Day Twelve: Sydni and Megan
For Nur,
according to who, in my little Turkish,
I only curse at or profess my love.
guitar-playing flower, with a lullaby voice.
For Lianna,
whose smile pulls you in like riptides at sea,
whose nonchalant warmth
feels like a fireplace against my skin.
For Megan,
the Mardi Gras spirit,
the New Orleans mascot,
my fellow feminist.
For Annabel,
with red velvet ice cream stained teeth,
a voice like an embrace,
who does laundry like a champ.
For Jayde,
our very own Lilo, hula goddess,
long-pajama-pant-wearing
medium extraordinaire.
For Erica,
who hid a fire in her belly
that found a home on the stage,
and buried itself underneath her maturity.
For Berfin,
a red lipstick-wearing dancing dwarf,
bursting bottle of passion;
the color of liveliness.
For Onur,
acidic-skinned, consistently lost,
flip-flop wearing, metaphysical,
polyamorous Onur, “Where art thou?”
For Narine,
whose intelligence burns
bright on her face,
like a match that doesn’t quiet for the wind.
For Naomi,
who bravely bared her skeletons,
introduced her past like an old friend,
and makes playlists out of pure gold.
For Gwyneth,
sci-fi writing obi-wan with prose prowess,
ten-foot-tall, towering, and terrifying,
but kick-ass and kind.
For Karlyn,
who commands every room she enters
with a presence like a wrecking ball;
girl, you are killin it.
For Avetis,
Edgar Allen Poe fanatic;
a gentle soul
living in a dark room.
For Busra,
boy-crazy, beautiful Busra:
self-proclaimed super selfie-queen—
my rambunctious roommate.
For Melis,
who has a permanent whisper,
bouncy baby curls,
and furtive smiles.
For Meri,
style icon,
Russian boy admirer,
and passionate playwright.
For Mariam,
always thinking,
always quiet,
always writing.
MEGAN (New Orleans, Louisiana):
If only my lungs were not clogged with condensation from the humidity, if only my fingers were not swollen with joy, if only my brain was not fogged with the harsh reality that tomorrow is our last full day together, then I could write a cohesive piece about today. But as my fingers glide across this keyboard, as the heavy machinery of construction whirrs across the river, as an unseen bird sings in a tree near me, all I can think about is how beautiful Jayde’s laugh is, how funny Onur is, how enjoyable Melis’s company is. How confused I am about the existence of crunchy rolls. (What IS crunchy, really?)
All I can think about is how tonight, as Onur, Lianna, Narine, Berfin, Avetis, Mariam, Naomi, and I splashed each other with water in the Ped Mall, I was lacking nothing. Barefoot and soaked to the bone (while fully clothed, might I add), I laughed everytime Avetis dumped an entire cup of water on one of us. By the end of our night out, there were people either sitting around the fountain, laughing and admiring our unwavering joy in those moments, or people joining us, splashing their friends and helping us soak some of our own. (See: Avetis and Onur)
When I finally crawled in bed at 3am (when we got back, we watched a movie and hung out for a few hours), there was a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Though tomorrow is the last full day, our journey does not end here. There will be no good-byes at the end of this camp. During the first few days of this camp, I was incredibly homesick. Now, when I return to New Orleans on Saturday, my heart will ache with homesickness. Bury a piece of me at Shambaugh House, that I may never have to completely leave this place and these people.
