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Private Piece of Heaven

I was late for work today

and it’s all your fault.

the tension between us

has always been tangible—

humid,

heavy,

hanging like a thick fog,

lingering to our clothes

like a smoke

only you and i can smell.

we feel it every time we’re in a room together

you once said.

so when you came to me

and announced

i got us a room,

it didn’t surprise me.

so we’re finally going to do this?

no,

you answered

not for sex.

it’s a room we can escape to.

my brows furrowed involuntarily

you got a room

with a king-sized bed,

but don’t want to seal the deal?

again you replied,

no,

i want a space for us

just me

and you.

we went to a room

at a hotel I can’t remember

because it was looked just as anonymous

as all the others:

cream walls

white sheets

green, black-out curtains.

here it is:

our private piece of heaven.

We ordered take out

from a little Asian restaurant down the street.

I’d never heard of it,

but you swore

i’ve been here a few times,

it’s fucking amazing.

As I sampled each dish,

I moaned in pleasure.

you were right:

this is incredible.

you brought out supplies

for gin and tonics—

bartender,

i joked as you put ice in my paper cup

i’ll have what he’s having,

but hold the gin.

you laughed as you filled it to the brim

and squeezed a bit of lime.

cheers to us,

we toasted.

as we curled up on top of the comforter,

you pulled out a book.

you’re going to love this novel.

i leaned into your chest

you held the book in front of us,

the silence as we read

broken every few minutes

when you’d ask

ready to turn the page?

we devoured the novel

in a few hours—

and as we turned the final page,

i felt a tear in the corner of my eye.

you were right:

that book was beautiful.

i picked out

my favorite david lynch film.

nobody gets why i love this,

but i think you will.

after the credits rolled,

we spent an hour

comparing thoughts and theories.

you grinned, saying

you were right,

great movie choice.

all night long,

we talked,

we read,

we kissed,

we dozed,

we laughed.

and laying in your arms,

i watched the sun rise

through the small crack

in those green, black-out curtains.

this is like a dream,

you said.

You were right.

My alarm went off,

and I reached out to slap “snooze”

without even opening my eyes,

hoping I could easily slip back

into that dreamy time

that fantasy space

where it was

us

you

me

just me

and you

but no matter how hard I tried

the dream had slipped away.

There it goes.

Our private piece of heaven.

#poetry #poem #dream #creative writing

Dancing over Tacos

#creative writing #date #bad date #yikes

#zipline #palo duro canyon #ride #creative writing

#creative writing #memories #grief #loss #loved one #grandfather #love #death

Fernando

#cars #memories #creative writing

Queso Conversations

#aunt #memories #family #creative writing #memory

Granddad's Shoes

#creative writing #poets #poem #death #memories #loss #grief

"Mrs. Robinson, Are You Trying to Isolate Me?": Class and Isolation in The Graduate

The other day, I made my husband watch one of my favorite films—The Graduate. It’s a bizarre 1967 film featuring Dustin Hoffman as Benjamin Braddock—a recent college grad who has no idea what he is going to do. On a whim, he decides to do something wild: he starts an affair with his father’s business partner’s wife, Mrs. Robinson. (You know the famous line: “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me”? Yep. That’s this film.)

Allow me to explain just how Benjamin managed to get himself in Mrs. Robinson’s bed.

Throughout the film, Benjamin is isolated. His rich, upper-class parents throw him lavish parties, but there are never any young people or friends of Benjamin’s—only his parents’ old rich buddies make the guest list. In one scene, Ben’s parents throw him a birthday party at their pool. His father announces that everyone should pay attention to the “feature attraction” of the party, which turns out to be Ben in a ridiculous scuba suit his father has purchased. Benjamin begs his father to not make him go out, but his father insists. The camera then gives an interesting shot—we see things from Benjamin’s point of view. We see his parents and their friends cheering, but all we hear is Ben’s steady breathing. And then we go underwater, see the bottom of the pool, and hear nothing but silence.

That seems to be the moment Ben decides to have the affair. As the camera flips perspectives, we watch Ben standing on the pool floor, and hear his voice calling Mrs. Robinson, nervously asking her if he can buy her a drink.

The affair with Mrs. Robinson is a feeble attempt to feel. Ben begs her to speak to him. “Look, for months, all we’ve done is come up here and leap into bed together…do you think we could liven it up with a little conversation for a change?” he says. But she won’t. She just wants to have sex and leave.

And then he meets Mrs. Robinson’s daughter Elaine.

At first, in an attempt to make Elaine hate him, he gives her the most awful date of her life. He won’t look at her or speak to her, just like Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t speak to him. He takes her to a strip club. There’s a weird scene where Benjamin is sitting deadpan with shades on, and a stripper is swinging boob-tassels above Elaine’s head as she sobs. But suddenly, Ben snaps. He screams “STOP IT!” and takes Elaine away, and they end up having a really good time. And that’s when everything changes for him. After one date, Benjamin decides he is in love with Elaine.

And that’s where it all tumbles downhill. (Spoiler alert: I’m about to tell you the ending.) Mrs. Robinson threatens to tell everyone exactly what they were doing, and in an attempt to avoid shame (or at least minimize it), Benjamin tells Elaine himself. She is repulsed, kicks him out, and leaves for college.

Fast forward several months: Benjamin decides to go to Elaine’s college to beg her to marry him. When he finds Elaine, she informs him that although she has already been proposed to by another classmate, she will consider his proposal. Her parents try to force her to marry the other man, but in a very climactic final scene, Benjamin rushes to the church and…well, rather then describe this in great detail, I’ll just have you watch the scene.

And scene. That’s it. That’s the ending. Bizarre, right? Hold that thought.

In his article “Lit Grit,” scholar Simon Lee writes that working-class narratives often “differentiat[e] the character from the community, often relegating the community to stereotypes while the protagonist is given greater dimension”. Lee suggests that we examine if “the novel seems to promote separation or alienation from the community to explore existential crises”.

I think The Graduate does exactly that, and in doing so, makes an interesting comment on class. Like Lee writes in his article, Benjamin is differentiated from the almost comically stereotypical rich community around him. Even his appearance—a young, college aged man—doesn’t fit in. He’s depressed and isolated. He tries to stay within that class, to stick with what he knows (i.e. Mrs. Robinson), but can’t seem to find meaning. He is very much having, as Lee phrases it in his article, an “existential crisis” (Lee 2).

And then he finds Elaine. And he leaves everything for her. The parties, the pool, the scuba suit, and moves into a cheap boarding house for college students. And, he ultimately convinces Elaine to go with him.

In the final scene, Elaine is just as isolated. She sees her father and mother and new husband gritting their teeth and yelling. But, in a weird allusion to the scuba scene, we don’t hear those sounds. All we hear is Ben, pounding and screaming.

Silence is clearly a motif here. In fact, out of all the songs on the soundtrack, it’s “The Sound of Silence” that is played three times throughout the film. I think it’s because silence is isolating and alienating. Silence is lonely.

In the final scene, when Ben and Elaine are on that bus, I think they are laughing because they are happy about what they’ve done. But then, as the camera pans out and “The Sound of Silence” begins to play once again, their expressions begin to change. I think they are suddenly realizing Oh my god, what have we done? They both grew up in the upper class, but now they have quite literally fled from it all. Arguably, they can never go back. And there, on that bus, it becomes clear that they are isolated once again. Isolated from their rich parents and people of their past, and surrounded by just regular working folks on a bus. And in that moment, suddenly they realize what they've done: placed themselves in a whole new class. And suddenly, they have no idea what to do.

Works Cited

Lee, Simon. "Lit Grit: The Gritty and Grim in Working-Class Cultural Production." Routledge International Book of Working Class Studies, Routledge, 2020.

#academia #working class #film #narrative #Youtube

a day spent on chilly long beach island

#poetry #long beach island #new jersey #lighthouse #love #warmth #poem #creative writing

Writing Prompt 8

#creative writing #Old Friend from Far Away #natalie goldberg #healing

PhD here I come.

#academia #writing #dissertation

Step One

Last week, I made a big step. I reached out to a professor whom I greatly admire and truly enjoy working with, and popped a very big question.

Will you be my dissertation director?

She said yes, and I was ECSTATIC to say the least. We started talking timelines and when I will be doing comps and proposal and writing my dissertation..And then it all hit me. I am so close to being done.

When I was finishing my BA and my MA, people would say, “Oh, you’re almost done!” And I would jokingly say, “Yes, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. But I’m getting a PhD, so the light just leads right into another tunnel.” But now I see it. I see the light. There is a light at the end of ALL these tunnels, and I am one step closer to being actually done with my degrees. This is it. The end goal. And then I have the rest of my life ahead of me.

So I did it. I took step one. I have a director. And now I am one step closer to being done. There’s still so much ahead of me, but taking this step feels big. Massive. And like a tangible marker to the beginning of the end.

This is it. The beginning. The beginning of the end.

Here we go.

#academia #dissertation #here we go #director

Writing Prompt 7

Wow. This summer and semester has been nuts, and I said I would post writing prompts everyday, but I very clearly have not. When I was doing it, it was so therapeutic and good for my mental health, so I need to pick it back up. Here’s my most recent writing.