Cracks in the Plaster

There's one above my head,
stretching from walnut door frame
to bare bulb. It bows from
Missouri rain
long since evaporated.
	Houses aren't built like this anymore.
	Lath and plaster takes too much effort.
	Drywall is cheap. Time-efficient.
Another crack festers
a floor below
in my father's study.
"Too much roughhousing."	Nails are used to break the joints.
	It curbs the chance
	of future rifts.
	Preemptive separation.
The ceiling in the spare room
used to have a crack.
Before it collapsed.
	This house is not built for my father.
	Too many parts to fix
	to fit into his schedule.
	He is not a patient man.
I cut myself
tiptoeing around
pieces of plaster.
No one was around
to clean up the mess.
	I tried to fix the one above my head
	once, but I had the wrong tools.
	I stirred up 21 year old spackle
	instead of reinforced fiberglass tape.
	Now the ceiling is just a patchwork
	of “not good enough”.
I wait for the day
pressure shifts
and I collapse under the weight
of a decaying, bungalow-styled
family.

See You Again

I work at a hotel in my hometown at the front desk, and this summer has been rough. I started the job at the tail-end of last summer and come back on some weekends and over breaks during the school year. I am the only part-time worker, which means I am the first call if someone calls in sick or does not show up for any other reason. I knew I would have some hours this summer since a lot of my coworkers wanted some vacation time and there would be a few busy spots here and there. Since I'm living off campus this year, I didn't bother starting the process of looking for another summer job. I need the rent money. That's what I repeated to myself every time I woke up to a 6 am phone call and suited up in slacks and a button down shirt and made my way downtown.
I worked full-time hours last summer for 6 weeks, but this summer my hours varied depending on our capacity and other workers' days off. I could either work five and a half days in a row or go three weeks and only work three days. This made budgeting for myself a difficult endeavor, and mixing in my general high anxiety levels, this job has had me on edge. If you have ever worked in a hotel, then you've probably had the pleasure of experiencing the slew of daily complaints and comped rooms and angry elderly business men complaining they are in need of a free breakfast. In addition to maintenance and restaurant issues, our management company changed right in the middle of the summer. This meant new bosses, new way of doing day to day operations, and a whole lot of cash flow issues for the hotel. To cap it off, three people, including two managers and another front desk person, gave their two weeks at the same time. I was about to quit myself, but my mom convinced (aka guilt-tripped) me into staying until the end of the summer. I would be working more consistently and getting more hours in. Yay for the increase of my paycheck, but those paychecks were covered in tears of exhaustion.
I am not always the most positive person and I whine about silly things more often than I care to admit, but my attitude and temperament have been severely affected since I began this job. My coworkers would give up before their day began and I got yelled at regularly for things that were not my fault. On my off days, I woke up out of habit at 5:30 and stayed awake until after 7, just waiting to see if a coworker needed a shift covered. It also took a toll on my body, because for 7.5 hours I would stand in one spot. My arthritic knees and ankles became weak and weary, and even on my days off, they had trouble recuperating in time for my next shift.
I know I am lucky. I know having a job is a privilege and many people are out searching for one and come up empty. College is supposed to be a time for crappy jobs and little money, right? If only someone would have emphasized how often you would have to choose between paying rent and saving your sanity.
Outside of the circus that is my workplace, my summer was pretty underwhelming. My days off included me, my bed, and Netflix, and sometimes F. Scott Fitzgerald. Some weeknights I would hang out with friends who go to different collages and my weekends were normally spent with my fiance and his family.

During finals week of spring semester, I liked to fantasize my summer filled with crazy adventures and spending day after day in the sun soaking up that Vitamin D and reading all the books my little heart can take. And then May rolled around and all I wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep for another hour. When I would see people on my Facebook and Instagram feed off in California for the summer or taking vacations in Florida, I got incredibly envious. I wished I was anywhere but Missouri.
But then I remember the time I spent with my friends, and beaches become superfluous.  My friends and I are not party going people, but mostly the kind people who sit around until 4 am talking. The length at which we can talk about nothing continues to amaze me, but we also get into very real conversations that deal with serious topics. We play ridiculous card games that temporarily make us enemies and watch old Disney movies until sunlight sneaks up on us. We take midnight Walmart runs to get ice cream and look at throw pillows. The nights turned morning with these people were the highlights of my summer.

On more than one occasion, the song "See You Again" by Wiz Khalifa came on the radio while I was with friends. As I am not into rap much, I only knew the lyrics to the chorus.

"It's been a long day without you, my friend

And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

We've come a long way from where we began

Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

See you again"

All of us are in different cities now that the school year has begun and not seeing those crazy, silly, lovable weirdos gets me down sometimes. I am not finished with obstacles this year nor do I expect to go breakdown-free in the coming months of my junior year of college. Although the overall theme of this song does not coincide with how I feel being away from friends and my fiance, the chorus still resonates with me after a day of classes and homework. 

Origin Story

       The sharp smell of Expo markers clung in the air, hitting my nose the moment the door opened to Room 22. I took a quick assessment of the room as I made my way around the maze of tables. The walls were dotted in movie posters and handmade signs, and a long string with a rainbow of spoons tied to it hung across a back corner. A picture frame with a Bedazzled bra in it sat on a shelf in the back. Rows and rows of books, old and new, watched quietly behind a sliding glass door. The windowsill made a makeshift trophy case, full of paintings and models made from inspiration I hadn’t yet found. I pulled out a chair near the front where I had a clear shot of the board as well as the clock, which was off by seven minutes. 07:34. I was early anyway, as I always was on the first day. Directly underneath the clock was a dry-erase easel, with a single question posed at the top: What song is stuck in your head? I didn’t attempt to come up with only one, because on average, there were at least four songs roaming around my mind at any given moment. I took out my book from my bag and settled in for the next ten minutes while the other fifteen kids came in and picked a seat of their own, oblivious to me and the war I was fighting on page 378 with Eragon. The second bell rang and I reluctantly shut my book, keeping it close. But for the next 23 minutes, my hand didn't itch to open it once.

Hope- Flash Fiction

       The fuel light had yet blinked to blink on, but he knew he would have to stop before he reached the state line. Eli had been on the road for three hours already, and the sun was just barely peeking out over the trees. He had tried to keep his visit as short as possible, arriving just an hour before the funeral began, and leaving the house before dawn. He didn’t want to alert anyone of his departure when it would only drag out the process. A green sign on his right flashed by, indicating only another five miles until the next exit to a gas station. Eli tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but it only left his eyesight a little blurrier. He reached for the volume knob and lowered the chorus of some cookie-cutter country song so he wouldn’t miss his exit. He wasn’t even sure why the radio had been on in the first place.
His sister had been the one that loved music. Since the time she could walk, Hope had put on little shows for the family, always taking center stage of the living room floor. No one minded, of course, because Hope was the baby of the family, the one who got everything she asked for. Eli had been jealous of her as kids, looking on as Hope got an extra scoop of ice cream or an additional two or three presents at Christmas. Their older brother and sister, Jack and Sarah, had been too busy being teenagers to notice how Hope had stolen the spotlight from Eli. But instead of saying anything, Eli would just clench his fists and squeeze his eyes tight, pretending he was in someone else’s life.
He flicked his turn signal on and slowed considerably to take the cloverleaf exit. Pulling into the nearest gas station, Eli switched off the engine. He sat for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, and thought about all the times he had hated Hope. He hated her when she was seven and knocked over his school project. He hated her at his tenth birthday party when she blew out his own candles. When Hope started high school, Eli had been tasked by his parents to watch out for Hope, and he hated her for that, too. He didn’t want to put his junior year on hold just to make sure Hope knew how to get from homeroom to gym class. He had hated Hope for most of his life, and now his hatred was permanent. When a person dies young, they stay young forever, and the memories you have with them are what stays with you.
The car behind him honked, startling Eli back to the present. He sighed, ran his fingers through his dark curls, and opened the door of his Ford Taurus. He took the nozzle out of its holder and began pumping gas while shaking his head to clear it. He didn’t want to remember Hope as his despised kid sister. But then again, he didn’t have a lot of memories of her that made him smile. It wasn’t her fault she was the youngest. She didn’t ask to their parents to treat her as if she was their greatest achievement. Hope was a lot of things to Eli, but conceited was not one of them. Maybe Eli shouldn’t be blaming her for all the things he never got, but it’s always easier to point your finger at someone else than admit your unhappiness is your own fault.
The moment he moved the tassel to left, Eli left home and didn’t look back. He wanted to start a new life that focused on himself instead of being a part of a life that was focused on Hope. Eli, picking up the nozzle to put it away, noticed the sun had climbed a little ways in the sky, promising a hot and humid day. He got in the car and headed back towards the highway.
By the early evening, the sky had darkened with heavy clouds and the wind had picked up considerably. The wheat fields that extended on either side of the road rippled and waved to Eli. He thought of the way Hope waved goodbye to him the last time he saw her. Winter break had ended and he was finishing packing up the Taurus. She stayed in the doorway as the rest of the family came out to send him off. She kept one hand on the frame while the other waved to Eli as he backed out of the driveway. He couldn’t get the broken look on her face out of his mind. Over the entire break, Eli had said maybe two words to her, although she had constantly been trying to talk to him as if nothing had ever happened between them. That wave of hers was as if Hope knew it was the last time and wanted just one good day with Eli. But to him, Hope would always be disappointing. It was better for him to keep her at arm’s length.
The clouds were brewing into a threatening storm. Not even the air conditioning could stave off the Tennessee humidity. The image of a white casket flashed through his mind, closed for the ceremony. Yellow tulips, Hope’s favorite, had filled the small church. Eli could still smell them. He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to pretend his life was not his own.
He never saw the car coming.

Rocks (updated)

       Rocks

       Most might think a group of twenty teenagers and their chaperones could figure out how to dig a proper hole. The actual concept of digging is not lost on us, but our attempts of making a hole in the sand deep enough for a post to stand is fruitless. The hole keeps closing back in on itself, frustrating everyone. We try scooping it out with our hands and we try using the shovels to try and stop the sand from falling in, but nothing seems to be the right solution. At the end of two hours, we still do not have a hole. 

It is our second day in Oljato, Utah. The high school aged youth and our sponsors traveled a day and a half from St. Joseph, Missouri to get to this tiny town on a Navajo reservation. Oljato is about as far as you can get from the previous year’s summer mission trip to Copperhill, Tennessee, where the air is thick and lush, and green trees overpower the horizon line. Utah does not have an ounce of humidity and the only thing more abundant than the rock formations is the sand. It is not the type of sand you want to sink your toes into on the beach, but instead it is an orange, gritty sand that latches onto you and everything you own for months after you leave. 

It took us two days to travel to the reservation, the better part of which was spent in Colorado. This is my first mission trip experiencing both extremes of altitude, because the second day of driving our sponsors realized we had time to spare and decided to drive up Mt. Evans, known for the highest paved road in North America. The drive up was terrifying. Our twelve passenger vans barely fit on the snaking path, and even the bravest among us didn’t look over the edge for too long. Jenny, a freshman, made it a point to keep her gaze firmly on the opposite side the entire time. “Look at the pretty rocks,” she said. “I think I’ll just keep looking at these lovely rocks.” Honestly, we couldn’t blame her. 

By the time we made it to a lookout point, all of us were so glad to be standing still that we almost missed the view. For miles stretching in front of us, there were trees filling every nook and cranny of the mountainside. If you looked a little to the right, you would see more peaks protruding from the skyline, but there was a consensus that we wouldn’t be traveling any further up the road. Miranda, Jessie, and I attempted to take a picture with the scenery, but our cameras couldn’t do it justice. It was as if we were trying to capture the elegance of the moon with a dinky smartphone camera. 

After a group of us played a round of hacky sack on the side of a mountain, we piled back in the vans and headed downward. Before we left completely, though, we made a pit stop in the Mt. Evans souvenir shop. One of our younger guys bought a furry hat with antlers on it, which promptly initiated the nickname of The Moose Hat Guy for the remainder of the trip. I myself wasn’t going to get anything until I saw a rough cut of amethyst that could fit in the palm of my hand. It looked incredibly enticing as it glittered with several hues of purple, sparkling against the ring of gray rock that it was set in. After everyone had spent money on things they probably didn’t need, we loaded up and headed to our next destination: Oljato.

We arrived that night just as the sun was setting, although if you ask anyone in our group, we arrived at bedtime. We pulled up to the local church we are serving, which is also where we are sleeping. Before we could roll out our sleeping bags, the leader of the church, Sarah, wanted to talk with us in the sanctuary. We followed her into the small room with windows that lined the side walls. Sarah stood at the lectern and told us about what our mission would be this week. 

We will have two distinct projects while we are here. Half of us will be building a fence around the local church to keep cows from getting too close to the church, and the other half will be hosting a vacation bible school for the kids around town. Vacation bible school will consist of us teaching the local kids about bible stories by singing songs, playing games, making crafts, and eating snacks. The kids will show up around nine in the morning and leave around one or so in the afternoon. The thirty of us in our youth group will be sleeping and eating in the church, which consists of two rooms, a kitchen, and one bathroom. The girls will sleep on benches or the floor in the sanctuary, and the guys would be in the other room.

Yesterday, Oljato experienced a sandstorm. I was one of the lucky ones and stayed inside that day, working with the young kids at VBS. Looking outside, I almost felt like I was watching a snowstorm back home in Missouri. The sand was swirling and flying every which direction, making visibility difficult. Although there was not the biting cold, having sand being blown into your eyes is not much better than snow. When the high school kids came in for lunch, they walked very slowly, as if they were still trying to beat the fury of the wind. As a small compensation, our youth leader let anyone who was on fence duty have first dibs on the shower. Today has clear skies and calm winds, a day we figured would be perfect to dig holes and put up posts.

I am once again in the group that stays inside to help with VBS. We are teaching the kids about the creation story this week, and today is the land and sky. It seems most appropriate to me, given our surroundings. All there is out here is the sand, rock formations, and the sky. In the mountains, your attention is being pulled in multiple directions and you’re trying not to think about the sweat pouring off of you or the mosquitoes nipping at your ankles. But in Oljato, there aren’t any distractions. There is still plenty to catch your attention, but with all of the landscape being in the same color palette, it becomes one cohesive structure. Everything draws your eyes upward to the top of the mesas and upward still to the sky, which at night is dotted with brilliant stars, brightly contrasted against the rippling navy blue. Land and sky in its simplest, most majestic form.

The kids here are still a little shy, but are starting to warm up to us. All of them are natives on the reservation. Some of them came to VBS to hang out and have something to do during the day, while others were brought here by their parents. Our plan was to only keep them at the church until our activities for the day were over, but the kids ended up wanting to stay and play for hours afterward. We took them outside to draw with chalk and play some basketball with the older ones. Momo is a little boy that has stolen the hearts of all of us girls. He’s the smallest boy among the children, so he has been awarded the cutest kid award. Wawa, the nickname of a girl of about three or four, has permanently attached herself to Jenny, who loves giving her piggyback rides. 

During our meetings where we planned this trip, we decided that every evening after we worked, we would go on mini-field trips around and outside of Oljato. One day we will go to Monument Valley and drive around in golf carts with tour guides, another day we will go to Four Corners to say we have been in two, well four, places at once. Today is the day we climb up a mesa. Two men from town offer to take us up the mesa, which is about a ten minute walk from the church. Everyone except Jessica, our youth pastor, who is five months pregnant, and Tyler, a junior, decide to make the trek. We make sure to fill our water bottles before we head out, being mindful that although we do not sweat as much because of the very little humidity, we have to keep hydrated in this heat. 

My first mistake was staying in jeans. My second mistake was drinking half of my water before even reaching the base of the mesa. Now I am looking up and wondering if I have enough to get me to the top. Water is not my only concern, though. In the past year or so, I have seen multiple doctors to try and figure out why I am in pain most of the time. It started in my wrist and made its way to my ankles, knees, hips, and even my elbows. Sometimes if I make a sudden move, one or more of these joints will violently pop, immobilizing me for a few seconds. The concluding diagnosis is that I have a mild case of Juvenile Arthritis, or JA. I take medication for it, which is basically a high dose of Ibuprofen. The prospect of climbing all the way to the top of a mesa seems daunting. Jessica, knowing I have joint issues, has enlisted another sponsor with us, Robin, to make sure I do not overexert myself. 

We begin to make our way up the mesa, and so far I keep up with everyone pretty well. There are certain parts where there is loose rock and other parts where there is no purchase for our hands to hang on to. Up ahead there is a steep slant with enough flat area at the top for one or two people to stand. Larissa, a younger sponsor, gets there first and crouches at the top to help pull people up to the next stretch of the climb. I look up and see that we still have a long way to go, and think about the burning ache in my left ankle and my water bottle, which now only has a few drinks left. Robin notices my hesitation and asks if I need a moment to rest up before continuing. I blink a few times before making up my mind. “No,” I say. “I think I’ll make my way back to the church.” Robin tells me she understands and that she is proud of me for knowing my limits, but as I start my way back to the ground, I cannot help but feel like a loser. I am the only one from the group who turns around, defeated by my own body and what amounts to a large rock. As I sit and half slide down a rock near the bottom, I hear a ripping sound and feel that I have a brand new hole in the back pocket of my jeans.

I reach the ground and make the trek back to the church. I bring my water bottle up to my lips and tilt my head back, only to discover I had sipped my last drop some time ago. Still walking, I slowly put the cap back on a bottle full of nothing but disappointment. I look around me and start to panic. The guide that had helped me down the mesa had returned to the rest of the group, so I am on my own, but I can’t remember which path to turn on that takes me to the church and fresh water. I stop and put my hand to my brow so I can see past the glare of the sun, but my confusion only deepens. There are two buildings in the distance, but I cannot tell which one is my destination. Looking to the ground, I suddenly feel exhausted and the sand seems to be inviting me to lay down and take a break. My hand drops to my side and I go to lean down, but before I do I notice a smooth stone next to my foot. I pick it up and dust it off. 

It isn’t a particularly a pretty rock. It’s a dull orange and very porous, so no amount of scrubbing will get it clean. I pocket the rock, deciding to keep it as another souvenir. One from the highs and one from the lows. I glance back toward the buildings in the distance and find the confidence in myself to know where I’m heading.

Our other outings were to visit places like Monument Valley and the Four Corners where New Mexico, Utah, Arizona, and Colorado meet at once. We rode around in large golf carts at Monument Valley and listened to our guide talk about all of the enormous, and somewhat famous, rock formations. The boys got out their trusty hacky sack and played a game in four places at once while Miranda, Jessie, and I walked around the shops where Native Americans were selling jewelry and other souvenirs. I picked out post cards and a colorful ring made of beads and wire with a piece of turquoise at the center. 

The rest of the week passes without another sandstorm, although most of us still wake up with a new dusting of sand on top of our sleeping bags. Our last night in Oljato is here, and none of us want to leave. The kids in VBS have grown attached to us and stay long after planned to play and draw with us. The women who live nearby have shown us how to make wonderful fry bread and demonstrated how they make their jewelry with juniper beads. To celebrate our last night, a lot of us are asking to sleep outside for the night. The temperatures have been fair, and the skies are clear, making a perfect night to stargaze. Kevin, Jessica’s husband, decides to take those who want to go to a mesa to sleep on. I worry I will not be able to get up yet another one, but this time I am determined. 

It takes us only five minutes to find this mesa, which is much smaller than the previous one. The base gently slopes up to the plateau, making it easy for everyone to climb. We take it slowly, though, since it is already after dark and only have our flashlights and the light of the moon to see with. We spread our sleeping bags out, the girls in one cluster, the boys in another. Lying down looking up at the stars is something I immediately know I will never forget. I think about how excited I was before I left home, hoping to find adventure here in Oljato. I might look back someday angry with myself that I didn’t make it to the top earlier this week, but one big moment can’t overshadow all the little ones. I laughed and learned a lot more this week than I spent upset over a big rock with sharp edges.

We all talk quietly for another half an hour, reminiscing about the past week. We laugh as we remember how difficult it was that day we tried to dig a hole, and how silly we felt when the townspeople came over and told us what we were doing wrong. “Just add water,” they said. “The sand will stick together and it will not fall back in.” 

Rocks

            Most might think a group of twenty teenagers and their chaperones could figure out how to dig a proper hole. The actual concept of digging is not lost on us, but our attempts of making a hole in the sand deep enough for a post to stand is fruitless. The hole keeps closing back in on itself, frustrating everyone. We try scooping it out with our hands and we try using the shovels to try and stop the sand from falling in, but nothing seems to be the right solution. At the end of two hours, we still do not have a hole.

            It is our second day in Oljato, Utah. The high school aged youth and our sponsors traveled a day and a half from St. Joseph, Missouri to get to this tiny town on a Navajo reservation. Oljato is about as far as you can get from the previous year’s summer mission trip to Copperhill, Tennessee, where the air is thick and lush, green trees overpower the horizon line. Utah does not have an ounce of humidity and the only thing more abundant than the rock formations is the sand. It is not the type of sand you want to sink your toes into on the beach, but instead it is an orange, gritty sand that latches onto you and everything you own for months after you leave.

            It took us two days to travel to the reservation, the better part of which was spent in Colorado. This is my first mission trip experiencing both extremes of altitude, because the second day of driving our sponsors realized we had time to spare and decided to drive up Mt. Evans, known for the highest paved road in North America. The drive up was terrifying. Our twelve passenger vans barely fit on the snaking path, and even the bravest among us didn’t look over the edge for too long. Jenny, a freshman, made it a point to keep her gaze firmly on the opposite side the entire time. “Look at the pretty rocks,” she said. “I think I’ll just keep looking at these lovely rocks.” Honestly, we couldn’t blame her.

            By the time we made it to a lookout point, all of us were so glad to be standing still that we almost missed the view. For miles stretching in front of us, there were trees filling every nook and cranny of the mountainside. If you looked a little to the right, you would see more peaks protruding from the skyline, but there was a consensus that we wouldn’t be traveling any further up the road. Miranda, Jessie, and I attempted to take a picture with the scenery, but our cameras couldn’t do it justice. It was as if we were trying to capture the elegance of the moon with a dinky smartphone camera.

            After a group of us played a round of hacky sack on the side of a mountain, we piled back in the vans and headed downward. Before we left completely, though, we made a pit stop in the Mt. Evans souvenir shop. One of our younger guys bought a furry hat with antlers on it, which promptly initiated the nickname of The Moose Hat Guy for the remainder of the trip. I myself wasn’t going to get anything until I saw a rough cut of amethyst that could fit in the palm of my hand. It looked incredibly enticing as it glittered with several hues of purple, sparkling against the ring of gray rock that it was set in. After everyone had spent money on things they probably didn’t need, we loaded up and headed to our next destination: Oljato.

            We arrived that night just as the sun was setting, although if you ask anyone in our group, we arrived at bedtime. We pulled up to the local church we are serving, which is also where we are sleeping. Before we could roll out our sleeping bags, the leader of the church, Sarah, wanted to talk with us in the sanctuary. We followed her into the small room with windows that lined the side walls. Sarah stood at the lectern and told us about what our mission would be this week.

            We will have two distinct projects while we are here. Half of us will be building a fence around the local church to keep cows from getting too close to the church, and the other half will be hosting a vacation bible school for the kids around town. All thirty of us in our group will be sleeping and eating in the church, which consisted of two rooms, a kitchen, and one bathroom. The girls would sleep on benches or the floor in the sanctuary, and the guys would be in the other room.

            Yesterday, Oljato experienced a sandstorm. I was one of the lucky ones and stayed inside that day, working with the young kids at VBS. Looking outside, I almost felt like I was watching a snowstorm back home in Missouri. The sand was swirling and flying every which direction, making visibility difficult. Although there was not the biting cold, having sand being blown into your eyes is not much better than snow. When the high school kids came in for lunch, they walked very slowly, as if they were still trying to beat the fury of the wind. As a small compensation, our youth leader let anyone who was on fence duty have first dibs on the shower. Today has clear skies and calm winds, a day we figured would be perfect to dig holes and put up posts.

            I am once again in the group that stays inside to help with VBS. We are teaching the kids about the creation story this week, and today is the land and sky. It seems most appropriate to me, given our surroundings. All there is out here is the sand, rock formations, and the sky. In the mountains, your attention is being pulled in multiple directions and you’re trying not to think about the sweat pouring off of you or the mosquitoes nipping at your ankles. But in Oljato, there aren’t any distractions. There is still plenty to catch your attention, but with all of the landscape being in the same color palette, it becomes one cohesive structure. Everything draws your eyes upward to the top of the mesas and upward still to the sky, which at night is dotted with brilliant stars, brightly contrasted against the rippling navy blue. Land and sky in its simplest, most majestic form.

            During our meetings where we planned this trip, we decided that every evening after we worked, we would go on mini-field trips around and outside of Oljato. One day we will go to Monument Valley and drive around in golf carts with tour guides, another day we will go to Four Corners to say we have been in two, well four, places at once. Today is the day we climb up a mesa. Two men from town offer to take us up the mesa, which is about a ten minute walk from the church. Everyone except Jessica, our youth pastor, who is five months pregnant, and Tyler, a junior, decide to make the trek. We make sure to fill our water bottles before we head out, being mindful that although we do not sweat as much because of the very little humidity, we have to keep hydrated in this heat.

            My first mistake was staying in jeans. My second mistake was drinking half of my water before even reaching the base of the mesa. Now I am looking up and wondering if I have enough to get me to the top. Water is not my only concern, though. In the past year or so, I have seen multiple doctors to try and figure out why I am in pain most of the time. It started in my wrist and made its way to my ankles, knees, hips, and even my elbows. Sometimes if I make a sudden move, one or more of these joints will violently pop, immobilizing me for a few seconds. The concluding diagnosis is that I have a mild case of Juvenile Arthritis, or JA. I take medication for it, which is basically a high dose of Ibuprofen. The prospect of climbing all the way to the top of a mesa seems daunting. Jessica, knowing I have joint issues, has enlisted another sponsor with us, Robin, to make sure I do not overexert myself.

            We begin to make our way up the mesa, and so far I keep up with everyone pretty well. There are certain parts where there is loose rock and other parts where there is no purchase for our hands to hang on to. Up ahead there is a steep slant with enough flat area at the top for one or two people to stand. Larissa, a younger sponsor, gets there first and crouches at the top to help pull people up to the next stretch of the climb. I look up and see that we still have a long way to go, and think about the burning ache in my left ankle and my water bottle, which now only has a few drinks left. Robin notices my hesitation and asks if I need a moment to rest up before continuing. I blink a few times before making up my mind. “No,” I say. “I think I’ll make my way back to the church.” Robin tells me she understands and that she is proud of me for knowing my limits, but as I start my way back to the ground, I cannot help but feel like a loser. I am the only one from the group who turns around, defeated by my own body and what amounts to a large rock. As I sit and half slide down a rock near the bottom, I hear a ripping sound and feel that I have a brand new hole in the back pocket of my jeans.

            I reach the ground and make the trek back to the church. I bring my water bottle up to my lips and tilt my head back, only to discover I had sipped my last drop some time ago. Still walking, I slowly put the cap back on a bottle full of nothing but disappointment. I look around me and start to panic. The guide that had helped me down the mesa had returned to the rest of the group, so I am on my own, but I can’t remember which path to turn on that takes me to the church and fresh water. I stop and put my hand to my brow so I can see past the glare of the sun, but my confusion only deepens. There are two buildings in the distance, but I cannot tell which one is my destination. Looking to the ground, I suddenly feel exhausted and the sand seems to be inviting me to lay down and take a break. My hand drops to my side and I go to lean down, but before I do I notice a smooth stone next to my foot. I pick it up and dust it off.

            It isn’t a particularly a pretty rock. It’s a dull orange and very porous, so no amount of scrubbing will get it clean. I pocket the rock, deciding to keep it as another souvenir. One from the highs and one from the lows. I glance back toward the buildings in the distance and find the confidence in myself to know where I’m heading.

            The rest of the week passes without another sandstorm, although most of us still wake up with a new dusting of sand on top of our sleeping bags. Our last night in Oljato is here, and none of us want to leave. The kids in VBS have grown attached to us and stay long after planned to play and draw with us. The women who live nearby have shown us how to make wonderful fry bread and demonstrated how they make their jewelry with juniper beads. To celebrate our last night, a lot of us are asking to sleep outside for the night. The temperatures have been fair, and the skies are clear, making a perfect night to stargaze. Kevin, Jessica’s husband, decides to take those who want to go to a mesa to sleep on. I worry I will not be able to get up yet another one, but this time I am determined.

            It takes us only five minutes to find this mesa, which is much smaller than the previous one. The base gently slopes up to the plateau, making it easy for everyone to climb. We take it slowly, though, since it is already after dark and only have our flashlights and the light of the moon to see with. We spread our sleeping bags out, the girls in one cluster, the boys in another. Lying down looking up at the stars is something I immediately know I will never forget. We all talk quietly for another half an hour, reminiscing about the past week. We laugh as we remember how difficult it was that day we tried to dig a hole, and how silly we felt when the townspeople came over and told us what we were doing wrong. “Just add water,” they said. “The sand will stick together and it will not fall back in.” 

A super-amazing-fantabulous decade later...

If anyone would ask, I would not be ashamed to say that I love My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. The morals are clear and pertinent, the dialogue is entertaining and clever, and I just outright love ponies.
More than anything, the greatest thing the show demonstrates is the importance of strong friendships. Obviously, as it's implied in the title, the writers want the viewers to learn and grow in their own friendships.
This hadn't hit home with me until I recently reflected on the past year, the majority of which I spent at my freshman year of college. It was my first year without Miranda, the single greatest human being on the face of the planet, also known as my best friend. Although I only saw her a handful of times, we spoke on a daily basis through Facebook Messenger. It was almost like we weren't even a day's drive away from each other. There were times where being physically close would've aided to my sanity, but on the whole, life retained this aspect of normality from high school.
Summer has come and gone, and the times I've been with Miranda have been big highlights. College gave each of us new experiences, but she's still Mir and I'm still me and together we're just as weird as ever, and I love that. Not to be corny, but that's what the magic of friendship is about. It's finding those select few with patience and kindness, who can make you laugh no matter what, and who know that "jerk" is a term of endearment. Before you know it, ten years have gone by. (Happy Friendaversary, Mir! We're super old!)

Miranda Clark-Paulso,
There's nothing I could say you don't already know. Enjoy your homemade Nerd Slush and bubbles that scent real good.
You're a star that's bright enough for me, and that should always be good enough for you.
Peace out jerk,
Ern