My first appointment after “The Beginning”

Get in, endure, get out–this is the mind set of most young people when they enter the orthodontist’s office. I don’t honestly know what I was thinking when I reached the door. I had been thoroughly warned about the upcoming event.

“Oh yeah, it’s a great time, you’ll love it. They tighten them like crap and you shall survive only by asprin. Looks like it’s back to soup for you, babe. You will also love the nurse ladies, they are the ones who do the tightening. They don’t care how you feel, sometimes they will put the wire in backwards and that hurts twice as much, or they might forget to cut off the wire and it rips open your cheek.”

I think it will be a pleasant experience.

I open the door, climb the steps, and enter the room. For such a great paying job, they have a crappy building. I sign in, my picture pops up (which I hate) and I confirm that “Yes, that is a picture of Charita Lewis.” The wait was not as long as I thought (or hoped) it would be.

The door of HELL opened and my name was called (incorrectly, I might add). I walked back and entered the torture chamber.

I sat in the chair and listened the nurse ladies (witches is a more appropriate name) converse about their love lives. I think that most of them are married, for I see rings on fingers and sappy pictures of them with their husbands and kids. One girl, I believe, is living with her mother and/or her boyfriend. Then the conversation took a turn to pedicures and the dead skin on the bottom of one’s foot. Then, they asked me what I thought about it. I mumbled a lame reply and smiled. I sat in the room, just sitting mind you, listening to their petty conversation for a full twenty minutes.

I had broken a bracket and it needed mending. If this was not so, I don’t think that I would have had to see Dr. Ortho that day. The most awkward thing about the orthodontist is having one’s head between the doctor’s legs–very, very awkward. Why does the orthodontist try to carry a conversation with his patient? It isn’t as though they can talk with his hands in their mouth anyway. Also, why is it that at my orthodontist there are many many female nurses, all seemingly under the age of thirty, working with one man over forty? (Makes me very curious).

He fixed my bracket, and I got a power chain. It was basically a pain free experience. I don’t understand what the big deal is. My mouth didn’t even hurt the next day.

Being a bad girl is a lot of fun.

A friend and I had a splendid visit to the Shell station right beside our school.  This was a most adventurous escapade for it is Banquet Day (perhaps a blog tomorrow).  We got out at 12:30 and parents or brothers who were supposed to take us home had not yet arrived .  My friend and I decided to be bad girls.   It was an awesome time.  My school has put up and stupid, ridiculous chain to keep people from cutting corners and saving the grass (and it is not working one bit, the grass is a bunch of dandelions *cough*weeds*cough*). We went under the net instead of around it and walked to the Shell station (which I am not supposed to do……).  Ooh, it felt good to be bad.

While inside the gas station, my accomplice and I read  every single one of the shirts out loud, took them off the rack, and rearranged them.  I would just like to say that those shirts were ridiculous, dumb (I need some new adjectives), and had bad grammar. After taking our fun with the shirts, we looked at all the (redneck) hats and read them aloud as well.  I felt as though we were being a nuisance and bought some ice cream out of guilt.  If I buy something, they can’t throw me out, now can they?

Being a bad girl is a lot of fun.

Even though, by the title you probably thougt I meant something…worse.

Field Day

Oh, what a joyous occasion Field Day is at my school. School is only in session until 12:30 (whoo!), we get to spend time in the sun (huzzah for sunburn), and I enjoy the privilege of overseeing an activity. Field Day is also one of the most memorable days of my sixths grade career (three whole years ago…).

We were young, foolish, and beginning puberty. We were an experiment–the first sixth grade considered “middle school” at Emmanuel Christian School. We were no longer participants in Field Day, we got to run Field Day. Ah yes, the good old days.

The girls were forever fighting in and out of the classroom. The things about which we fought–who had the best clothes, who had the worst clothes, who’s hair was the best, who could bring in the most can tops, who could sing, who had begun her period, who had a boyfriend (which happened to be none of us but it was still a great topic on conversation), who was most athletic, who would go to the awards dinner–had no real value.

The day was crisp and sunny. We were supposed to man the forty yard dash. I had been working with a few friends. Sam was one of those friends. Actually, Sam was a frienemy; we got along great at times. She was my best friend but also my greatest enemy. We were both fighting for the attention of Mr. Max. Sam always won his affection; I received his anger.

Sam could sit in his chair. “Aw, kid. How ya doing?”

Chasity could not sit in his chair. “Get out of my chair!”

Sam, Lindsay, Melanie, Rose, and I were friends; Sam, Janice, and Dorothy were friends. Each group of girls was working a different game. Sam was with me. Max came over to us, “Great job, ladies.” Sam went over to chat with Max. I think I’ll give it a try. Besides, he can’t hate me that much. I gave it a shot, but he ignored me. Perhaps another attempt? No, he just walked away faster. I had finally had enough! I gathered my courage and said, “Why do you hate me?”

“Because you are annoying! ” he shouted back. Wow, not even a “I don’t hate you.”

“Sam does the same thing and you like her, ” I reasoned.

“Sam isn’t annoying.” It’s not that, I thought, Sam is pretty.

I cried that night.

But yet another thing happened that day. The girls had a huge fight–over a chair.

Sam, Lindsay, Rose, and Melanie (Group A) against Janice and Dorothy (Group B). I, for once, remained neutral and tried to comfort both parties.

The lawn chair of Group A was either 1) blown down by the wind or 2) Group B had knocked it over. Group A claims that the second choice is what really happened; Group B believes it was the first option. By this time the fun and games were over and we had gathered in Max’s room. Max strode in, found out what had conspired, and decided we talk about it. He yelled at us for thirty minutes, telling us that we were immature, stupid, pathetic. He made us all cry. I hated seeing them cry (I myself had only shed two tears) and tried to cheer them up.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“Shut up, Chasity.”

I cried more than two tears after that.

The argument went deeper–friendship. Group B was mad at a person in Group A. The friendship was never truly mended.

Did this Field Day go smoother than the Filed Day of the past? We are older now, more mature (ha ha, although the immaturity of my class amazes me), wiser? well perhaps a little–we don’t tell friends everything. We keep our dirty, little secrets. We let them smolder and burn us from the inside out. We have to heartache over petty things. We now go after the opposite sex, deserting out friends from kindergarten. No, this Field Day was just like the rest. WE are still arguing over chairs, just of a different kind.

What a day…

My CIT weeks were due on Tuesday. I was very determined to get it in on time. My mother said, “Why don’t we just wait until tomorrow? We can talk about it then.”

I said, ” No, Mom, I have to turn it in today.”

Makario and I drove all the way downtown to the post office. The line was terrible long (taxes were due on this day, Tuesday, April 15), people were complaining and cursing under there breath, and I was afraid of being a penny short. At last, it is my turn in line. I put in my forty one cents (did you know the price is going to rise again in May?) and waited for my stamp. I had already addressed the envelope to camp. I dropped it into the box and breathed a sigh of relief. I had made it and on time at that. Huzzah for me! I am amazing.

The next day…..

“Charita, Charita, you got mail!”

I am always excited to receive mail. For some reason, perhaps the tone of Timia’s voice, I was ecstatic. I looked at the envelope.

*Gasp*

I had mailed the weeks that I wished to work to myself! I was so determined and then it comes back to me the next day. What a waste of forty-one cents.

Farewell Josiah

Goodbye, my love, I shall miss you.

Josiah, you have been an excellent friend and I will miss you. Our ups and downs were great, but it is now time for us to part. My first and only boyfriend–I will never regret the time we spent together . Our long talks and walks in the park, going to Baskin Robbins, eating at fast food restaurants, these things will be trapped in my memory. I am mourning your leaving but I know it is for the best.

I am sorry for the way my friends treated you, as though you were not real. Indeed, you were very real to me. I would like to apologize for Abby stepping on your foot. I know that it must have hurt but you bore the pain silently, as you do most things.

Your silence and strength has helped me through much. Though we will never be together again, I will always remember you.

I love you, Josiah and I always will.

Do not forget me, I certainly will not forget you.

Charita Lewis

P.S. Thank you for all of the flowers you sent me.