back in the day...

I have absolutely no idea what is going on with my friends these days. Apparently, there has been heart break, newfound romances, new jobs, and people moving to Korea. My life is essentially a constant rinse and repeat. I slip into the pool, I do some laps, and then once I am outstripped by those on Social Security, I dip into the hot tub. The physical distance from my friends has become an emotional distance, and the less I am involved in their lives, and the less I am engaged in what makes the world go round, the more my youth slips from my fingers.

I need to belong somewhere. If I am not part of the young and the restless, then my cane, my gimp, and my dental sensitivity to cold should allow me membership into the Hot Tub Club. Unfortunately, the rushing process is much more extensive than I would have thought. My acceptance is only conditional; I think my knee pain only persists so that I can have friends.

When I got into the hot tub last week, I sat across an old man who had a red face. He frowned at me, and said, "Shouldn't you be in school? Why are you here during the day time?" I replied with a smile. "Well, this works with my schedule, and I have a knee injury so I can't keep up with the night time lap swimmers." He looked confused. I continued. "And I don't have school right now; I just graduated." He looked slightly less angry, but still perplexed. I sighed. "From college. I graduated from college." He looked relieved. "Oh! I would have thought you graduated from high school. Okay, well what's wrong with your knee?" I explained the condition to him, but I did not tell him the name, because so many people have mild cases of my knee problem, that it is embarrassing to let others know that I find it debilitating. He then said some long, Latin word diagnosing my condition as a disease that ended in "iosis." "Yup, I had that. 13 knee surgeries and a knee replacement." He got out of the sauna. "In fact, I was your age when it started. Football injury. Well, good luck kid!"

The next day, there were already 4 or 5 people in the whirlpool. I got in, and immediately all conversation stopped. Everyone looked at me for an infinite moment before resuming conversation about legalizing marijuana. "Where can you buy marijuana seeds?" "My grandson has a friend who deals marijuana. But I don't know if he grows it himself." I blanched (well, as much as any brown girl can blanch). They discussed the benefits of smoking pot, which they "of course do not not know from experience." Apparently, percosets can only go so far, and a full body spell could do wonders for arthiritis. I began to wonder if smoking pot would help my knee pain, but I wasn't allowed entry into the conversation. They then began to talk about smoking cigarettes, and how they didn't even do that as kids, while nowadays kids smoke on their first birthdays. "I mean, the reason I didn't smoke was because I thought that if I had to pay money for something, and I put it in my mouth, I would want to eat it!" And then I laughed out loud, and they all looked at me, and I got out of the hot tub.

I didn't realize how much I needed my new friends, or my new sorority sisters and fraternity brothers, until I went into an empty hot tub yesterday. I sat by a mildly spurting jet with wistful glances into the pool, hoping that one or the other would climb in with me and tell me about their latest gardening fiasco or latest line of dentures. No one ever came in.

That evening, my mom thought I was in a bad mood when she came home from work. She asked me about ten times how my day was, and every time I responded, "Fine. Nothing new. How was work?" And I finally explained to her that I wasn't upset about anything, but I genuinely had nothing new to tell.

Maybe tomorrow the pot-smoking advocate will reveal her red-flag bearing, flagrant Socialist sentiments, and have something to say about DPRK and Brazil. I'm watching the game alone, just so I can contribute to the conversation.

Or, I'll just listen and nod, once again.

French Open, here I come!

Rafael Nadal just won the French Open. He was off the courts last year because of a knee injury, and today was biting his trophy in triumph. His victory confirmed my own resolve to fix my knee. If he won the French Open this year, then, with steady therapy and swimming and cycling, I can win it next year. Or, if not the French Open, I'll definitely be able to dance on tables with my friends again.

On Saturday, I went for an early morning swim. I woke up at 6 to make my sister eggs before the SATs, but she ended up eating Cocoa Puffs so I ate an egg on toast myself. Since driving aggravates my knee, my mother drove me to the Y. The lifeguard stared at me as I timidly walked into the pool. I walked over to her to confirm that this was the open lap swim. She smiled, and said, "Yes, but it is the Ladies Swim." I blinked. And then I realized the problem. "Oh! Well I am 21. I know I look young, but..." And my voice trailed off in hopes that she would stop suspecting me of traversing age boundaries and just let me swim. She seemed confused. "No, it's not that, it's just that it is Ladies Swim. That is the nature of the swim." I looked down to make sure that I had not developed into a man, and then looked back at her, and shrugged.

There were many old ladies in the pool, all in floral, ruffled bathing suits. I thought maybe the lifeguard was trying to tell me that the nature of the swim was slow, relaxed. I started swimming, and since I was kicking with only one leg, I grew tired very quickly. The seemingly docile women began to lap me. I decided to push myself further; I didn't want to give up just yet. I needed to work out double the time to even get half the workout for my knee, since it was barely doing any work. I refused to cede to the reversal of fortune (the aged lapping the youth) and stayed in the fast lane, ultimately hit women in the head as they caught up with me and I was furiously kicking my left leg to compensate for the immobile right. I managed to stay in the pool 3 times longer than the night before. Some of the ladies who had suffered blows ended up leaving the pool 3 times earlier.

Apparently, slow and steady wins the race. While this isn't a competition, and I am just trying to rehabilitate myself to live life like a 21 year old again, so I can dance with my friends and go shopping with my sister and walk in the park with my mother and learn tennis with my dad, I wouldn't mind if things got a little heated. One day soon, I am going to beat the little old ladies at their game. Until then, I'll just swim slowly and steadily with one leg.

Old may be gold, but I was always more a fan of silver.

My body is in the process of completely shutting down. I know that technically with each breath we take, we are closer to the end; but I am not talking about oxidation. My body has decided to expedite this natural process. My range of mobility last week was limited to the bathroom and the couch, where I had to continually shift my body so that my knee stiffen in one position. I am not sure if this is a physical reaction to graduation, or just a subconscious effort to resemble my grandmothers, but one thing is certain: this knee condition has further confused my age ambiguity. My face looks young, my gait appears old, and I am neither getting cheap children's menu grilled cheese nor senior citizen NJ Transit passes. So, now you can just add broke to the list of grievances.

As soon as the long weekend ended, my flu/total bodily collapse commenced. Initially, my throat would hurt only in the mornings, which nicely balanced the pain in the second half of my body. By Wednesday, my head was on the verge of explosion and my ears were on fire. I was supposed to head into the city Thursday for drinks and love with friends I haven't seen all semester, but instead I got drunk off of Theraflu and watched The Office.

I usually intersperse my wallowing in self-pity with bursts of determination and positive energy. After seeing a second doctor on Friday, my father drove me to the YMCA to buy a swim membership. I decided I would start swimming again, in efforts to slowly get back into shape and strengthen my atrophying legs. I refuse to be imprisoned inside my own body, by my own body, and so I went swimming that very Friday evening. I was scared to push my knee too much, so in 15 minutes I walked over to the hot tub, occupied by three ladies in their late 50s or 60s. I hobbled over to the other end, where I could directly expose my knee to the jet.

One of the ladies seemed to have taken charge of the conversation, and directed all talk to her intimacy with the director of the swim program, John Duke. "So when I walked into the office to register, they were all wearing green. Even I was wearing green. But John was wearing red, blue, and white. So I said, 'Guess John didn't get the memo.' And he said, 'I am wearing green underwear.' and then, you know me, never shy, so I said, 'That means you should wash your underwear because it has algae on it.'" And she laughed. And I was so enamored of her capacity to tell mundane and hopeless stories with such vitality that I forgot about my throbbing knee.

The lady next to her said, "But why were they all wearing green?" The first lady sighed, explaining that that was part of the joke, that it was a coincidence. The third lady, who had a slight eastern European accent, shook her head. "Maybe it was for a specific purpose, like the environment." The first lady continued to protest, and the other two began talking about climate change, and then all three discussed the oil spill. I was spellbound by their confidence, and began to wonder why they wouldn't just join James Cameron in advising President Obama.

The calamitous oil spill reminded Lady One about the chlorine in the pool. A Hispanic man walked by the hot tub, and she shouted, "Hey! Hey! Are you the Chlorine Man? Are you the man who cleans the pool? Hey! You! Chlorine Man!" His delayed response led to shouts from the other two ladies, who temporarily replaced Jesus with the desirable Chlorine Man. He walked over, looked at me, and then looked at them. Lady One explained that the pool was so cloudy she couldn't see from her end of the pool to the aquacising classes. "Take it from someone who has taken care of a lot of pools, indoors and outdoors, this pool needs to be shocked." And then she complained about how Chlorine Men these days don't check the levels of chlorine every hour like they are supposed to, and then stood up and motioned to her pelvis, because that is apparently what Chlorine Men check every hour. John Duke passed by just then; as she batted her eyelashes, she told him coyly to shock the pool and clear out all the band aids on the pool bottom.

I know when I am a third (or fifth) wheel, and so, without the ease with which she had gotten up to thrust her pelvis just as Chlorine Men allegedly do, I trembled up and climbed out of the whirlpool. The women took no notice, and John Duke and the Chlorine Man seemed to be in a heated discussion about the cloudy water and the Lakers.

When I got home, my mother massaged my knee, and talked to me about Jennifer Hudson's new body and Suri Cruise's fourth birthday party. I explained to her the complications of pool maintenance and how glad I was that I didn't have to walk to school uphill both ways with my bad knee.

No Conclusions

Professor Toulouse has given me the grade for my senior thesis, but he has not yet accepted my conclusion. It will forever be a piece in the works, without an end, ultimately nothing more than a brief moment in a continuum of learning and exploring and writing and rewriting. Though I initially wanted some closure to this massive endeavor, I realize now (after a week of endless nothings and laughter and knee pain before graduation and then another week of grown up nothings and laughter and knee pain after graduation) that I don't need any conclusions. All I need is a good intrigue. And maybe some painkillers.

I haven't felt the doom of graduation yet. I want to be cool and muse about graduation blues like everyone else, but instead I have gone on seemingly mundane adventures and eaten lots of apples and spinach. Every single day has been superficially ordinary, though bearing one or two small surprises that reinforce a continual summer-induced happiness.

Yesterday, I had to go meet someone in Jersey City. I was scared to drive into the city, scared of parking and scared of tearing out my knee by pushing the accelerator; but I had to face my unfounded fears and just drive. So, with Brian in the passenger seat, unperturbed every time I almost hit someone, I drove off into the blinding glare of the sun. I managed to reach Jersey City unscathed, and had one last right turn to make onto Marin Drive. I was all the way on the left, 6 lanes away from the turning lane, and was about to enter a toll. I tried to get to the right and cars all around began honking and screaming at me. There was nothing I could do. I went through the EZ Pass, and got into the Lincoln Tunnel. I was driving into the city, one of my worst nightmares after cauliflower and bad body odor. After some blood, sweat, and tears, I handed over the wheel to Brian, who managed to get us safely back to the woman's apartment. We drove her back into the city, and after Brian got his little-boy fix by driving around the city honking at innocent passerby, I drove home alone. It was the first time I had ever driven out of the city, and I came home feeling tired, achy, and utterly accomplished.

On Friday, I went into the city for an interview and my physical therapy appointment. I met up with Brian and Bianca afterwards, and we jumpstarted the night at Blockheads, where my taped knee did not get us any discounts on drinks. On our way to the subway, we walked into some swanky lounge, just because we could, and became friends with a Chinese guy who had shown up earlier than the host of his party, and who was only hired because his boss had an Asian fetish. We then made our way to Brooklyn, where we would be sleeping, and ate pizza with lots of spinach and fell asleep in a disarray of clothes, crust, music remixes, and dysfunctional relationships. We woke up feeling younger and smellier than we had ever felt.

Today, I am going to watch Sex and the City 2 with my mother and one of her best friends, because another friend of hers backed out last minute. I watched Where the Wild Things Are earlier in the day, and then I picked up my sister and her friends from the high school, almost running them over because my mind was so consumed with Jay-Z's 99 problems. I used frozen vegetables to relieve my knee pain, and then ate them for lunch. The sunny day converged into a dreary afternoon while I snoozed on the couch.

It is thundering and raining right now, without any signs of stopping, without any hints of hopeful sun. I love the smell of rain, and wet, and greyness, and clouds.

I'm not sure if I have just started something new or if the old thing is still happening; I am not even sure what I mean when I say "old thing." Moments have converged with spaces, and blackness has conflated with whiteness, so that all I can see is myself, right here, right now.