#os2305

[myouterspace2305]

Outer Space #2, Prompt 2

It’s 5:45 on a Saturday evening and I’m sitting in The Swamp all the way up at row 90 in the student section. For the last 10 minutes I’ve just observed everyone and everything else around me, going through their stadium workout, walking and talking with friends, etc. It’s weird because normally on Saturday’s at this time, this space is roaring with students and fans screaming for the Florida Gators. Tonight, it’s not quite that level of crazy, but it still is (and always will be) one of my favorite places of all time. 

I watch fitness groups running up and down the stairs, then stopping at the bottom to catch their breath and stretch their legs, dripping sweat and chugging water. I see some of the football coaches and players walk out through the tunnel, showing incoming recruits and their families what it’s like to walk into the Swamp under the lights with the field painted like game day. I see people, just like me, who are simply sitting and watching, thinking, reading or eating. One girl looks like she may even be taking a nap ha. It’s amazing to see how many people use this place in different ways. We’re all here for the same reason during Saturday’s in the fall, but now people use it as their sanctuary for different reasons. 

After I’ve observed for a few minutes, I put on my headphones, stretch, and start to run up and down the stairs for my own workout. As much as I hate doing stairs, especially in this place where it’s so steep and there are so many rows, I love being able to workout somewhere with a little more scenery than the treadmill. This time of night is my favorite, too. And with the amount of other students in here, I can tell it is for them as well. However, I don’t just love it because it’s a time to avoid the awful heat of mid day...I love it because the top of the stadium is one of the best places to watch a good sunset. As the clock hits 6:10, I stop and go to the very top to look at the sky. I picked a good night because the sunset tonight is incredible. 

Tonight’s workout in the Swamp was by myself, mostly just because I focus and observe better alone and because it’s easier to run stairs by myself. But I know exactly how it feels to share this space with others...90,000 to be exact. Gamedays in Gainesville will be one of the things I will miss the most when I’m no longer a student, but I know that I’ll be one of those alumni to return to games all the time. 

It’s funny how different the same place can make you feel under different circumstances. When I’m here on Saturday’s, this place feels electric, insane and full of life; and it makes you feel the same when you’re in it. But on evenings like today, it can be one of the most quiet and serene places on campus. It makes you feel relaxed, appreciative and reflective. Whichever version of the Swamp I’m experiencing, I always love it, I always feel like I am a part of it and it always feels like home. 

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

These Four Walls

At the beginning, this wooden floor served as a court. A stage. The smooth, strong wood is not just for looks. Or is it? The renovations took away its original meaning. Now, there are offices. Cushy chairs. Ornate rugs. A place of learning. A whole third floor.

But back then, there were games. Cheering. Noise. Joy (a foreign concept to these new walls). Bleachers lined these walls, those stairs were gone. No wonder there are no windows down here—they couldn’t have broke windows, basketballs flying into the streets. Which would also make it unbearably hot early on. These sturdy walls would hold the sound well.

Annnnd it’s been an hour. Here you go, Dr. Coenen! I tried!

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

“Life Sucks, and Then You Die.”

To get philosophical with you: life is nothing but a series of in-between places… And then we die.

Infancy is just in-between birth and toddler-hood.

Toddler-hood is just in-between infancy and childhood.

Elementary school is just in-between pre-school and middle school.

College is just in-between high school and “the rest of our lives.”

Adulthood is just in-between college and this mythical place called “financial security.”

Old age is just in-between the glory days and death.

We, as human beings, never exist within our one moment. We are always past our most recent struggle and heading toward something bigger and brighter. We view every moment as an in-between, a “journey” instead of a “destination.” You’ve heard that saying, right? “Focus on the journey, not the destination?” Even though it preaches enjoying every aspect of life, it still implies that there is a final destination, a next thing, and that we are just on a journey, existing in the in-between. These stages of life are all unique and rich with experiences… And we spend more time thinking about the next best thing instead of enjoying our time as children, teenagers, adults, and so on.

I am not saying this because I am any better—I’m not. I survive by dreaming about reaching a time in my life where everything is less stressful. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to change it.

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

Keep Your Trivia Out of My Library

They are not supposed to be here. This is my sacred space. My sacred studying space. My sacred silent studying space. And they are anything but silent. They are screaming and shouting and interacting and don’t they know we don’t tolerate that here?

I am actively in Ustler Hall writing this. And no, I am not in my usual spot. I am not sitting at my lovely wooden desk in the library, next to the windows I love so much I could wax poetics about them for hours. No. I am locked away, chased out of a space meant for learning by people who do not sound like they are learning. I am in the conference room, and I can still hear them, despite the shut door. Loud and clear.

Ustler Hall is meant to be quiet. We’re in a place of LEARNING. And here they are, hosting their trivia night! It feels like every week this Hall is occupied by more and more organizations or clubs trying to host their social events. The normally spacious, calming second floor is turned into a mass clutter of tables and bodies, clogging up the Center and stifling my studying. Nights at Ustler Hall used to be quiet, filled with meaningful gender studies work…but they are slowly turning into merely a venue.

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

Yarrow by Andrea Gibson

In 2005, Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans.

In 2006, Andrea Gibson published When the Bough Breaks, a collection of poems. “Yarrow” never names the place it is referring to. Instead, it describes it.

“The only home you had ever known.

On the bayou you ate crawfish

and God how I wished I had never become a vegetarian.

See here, whatever you came carrying

fell to the ground like creole soul rain drops

uptown you could watch the jazz notes float

from porch swings to sidewalks

of little girls playing jump rope and hopscotch

to old women skipping rocks

across the gulf of the Mississippi

like heart beats they forgot they had.

While mid-city trombones

wrote love poems in lonely men’s ears.

You could hold the soil between your fingers

and smell gumbo and harmonicas.

Could smell po-boys and cathedrals on the same block.”

See, I have never been to New Orleans. But I’ve seen The Princess and the Frog as many times as the next guy, and so I know they have gumbo and jazz and a bayou and crawfish. It also helps that a few lines later, Andrea says:

“When I heard of Katrina

I thought, ‘The flowers, save the flowers.’

I never thought for a second

we wouldn’t save the people.”

Katrina isn’t mentioned till the last few lines of the poem, and by then the listener (as their poetry is usually spoken word) has an idea of where Andrea is describing. Andrea turns New Orleans into a home for everyone, an oasis, a perfect place. They turn it into a place that doesn’t exist in a way, as it feels magical and other-worldly, but is simultaneously tangible in the sense that I can fee the soil between my fingers and hear the jazz music echoing down the streets. You see, this poem made my breath get caught in my throat the first time I heard it. I cried. Andrea spends so long creating this wonderful place, a place where even the loneliest of strangers can feel at home, and then they take it away. They remind you of what happened. Here is the full end of the poem:

“For a year we were gardeners.

No, Andrea, yarrow doesn’t grow here.

Imagine a womb full of water.

Plant like you would plant a daughter.

Name her Iris, Rose, Magnolia, Gardenia.

When I heard of Katrina

I thought, ‘The flowers, save the flowers.’

I never thought for a second

we wouldn’t save the people

And that is one difference between white skin and black.”

“That is one difference between white skin and black.”

These children Andrea created for you, Iris, Rose, Magnolia, Gardenia, these flowers that you sowed… Are gone. What kind of world do we live in where the people destroyed by a hurricane are left to fend for themselves because of the color of their skin? We haven’t changed. Andrea could write this same poem about Puerto Rico and Irma.

This is how they make the place, though. This is how Andrea made the listeners feel for a home they had never been to—Andrea built New Orleans, made you fall in love with the place regardless of the skin tone of the people, and then they let it fall to pieces at your feet for one reason alone: the color of their skin.

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

A Splash of Color

1. The room is too hot. The A/C is set at 72 but I am still sticky with sweat. There is darkness. Black sheets, black blankets, black PJs, black cats, green pillows. A limb is thrown over mine. A child is calling my name. The room is washed of all color except for the dull orange glow of the lamp—our make-shift night light. Grey black is the first thing I see. And then there is her. Red slippers, blue pants, green shirt, blue eyes. A splash of color to my morning.

2. There is too much noise. Too many people. It’s early, why are they all here? Orange chairs that spin in circles, light displays on the wall, vendors grabbing your attention. A child running bare-foot over grey chairs, standing atop black tables to sing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” An in-between place. A sad place. A too crowded place.

3. Heat. Heat. Heat. Heat. Why is this walk so long? Why is this grass so green? Why is this hill so steep? Maybe, if I fake a seizure, a golf cart will come carry me across this desert to my destination. Another in-between space. Temporary, but constant.

4. Swiveling chairs, chattering students. Desks that move when you lean on them. Panopticism at its finest. I am surrounded, but I am calm. I am in my element. For some reason, this place is a destination instead of an in-between place, but why? Isn’t this too just another stepping stone to a different place in my life?

5. Safety lies in the wood table, the disheveled library, the blinding windows. I could probably dance on this table. I won’t, but I could. My back faces the world, the unsafe part. I keep my back to it to try and ignore it—the whispers, the judgement, the plotting. The poison in the system. All I see is white walls, green trims, wood tables. Coffee stains and fallen blueberries—my mark left on the world.

6. I didn’t go to class. Oops.

7. Shhhh. The day is over. The space smells of cat litter and moth balls, is hot from a long day with the A/C off, is stiff from lack of use. Cats are scrambling to get to the food bowls first, shoes and shirts are being thrown left and right, there’s a fight for the bathroom. We fall. This place is sucked dry of life on days like these. The color is gone.

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

Looking to Buy: A Perfect-for-Me Space

Name: Caitlin

Budget: $20 and some pocket lint

Move-in Date: ASAP

I’m Looking For:

·         California King Bed—MUST be soft!

·         At least 100 blankets—MUST be comfy!

·         Seven pillows—MUST be cloud quality!

·         An endless fridge…y’know, for late night snackage.

·         No less than 800 cats and 32 dogs and 2 ferrets (Please note: someone must come in to take care of them twice daily, as I will be very busy…napping).

·         Big windows to let some sunlight in…But also sun-blocking blinds for when I want to crawl into a depressed hole.

·         A TV with a Netflix account.

·         A Macbook with a wifi connection!

·         Christmas lights—and lots of them. I want to feel the festive running through my veins.

·         A fully-stocked library. Watch Beauty & the Beast to see what I mean.

·         Music—just set up the speakers and I can handle the rest.

There CANNOT Be:

·         Any dark shadows, squeaky floorboards, or otherwise scary noises.

·         Spiders or other creepy-crawlers.

·         Negativity—I generate enough of that on my own, thank you very much.

·         Judgement. I know I am a giant, lazy potato. I embrace it. I don’t need anyone judging me for it.

[thespacewithinmyribcage]

Dear Diary,

           There is no escape in sight. It has been 1307 days since I was sucked into Elijah’s iPhone, and they still haven’t noticed me. I’m running out of options. I tried social media platforms, like Facebook and Twitter, but they always assume its just autocorrect when their “cats against cat calls” post becomes “please God help me.” I feel like that would concern me, but whatever. Youtube is a no go, as they’re too busy watching ducks do tricks or someone change a tire to look down in the comments section (I almost don’t blame them, though).

           I’ve started to become accustomed to this world. When I first entered it, it seemed dark and cold, free of all real human interaction. I had never felt that disconnected from the world before. But then, I started to understand why people hide away in the digital world. I’ve been able to find people just like me (except the whole living in a phone thing) no matter how far away they are. I don’t have to make awkward phone calls anymore—I can just text them! Of course, Elijah might have noticed that they had a text conversation to 94-year-old Sheila that they had never once participated in, but that’s neither here nor there.

             I have to get moving soon. The digital world is never quiet, but it is also never safe. The trolls still find new ways to sneak up on me, to tear me apart when I am least expecting it.

            The longer I am stuck here, the more I worry: Will I ever be able to interact with a human again?

            I’m not sure I’d even mind if that answer was no.

            And that’s the scariest part.

                                                                                               -          JJ