for every dinner ever."
"I can make a small cake in the microwave." you say.
"Fuck no. Don't even..." John says.
"His dad's a bit cake obsessed. Like, totally cake obsessed." Jade says. "More like everything to do with Betty Crocker really."
"Ah, do not speak of the batter-witch!" John shouts, covering his ears. You laugh and so does Jade.
"I think the microwave is a good idea." Jade says. "Where would you put it though?"
"On the desk." you say. "I can put it on the desk sometimes and move it to the floor when I'm studying."
"You realize that having a microwave is totally opening your room up to everyone for dinners at your place, every night. Probably." John says.
"I guess." you say. "Not that we actually have to let you in. The door has a lock you know. Jade, would you be okay if people started coming over to eat every once in a while?"
"Sure." she agrees with a smile. "But not when I have too much homework, okay?"
"Deal." you say. "Assuming I can get my hands on this microwave. Here, let me text my mom about it..." You grab your phone from your little purse and text your mom ("Mother, would it be possible to have cooking appliances, preferably a microwave, shipped to me at school. My room is 6 of the English building.") and put it back in the purse. You continue with your knitting. The scarf is almost done. It's thick and warm and not especially useful for the warm summer months but definitely for the winter. You've heard winters here can be cold.
You talk more before deciding to head back to the guys's rooms to hang out in. You're disappointed that you couldn't go somewhere else, that the privilege of wandering around the nearby town is reserve for the teens of the high-school run by the same people a few blocks over. You get to the top of the stairs and Dave realizes he's dropped something. What follows is probably more spectacular then anything you've seen before.
Dave was halfway up the second portion of the stairs when he realized that his cell phone was missing, that it was probably just towards the bottom of the stairs. The moment his foot touches the top floor he turns and takes a great step down, something he was trying to make look cool or ninja or ironic or however he would describe that, and the top of his toe touches the second stair down. His foot folds over forward a bit and he's falling, soon he's rolling, and then he hits the wall before the stairs continue down and manages to somehow go down them too.
As it turns out, his phone is at the bottom. But you can't not use this chance to reference something Strider would undoubtedly know.
"I warned you about the stairs, bro." you laugh. He looks at you, or at least you think you can feel his eyes on you. "I warned you dog." He seems to be distracted by this because his foot slips and he's down the stairs again. Jade cries out and runs down to help him. As he ironically crawls up the stairs with her assistance, you say, "It keeps happening."
"Reference secured." Dave confirms. "Fucking awesome."
You think that, despite your previous frivolous quarrels with Dave, more like friendly debates, you have earned his respect and possibly friendship. You hope. He doesn't seem like the type to stand for any crap, in the drama sense or in the bullying sense. Not that you're too worried about all of that happening this year.
You spend a lot of time the next day staring at the social networking site. Not your old account, but the login page as you think about going on. What it might mean that you wanted to see how things were going in the lives of your past friends. That you cared. You wonder briefly if anyone at this school has an account on that website, any of your new friends. But then you remember you only have one or two new friends, three at most. Jade isn't likely to have an account, Dave might ironically but never use it, you don't know about John. John seems different from both of them.
You realize later during the week that John's a bit different because he's more normal than the rest of you. Jade's from that far off island in the Pacific and Dave's got the puppets and the strange almost conceptual irony. John's just a kid that likes to watch and obsess over bad movies and that plays piano and all the rest of his normal kid stuff.
About a month into school you can definitely say that you've become friends with Jade and maybe Dave. There's a lot more that you learn about everyone in that time, like that Jade's grandfather was a great adventurer that explored all over and did all the typical adventurer stuff and that Jade plays the bass and a little flute. That Dave's older brother was borderline abusive to him as a child and that he was really into the turn tables. That John's Dad had lots of harlequins lying around the house and that, besides that, he was so ordinary it nearly gave John a headache. Just a regular business man, as he said, and the way he said it made it seem like it had been some sort of a revelation. You can see yourself becoming good friends with John in the future, but it takes time to make friends, for you at least.
On the weekend you're hanging out with all of them again. You haven't really socialized much out of this little group of people, though you suspect the others have extended their social range farther than you have. The four of you are sitting on the lawn talking about school and kids in class and all of the regular stuff when you see a UPS truck round the corner and leave a package at the school's gate. They press a button which must resemble a buzzer or a doorbell of some kind and an office personnel comes out to collect the package. The package is large, the package is the typical brown cardboard, and the person coming in from the office is having a bit of a hard time carrying it. You know that person from your daily trip to the office as the self appointed refresher of tissue boxes, which need to be replaced regularly.
"Where are you going?" John asks as you get up.
"Helping them." you say, walking over. He must have not pegged you as the type to help out if the expression on his face is any indication, and that almost makes your heart twinge. You thought you'd seem like a good person. But in the long run, it doesn't really matter.
"Can I help you?" you ask the person from the school office. Their face lights up a little, relieved, as they offer you a corner to carry.
They're short, a little taller than you though, and their arms are stubby. You could carry this pretty easily. You take the package in it's entirety and they smile.
"Rose, do you think you could be a dear and take that somewhere for me?" they ask.
"Yes. Where is this headed for?" you ask.
"Oh, one of the student rooms. A delivery from outside I guess, maybe a gift from a parent? Let's see, hmm, looks like Six of the English building." they say. You try not to look surprised, because that would be unprofessional. Not that this is a profession for you, but it's still good to take all of your tasks seriously.
"No problem." you say, smiling. You turn and head off immediately. A package, for you? Surprised and excited. Excitement is surely the underlying emotion there, you're almost looking forward to opening this. You've got an idea of what it is, and it could only be from your mother.
It turns out you were one hundred percent correct with your guess. As soon as you got to your room, you closed the door and tore open the package, piled foam peanuts neatly on one corner of the bed. Inside the box was a miniature sized kitchen set, complete with a mini-fridge, coffee and tea machine, and pots and pans set. Not to mention, on top of all that, the shiny black microwave.
Jade is ecstatic when she finds out, though you can barely imagine why. You have a hard time believing that your mother's back to these passive aggressive games, outdoing you and overdoing everything. You thought you'd gotten over all of that, you and her, but apparently she's back at it and your only choice really is to fight back.
You're not entirely sure Jade realizes it, so you have to point it out to her.
"Jade, even though we've got the equipment we can't make anything without actual supplies and produce." you say. Her response is as vague and confusing if slightly optimistic as usual.
"Soon. You'll have everything soon, you need to take action though." she replies.
You decide eventually that the right course of action is to pursue the lunch lady and pay her to pick up some extra supplies for your own home cooking. You're not sure how to do so, saying that the prepared sandwiches were horrible that she made and you demanded to make your own dinners might not go over well. You're not sure, but you think the lunch lady is a very serious, straight forward woman.
You decide to knit her something, a scarf perhaps. Scarves really are your specialty, though you do enjoy knitting creatures often as well. You still haven't given that scarf to Jade, but you think that you'll do that soon. You hear her birthday's coming soon.
You make sure to carefully observe the lunch lady during lunch time. You have a spot with Jade and John and Dave now. It wasn't like that at first. Dave had his own cool, ironic friends, but he doesn't care so much about his image when it comes to Jade. Jade's your friend, and a couple days after that she said she couldn't bear to see you sitting all alone like that and invited you to sit with them. It would be impolite to turn her down, so you wound up sitting with her. John was just too stupid, or perhaps too smart, to take the hints Dave was throwing, and so just wound up there anyway.
It's a couple of days of cold, hard analysis before you actually talk to the Lunch Lady. You see how hard she works and you know she deserves the capitalized title.
She's sitting outside, having a smoke. It's just after you get out from the school portion of your day and just an hour and a half before she puts out dinner. You approach her with caution; it looks like she's done with kids for the day, though she's not so fortunate to actually be done with kids for the day.
"Miss Brown," you say, because that's the name listed on her name tag, "I don't believe I've actually had the chance to thank you for your services yet." She looks you up and down for a moment. Her hair is grey and pulled back, her gaze is firm and judging.
"Oh yeah, you're that girl. What do you want?" she snaps. You decide you like this woman.
"I've brought a gift for you." you say. You say 'gift' but what you think is 'peace token' and 'offering'. She narrows her eyes as you take out the scarf. It's blue, a color she seems not to trust. Or maybe she doesn't trust you. You believe it's probable.
She looks over the scarf once she has it in her hand. You chose the softest material for this one and probably spent the most time on it out of all the scarves you've made this school year so far. She looks up again, and this time her gaze is a challenge, not a distrust but a bargain.
"What do you want?" she asks again.
"I appreciate your cooking, but I aspire to cook myself." you say. "I was hoping you could give me lessons and perhaps provide me with materials for my home cooking, pick up a couple extra things when you're shopping for yourself maybe? I'm prepared to pay you."
"Don't have any time for lessons." she says. She takes a drag, looks at the ground. She exhales smoke as she continues. "No time for lessons, I could pick something up for you. How would you cook though? You can't use my kitchen, is for sure."
"I have a kitchen set at home." you say. "Well, in my room. I have a list, if that's alright. A friend's birthday is coming up and I'd like to make something special for them."
She looks at you. "You really do like cooking, don't you?" Another drag, then she exhales. "Let me tell you something. I'm not much of a cooking enthusiast. Never went to any cooking school, never did any of that. Got hired here because I can cook something simple and they'll make you eat something." She looks at you and her gaze is colder and harder than ever. "I know you're playing me. You might want to cook but you're not a cooking enthusiast either. You don't like my food, no one should in their right mind. It's the hot lunch food. I can tell you're bribing me with this scarf, trying to soften me up."
There's a second where her words are hanging in the air. She knows. You don't back down, though, because you don't think this would ever get done if you did. It's a long second, though, as she stares at you. Another drag. Another exhale. The smoke curls up into the air. This woman is not a happy woman, you know that. She took the job because she was in some bad place, desperately needed a job. She doesn't even like cooking that much. She doesn't like kids. She doesn't like her life. You bet she knows how much each drag on the cigarette is killing her lungs and doesn't care. But you think she'd care if she heard the doctors telling her she had cancer, you think she'd have a newfound appreciation for life if she only had a few months left to live. She's one of the pathetic creatures so desperate to die that turn desperate to live at the chance they might actually lose their life. You'd help her. You don't think you really could, but if you could you would. She's the type of person that you like.
"But it's a good thing I like you." she says. You're almost surprised when she starts talking again. "You're strong, won't back down from a challenge. Show me the list and give me the money."
"Thank you." you say, and you give her both. You know how you sound; cold, curt. It's exactly how you want to come off sounding.
"I've got things to do." she says. She drops the cigarette on the ground, crunches it under her heel. She throws you a slight nod before she goes back inside.
You know you've just made an under table deal with the lunch lady, and you're not surprised. It doesn't seem that strange to you. You're just satisfied that you had such a pleasant transaction, and a little bit sad by the sight of her. You make a note to drop by again and say hi sometime.
You make sure to thank her every time she serves you food, and she gives you a knowing glance.
In a week you have everything you'd asked for. You arranged a special meeting with Dave the friday after.
"Dave, tomorrow's Jade's birthday, something I expect you to be fully aware of, and if you're not then I must admit it's likely not by any fault of your own." you say. You turn to him. "You got her something, right? Made her something, at least?"
"Yup." he says.
"Take her out on a date. We need her to be distracted and away from the room." you say. "Not only am I making her a cake but I'm throwing a surprise birthday party." Dave agrees to this plan. You must admit it is a fairly marvelous plan, you're proud of it.
On the day of the party, John walks in. You've got the ingredients out and are mixing them in a pan with all of your mother's helpful tools and utensils. Cups of different liquids are dumped in. You grab the Betty Crocker Super-Moist cake mix and rip off the top, tear into the plastic, pour out the powder into the liquid goo. You turn and look at John. He is frozen, paralyzed, his face bearing an expression of something that surpasses distaste entirely, bordering on horror or perhaps full blown disgust. He's turned on his heels before he even says anything, which you ignore as you continue baking.
Seven minutes in the microwave, as the online recipe dictated, and the cake is done. It's small, you have to admit, but it resembles to you new beginnings of the finest microwave cuisine. You frost it and put candles on, then spend a few minutes wrapping the scarf you made for Jade.
She gets back from her date with Dave, and at that time John is present in the room. He snuck back around, and though he insisted on placing the microwave in front of both the cake and the box which he found offensive for some reason, he could stand to be in the room with them. Maybe you were wrong, John isn't quite a normal child. Maybe more normal than any of you, but not normal by any standards. He waits patiently until Jade arrives, at which point you both stand up and watch her expression change from satisfied and peaceful to gleeful. Her arm was on Dave's, but she detaches herself from him immediately to give you and John a big hug each before returning. You don't wait too long to light the candles, and when you do the three of you erupt into a chorus 'Happy Birthday' around Jade. She looks so happy, and you feel good knowing you were part of that. You sit her down and slice off a piece of your home-made microwave cake for her while Dave and John round up the presents. She seems slightly overwhelmed, but surprised and excited. She takes time enjoying the cake, then she opens presents.
You won't pretend you know what Dave's gift is, but you don't ask either. Whatever it is, Jade loves it. John gives her something more cheesy then even imaginable, how does he come up with this stuff? You give her the scarf, which she likes a lot. You feel like you could almost be preening right now. You made something that she liked, and though you were pretty confident in it, you never let go of that underlying doubt in your work, that feeling that it wasn't good enough, that you weren't good enough. You wouldn't call it preening, exactly, but you're very proud of what you've done.
You make dinner too, after the cake. The four of you sit on the beds with your bowls of spaghetti and you definitely preen when John compliments your cooking. But then he makes a crack at it, about how you're acting, and so does Dave, and you'd be tempted to start a food fight if you weren't more mature then that. So much more.
The next day you have to explain the grease stains on the bed sheets. You don't have any excuse really, but again, you'd like to say that the grease stains do not resemble olive oil in any way and the shapes of the stains do not look long and skinny and possibly resemble the stains made by long and thin strips of some kind of fiber compound. You'd like to remind everyone again that you are way, way too mature to start a food fight.
Usually.
Of course, word gets around, not about the food fight you didn't start but about the microwave and the cooking, and suddenly there are people you don't know by name looking at you twice in the hall and acting nicer and Jade suddenly has a lot more friends over. You tell her to keep a watch on your things, make sure they don't get damaged by less careful hands, and escape to room number eight to study.
It's just once that you do that, and then just twice. Then it becomes kind of regular, almost daily. You notice little things that aren't important and that room becomes almost like your second home. One day Jade talks to you about the room.
"Don't get too used to it." Jade says.
"To what?" you ask.
"The room." she says. "Room number eight. Having it as a personal study."
"Why not?" you ask. You ask even though you know the answer will most likely be confusing and vague and puzzle like and not helpful in the least.
"The girls that live there." she says, and you're proven right yet again about Jade's strange intuition. It seems almost useless at times, counterproductive.
"What girls?" you ask. "Jade, it's an empty room. It's been empty all this year so far. That's months."
"There are girls." she says. You'd be weirded out if you weren't used to this by now. "You just haven't met them yet."
"What, like ghosts?" you ask, and while to some extent you certainly hope not you see how that could make for some interesting parties and sleepovers.
"No." Jade says. "Living girls. Not yet. Don't get so used to it."
You leave it at that and sigh slightly as you grab your bag and head over to room eight.
The walls are white and there's a small chip in the paint every here and there. Under the paint it's yellowed, faded. The wall is ugly underneath it's shell. There's writing on the walls, just a tiny bit, and it's all smudged out. Green marker, purplish. There's white-out over some of it, but the color still shows through. Not the words, just the color. You sit on the bed while you work, not the floor and not at one of the desks. The mattress is stained various colors from various things and you've always chosen not to contemplate that, though it may be tempting.
You leave the door to the bathroom open while you work, and keep the door to the hall closed. The whole point of using this room is to shut out the rest of the world and quietly get some work done. The window in the bathroom is positioned perfectly in this room, so that when you wind up staying past dark working you can see the light of the moon, even from the bed. The small window and bars cause a pattern of shadow on the floor, four horizontal stripes. They're tinted what looks like blue because of how the light is here. It's not what you're used to from home, and it's something you definitely could never get used to, nor would you want to. It's beautiful, and you want that to stay fresh.
All around, it's also the perfect spot for writing.
You've become less shy about your writing. Jade's read some of your stuff, you share out more in class. It's not that drastic of an improvement, but it's something. You really do like writing, and you still feel that half of what you write is crap, but you're not upset by that. You write because you enjoy it and you like getting good at it, not because you are good at it.
December comes quickly, and for you all that really means is your birthday is around the corner. You've never been big on Christmas. What is Christmas to a kid who never believed in Santa and whose mom was never sober enough to make Christmas anything less then a partial disaster. You get the text that she's been called to an urgent matter of business and probably won't be home for the holiday. You have two options, to go to your dreadful Aunt Mildred's house for Christmas or to stay with your cousins. You love your cousins to death and you love the east coast with all of your heart, but you don't want to impose on them. Mildred is a horrible hag who's always been cruel to everybody and owns eight dogs. There are old cat ladies that are sweet and give you brownies and then there are old dog ladies, and you know what they say about cats and dogs being so entirely opposite each-other and in this case you extend that to define cat people and dog people as well. You've never even seen Mildred look at a brownie, much less make one.
You talk to Jade about these choices. She's staying because with the jet lag and the length of the trip and the cost going back home during the two week vacation just wouldn't be worth it. She tells you that the school stays open during the break, the boarding part at least, and you can stay here. You're sure your mom wasn't aware of that option, and that's the option that you choose.
As it turns out, Dave and John are staying, and pretty much the whole English building. Most of the boarders are boarding not just because the commute is unreasonable but because their parents are always out. Dave tells you that most of them have been going for several years, they're used to staying through the holidays. You find that a bit sad, even if Christmas isn't big to you.
Also, though Christmas isn't big to you, you insist on getting a tree. You bribe the Lunch Lady again to get a tree, but she discounts you, probably out of pity for your whole dorm. She also gets you more pop-tarts and pasta and food then you know your money could have bought, but you don't say anything. Just like she doesn't say anything when you tip her and give her another scarf.
The tree is like the tree from Charlie Brown. It's frail and small and you put it out in the hall, where you decorate it with popcorn strung on yarn and various knitted little ornaments, because you don't have anything else to give to it. But also like with the Charlie Brown tree, everyone adds. Jade has a couple stuffed animals small enough so she strings them up and hangs them. Dave's got some old CD's, probably of bands he used to like until they got famous, and he puts those on the tree. John adds little things made of paper scraps that look like they were supposed to be those paper snowflakes. The sentiment is appreciated. Then suddenly someone with actual ornaments starts hanging some, and someone with a skill at making paper cranes and someone who punched holes in bottle caps. Even the people you don't know contribute. It's funny to you how people you don't know are putting so much effort into decorating the tree you brought. And you guess, even though you brought it, it isn't really your tree. It's the tree for the whole building, for all the kids who don't have anywhere to go home to for Christmas.
It's cold here in December, colder than you thought it would be. Christmas Eve is probably the day with the most frigid temperatures you've ever been subjected to. Jade persuaded you to make scarves for John and Dave too, so when you're walking around campus with them you're all wearing them. Yours is purple, Jade's is the one you made for her birthday, John's is blue, and Dave's is red. You can tell they're grateful, even if they don't fully express that vocally, by the way they wrap the scarves around their face over and over and over again to all of it's length and then hang them to dry in the bathroom when they get back.
While you walked around, though, you took in the cold. It was very cold but it was nice to some extent. You're one much more for the winter than the summer and you find it to be pleasant. It's beautiful, too, like so many things. The grass is frosted over and the little glimmering crystals of water are white and beautiful, they cover the dirt too. Everything is frozen. The trees shed their leaves, the one you sit under with them did as well. Autumn was a pretty time but winter is the beautiful time, with the trees bare with naked limbs reaching to the sky. Like dark, shriveling hands springing from the ground to grasp the clouds but not quite reaching. There is beauty in the darker aspects of life, and sometimes you wonder why others can't see that.
There's no staying up late and shivering with excitement this year, not that there ever really was any for you. But you do linger up for a while longer than Jade, walking up and down the halls. You know it's kind of ridiculous, but some nights you need to stretch your legs before you can sleep, simply because you're used to walking across your huge house to get to bed.
Christmas morning is slow and happy. You wake up and make pop tarts and hot chocolate for breakfast, not just for you and Jade but for the boys too. You guess they've just become part of the collective you, your group and your friends and you guys. You eat with them out in the hall and exchange gifts by the tree.
You give Dave an ironic sweater, John a non-ironic movie reference sweater, and Jade a plush squid that you knit and stuffed with yarn. You get a 'squiddle' from Jade, but the eyes are altered to look like that on your altered poster. John gives you a special psychology book, which you appreciated. Dave gives you some music he wrote, suited more to your tastes than his.
Almost everything this year is home-made or great lengths were gone to to acquire the gift. It feels really special, and really personal. You think about Jade taking the time to carefully adjust and color the eyes of the squiddle and doing as great of a job as she did, of John looking for that book online and buying it with his limited supply of money, or maybe sneaking out to buy it from a bookstore, of Dave thinking of you and writing a song he thought you might like, painful as that could be.
There's this feeling that you have, something you're not used to. There's not really any way to describe it, but it's wonderful. You think of the cold, hard ground outside and the grass that's nearly frozen solid, the air that fogs up with every exhale. The dark trees that reach for the sky but never touch the clouds. And you look at your tree, not exclusively yours because you brought it but yours in the sense of the collective you, with Dave and Jade and John and all of the people that added the bits and pieces, that helped make the tree what it is, a tree that's warm and friendly and belongs to everyone in the English building. It's beautiful. And that may be the word to describe the feeling, too.
Beautiful.
