Contact. Confluence. Society. Tiny threads of familiarity that we spin each day. We work with differing levels of pre-meditation, with differing goals attaching ourselves to those around us with invisible filaments. Fibers made from memory, affection and complex belief systems. Our decision to invest in friendships seems arbitrary. This however much we’d like to believe it is the farthest thing from the truth.
Whatever wholesome thoughts we might have about ourselves…. Under whatever peachy stage lighting we like to see ourselves… the ties that bond us to others are most often motivated by selfishness and the promise of personal gain. Look for yourself. Look at your closest friendships. Why do you love the people that you do? You wont have to look too far to find the reasons are simple ones… and most often have to do with personal pleasure… entertainment or money. We as a people have the strongest of self-preservation instincts. This fact is evident in everything. We love who we love because of an intrinsic desire to thrive, to be perceived well by others and to be successful. We must choose the ones we invest in carefully; because the paths that life takes are so often directed by these choices. It was now that I should begin making these selections of who and what to love. It was my choice, and it was the expected time in my life to begin making those choices. Or so I thought…. That’s what I believed back then.
I had an extensive prayer life then. I remember in the months before I came to school… I had a little prayer that I would recite before falling asleep. I asked God to make me stronger. Sharper. To give me wisdom. I thought of college as something to be afraid of…. Being much more than a challenge… it was a threat that would force me away from my family and snatch away my childhood. I only now realize how childish I was then. I still kinda believed in magick. Such is the plight of precocious children. Their minds grow so much faster than their hearts.
Freshmen were required to complete at least one community service project for the city of Greenville. It was one of the requirements of the class called ‘Orientation.’ The class would have more aptly been named “How to Attend School at Bob Jones University.” It covered everything. Importance of abstinence, harnessing sexual desire, how to visit the library, how to budget your time to include an annually completed Bible reading programme… all the essentials really. Anyways, I asked Richard from work which community service project he had picked off of the list. He had chosen one where bus loads of freshmen were trucked to a park downtown and then expected to pick up liter. Delightful. I loved liter. We decided we would shmuck along together and check this experience off of our bucket lists.
The Saturday morning of our planned parole- like experience arrived. We waited on a curb with an unfortunate looking group of like sentenced students… all looking much the worse for this occurring on a Saturday morning. A white school bus with big blue stripes down the side and the schools name shuddered to a stop in front of us and we all piled in.
Richard and I sat side by side glumly. It was expected that males and females would sit only with members of their own gender in the two seat benches on either side of the aisle in the center. God forbid that a little thy-to-thy friction should be the spark that ignites a raging orgy on the way to the park to collect discarded soda cans and half- buried plastic grocery bags.
Some redheaded thing was sitting on the seat in front of us. She was quite noticeable because she was as loud as a macaw. She was laughing with all the force her lungs could muster. The kind of laughing you do when you’re laughing at something you really shouldn’t be laughing about. As the bus made its way through traffic she turned around in the seat, got on her knees and leaned on the back of the bench to greet us. She said hello in an elvish pitch… she sounded like Fran Drescher. She had her bright red brown hair pushed up in violent spikes. Rainbow colored earrings. Rich-girl red lip stain. A pink floral micro print short sleave t, and jean over-alls that were 2 sizes too big and had the legs rolled up. Converse. Of course. A style that made me think perhaps Rainbow Bright and Prince had given her up for adoption to pursue their carriers, and she had been raised instead by Bible believing faeries.
She asked for our names and told us that her name was Amy. Amy Jasperson. And that her pint-sized quiet friend was named Tisha. Through out the remainder of the trip we four palled around… and formed a little troupe. Amy was instantly captivating and kept all of us laughing with her antics. She was cartoonishly animated. Her being no more than five feet tall only added to the comedy. It wasn’t unusual for her to break into an eighties power ballad and look around expecting us all to join in. Always raucous and loud. I quickly came to fall in love with her. There was nothing she wouldn’t say. Rapid fire wit and comic observation about the irony of us collecting trash being an obviously academic pursuit.
Tisha and Richard more or less were magnetically attracted to one another from that moment on. Standing between them felt odd. The four of us made our way up and down the river that ran through the city park. Mostly goofin’ off… but occasionally being intrigued by a caution cone sunken in the water…or a tire. Cigarette butts all over lost in the fallen leaves. The park was filled with sprawling live oaks… and it seemed like they watched the little dramas unfold beneath them.
It was the first time I remember having fun at school. The brevity of class and piano and work fell away for a few hours and fresh air and muddy water washed away any thought for what I would spend my time on the next day.
Perhaps we are not the only ones that influence our social network. Others are hard at work as well, searching for people that they enjoy. People that entertain them… People to share parts of their life with. Maybe my thoughts about friendships weren’t so right after all. Maybe it wasn’t foolish to allow friendship with less protective skepticism. It was clear that there were people that were much more skilled with these threads of connectivity. Without my noticing Amy had looped strong and fast filaments around the four of us… bonds that would last for years. And you know… it didn’t seem all that dangerous. Maybe I didn’t have to be so careful.
These thoughts mulled around in my head on the way home. We sat in the same arrangement on the bus. Tisha was spent and was laying her head on Amy’s shoulder. The chatter was less boisterous on the return to campus. Play time was over.
As the bus dropped us off back at school we said our goodbyes. ‘Lets do lunch soon!’ Amy suggested. Women have a secret language that they speak to one another, and I think quiet Tisha had wanted this to happen but lacked initiative. Bye. Nice meeting you…. See you all later.
I spent the evening reworking the fingering on a phrase in a prelude… looking out the window as night fell like a blanket.
