over the rainbow

I have talked with my sister, and -- provided the administratives work out for both of us -- she will be in Peru for two years starting this February. Chances are high that I won't be in the States next semester, either. Take a cousin in London here and a boyfriend in Belgique, and I may as well incorporate according to the laws of France and call myself an MNC. Jen's news about Peru is truly extraordinary: this is a girl who used to cry when we made her order pizza. This is also a girl who sent me Play-do in the mail this week, though, so she's obviously full of suprises. My news of London calling pales in comparison to that. I'm proud of her.

For some reason, there's a small lump in my throat for all the moments that will not come back easily now. Heaven knows what brings it on; I wasn't feeling much of anything when she called me tonight to confirm, but taking out the trash wearing only my slippers brought me back to high school. I could so vividly picture myself in CCA's mandatory culottes after a game or practice-- if memory serves me correctly, this would have been volleyball regionals weekend -- slipping into my dad's slippers to take the trash out, feeling too lazy to lace anything. I miss his silly jumping exercises in the basement ("I want you to see if you can hit this tile with your head") and tapings -- Dave's dad used to record games for us, and man, would we catch it if we hadn't posted up or boxed out or picked and rolled or won the jump. And by "we," I mean me: Jen was the athlete. I was the loudmouth. Still, she'd stay down in the rec room with him for hours while I'd inevitably wander upstairs to shower or play the piano...ah, another thing I miss dearly. Right now, this house is so cold that I miss crawling into bed with her -- which I would do for longer than I will admit -- just because she gave off enough heat at night to be dubbed "the Furnace." On cold nights like this, man...she was the best. Cold feet, cold hands, whatever-- she never felt it as long as she was asleep. Anyway.

My dad was speechless when I called to tell him the news this weekend. Poor man: in two days, he's lost two daughters to different continents. I don't think he quite gets that we took him seriously when he told us we could do anything, go anywhere, speak up whenever we wanted to. It's as if we're back to claim that promise only to find he never thought we were listening at all. It made all of this -- this glorious, messy law school existence -- feel like more of an accomplishment than it does in the day-to-day when he told me that what he respects is that I, repeatedly, jump out in faith because I believe in my goal, even though that is loosely defined. When he said, "I don't know that I could do it," I just kept quiet. Those of you who know me know my father has bipolar disorder and has been disabled since I was in high school; those of you who know me well know that that one statement gets to the core of the things I had to force myself to get past when I realized I wasn't loving my dad properly. The things my dad taught me about dreaming were all in second-person; in many ways, his illness talked him into giving up on his own life awhile ago. And I pray for change in that; but in the meantime, I take these moments as gifts. Times to tell him that, truth be told, my "dreams" only happen because so many people love me, keep me grounded, give me time, and he is not the least of these.

"The thing is, Jessica, that I know that one of these days you're just going to get on a plane and not come back. And I support you, you know that. But I just wonder when that day will come." What do you say to that when your own suspicion is that, yes, that's exactly right, that you won't be ready for it any more than the people you love will be, but that you're going to go anyway?

I think what I will eventually say is that broken people -- and we are all broken -- still teach truth, still spill love, still bring courage. Sometimes they do this more than others in better situations; what have they got to lose? I am even prouder of him as I hear him fight the urge to ask me to stay, to change the part of me that steals away from this side of the Atlantic, because he taught us that this? This is life. Fighting for things bigger than we are, believing and being the underdog, the long shot, the eleventh seat.

Sorry, Maura. I'm pontificating again. Must! Be! Funnier! Soon!




i'm in love with a girl who's in love with the world
and i can't help but follow
and i know someday she is bound to fly away
to stay over the rainbow
but sometimes we forget who we've got
who they are and who they are not
in love, there's more than black and white
keep it loose, child
keep it tight
- amos lee