fleeting.

i've spent the past 5 years, more or less, in a mountain town, filling my days with mind-numbing lectures, real-life intellectual experiences, and more inebriation than i care to own up to.

i'm a college student. a statement i will only be able to make for 5 more days, and it pains me to have just counted those days on one hand.

i am a college student. such a simple statement that on the outside, could never embody the unmatchable feeling the phrase truly ignites in me. instantly a montage of memories plays on the backscreen in my mind, flashes of faces, dancing, tears, hugs, hello's and goodbye's, music. significance. saturday it will be embodied in a square hat and long gown, a smile, an embrace from family, and then, somehow silence.

i remember the notes i jotted down to myself as i rode out of my small town, on my way to move in freshman year. they were approximately:

my last coffee was from mcdonald's? the last time i rode on my favorite road, my favorite curve, i was sending a text message? what is this reality?

i remember how fleeting each mile felt. i remember how exhilarating the unknown future felt, but how that exhilaration filled me with discomfort.

looking back, it was my own naivete that scared me. now i realize just how to cherish all of that significance rather than deal with the frustration of its elusiveness.

we started a mini tradition the past few days... each time one of my roommates was officially 'done' with the year, or in some cases, their college career, we pop a bottle of champagne. we stand around and toast to the one finished, to the year we've had, to the impenetrable bonds we've made, to which a meager bubbly does no justice. we sip.

today one of my roomates was leaving. although she will be returning to celebrate our graduation, the small hiatus signified a bigger end. we sat on the yellow kitchen coutners, glasses in hand, and spontaneously and unashamedly reminisced. we shared laughs with each story, of spring break misadventures and snow day shenanigans to say the least. we attempted again to piece together nights that had been marginally misplaced, while sharing tears recounting memories that were too real, too tangible to revisit just yet.

we sat on the counters as we had so many times before. we sat this time as 3 women who had come to know each other inside and out, to recognize each hair on our bathroom floor as well as every reaction, every feeling, every determinable neurosis that we shared to our souls. we came as near strangers and leave as near lovers, our shadows and footprints behind us and our indeterminable futures before us. and the confidence that if we did anything, we came and we loved and we did it with no abandon. and no regrets.

cloth napkin.

searching through the murkiness that is the 'drafts' section of my email, i came across this little gem... two short stories about my summer job at the new york deli, further proof that with sunshine and irresponsibility inevitably comes creativity, even in the form of goat cheese salads.
..............................................................................


daily trials of a carytown restaurant worker:



i didn't seat him, but i watched. fairly good-looking, fit.

lunch alone, without a book?

he smiled, confirming it.

not gay.

five minutes later, as i re-filled a family of water glasses, another man joined him. i observed their smart flat-front khaki's, each in a tucked-in button down. they sat together, leaning forward, joking.

dammit.

gay.

i began wiping down a table behind them and overheard the conversation: "i mean, mayonnaise is one thing, but you have to put the mustard and ketchup on the bread. putting it directly on the meat is a sin- it ruins the meat. condiments go on bread."

i laughed at the serious, protective tone in which they discussed ground beef.

not gay.

i overheard their order- one, a spinach salad with goat cheese, dressing on the side. the other, the cold plate with extra hummus.

yep.

gay.

i approached their table with their homosexual lunch choices. "salad with goat cheese?" i asked. the cute one smiled. "good choice." i lied. i gave the other his two ironically a-cup hummus mounds and asked if they needed anything else. "what, mine's not a good choice?" the other asked in an attempt to be clever. "no, you just didn't seem like you needed any positive reinforcement regarding your lunch." "oh, you're saying i'm fat." "i'm saying you're confident. enjoy the hummus."

and i could tell by the way goat cheese salad's eyes followed me...

not gay.

what's even better, he's the quieter of the two, and wouldn't leave lunch smelling of bean paste and garlic.

is it inappropriate to leave your number



.....on a cloth napkin?



....................................................

he was sitting at the end of the bar, a lunch-break beer with a friend. instantly i recalled 6 days earlier, a thursday night event, him leaning drunkenly out of his chair, begging me to stay.

the witty charm of this 20-something had been drowned by dark liquor and his glassy eyes leaked desperation. it was entertaining, if nothing else. i slipped him my business card- a simple 2x3.5" with my name, contact information, and a clever acid yellow stitched line across the middle.

i could tell by the way he talked, the designer jeans, loud printed shirt that he had recovered his clever, non-inebriated self along with his dignity, so once i conjured up the perfect line, i slipped behind the bar and stood in front of the two.

"oh my god..." he said, feigning an entertaining shocked expression.

"this may be deja vu, but didn't i leave you in that same seat thursday night?"

"no sweetheart, it was the back booth after you tried to makeout with me."

laughing sarcastically, "that must have been some other black-dressed brunette." redirecting my attention, i extended my hand to his friend. "hi, i'm liz."

noticing, he attempted to win it back. "weren't you coming over here to say 'michael, i've been thinking about you ever since thursday. tell me when i can take you to dinner.'"

relieved he divulged his name- something i unashamedly had forgotten. i smiled slyly, "well michael, if i recall, you have my card. if dinner is what you're interested in, i trust you'll contact me."

"when are you free?"

"next week."

"ok, i'll give you my number."

"you have mine- i'll hear from you."

i walked away, wondering where this confidence came from, considering i had been drinking with friends until 5am and still hadn't showered.

i avoided that end of the bar until the two left, not wanting to inevitably taint the image i left in his head.