I've always had an attachment to objects. I keep things, like student IDs, that serve no purpose but memory, objects that mean little to others yet, in their absence, my world (and my memory), would seem to sputter out and quickly disappear. So, I was surprised last week when, faced with a stickered, trendy NYC-themed Sigg water bottle, a decent story would not emerge. I almost created one myself multiple times, forgetting this was a non-fiction class.
But things started happening, and memories, not yet whole stories, crossed my mind. That Wednesday I slumped toward voice lessons groggy and congested. Infuriated by my frequent, allergenic sniffles and trips to the water fountain, my teacher staged an intervention.
I should say that Keyona is a beautiful woman, so much so that I can't really help but state it every time I enter lessons. She makes me nervous and confused. I might even categorize her as fierce. She interrupted my scales, levelled with me, and gave me an assignment for next week: "Show up with a new water bottle in tow, one that can sustain you through a lesson!" Great, I thought. Just big enough to make me look like a freak. But I was excited, too. One new memory about a water bottle, created and stored. It didn't seem enough for a paper, though. I looked at my current water bottle for inspiration. It was another of those earth-friendly Siggs. I stole it, actually, from my best friend.
Anyone who knows me knows Caitlin. She's the kind of friend who attends another's family functions without showing a trace of effort as incessant conversations trail on (no, grandma, she's not my girlfriend) but is quiet enough to not charm the relatives too much. She observes. One day, Cait and I watched weeds for 18 hours straight. Since High School graduation, she has frequently visited me at school, peppering my room with her belongings for weekends at a time as we putz around the city, exploring between meals, and laughing about nothing in particular.
On one of her visits, Caitlin lost her Sigg. I had made us a fort on the floor of my tiny single room and somehow, we couldn't find the thing before she left. She returned to school, calling me for days to inquire if I'd yet found it. "No," was the answer, but I hadn't really looked. Finally, I decided to re-mount my mattress on my bed frame. There on the floor was Caitlin's aluminum blue bottle. I was secretly ecstatic. I had wanted one all summer but couldn't justify investing in a twenty dollar container. After days of using it as my own, I finally told her I had found it. A few choice words followed from Cait before she confessed she had bought a new one and I could keep hers. I'll probably give it back eventually, but this is the stuff best friends share. It doesn't matter much, really, compared to the more significant things Caitlin has given me, but this water bottle I can touch, hold, and carry through my day.
A week has passed since the assignment was given, as I finish this essay in real time. It's 7 AM and I realize I have yet to satisfy Keyona's request. Terrified, I go to my office to check my email, and discover among the wreckage of paperwork, sheet music, and discarded pieces from my past two dorm rooms, a giant, gallon jug of water, caked with dust and a straw bending weakly from the hole. I forgot about this bottle, which is not quite mine either. My sister probably wouldn't care too much that I stole it, though.
Anna, wo lives in Georgia, has been sick for most of my memorable existence. In my fifth grade year she suffered a series of mystery hospital visits and diagnoses, only to have a pacemaker implanted the day after her high school graduation, then removed, then re-implanted. Through the mess of her illness, she collected a variety of hospital souvenirs, my favorites being her teddy bear, "IV," and this obese water bottle. For months she lugged it around the house, almost too cumbersome for her to bear, and downed gallons of fluid. When she left me for college (a blow I took personally), she left it at home. The next three years brought me just as many cases of mono, which I honestly enjoyed, watching countless movies with this jug in tow.
Today, it seems this bottle has saved the day again, albeit only from Keyona's wrath and not mono or surgery . Staring at my classmate's water bottle, and re-discovering my two stolen containers, I don't think these are the kinds of objects I would take with me from a burning building. But the women they represent are another story.
No comments:
Post a Comment