Sunday, March 18, 2001
The Wheels on the Bus
I meant to write yesterday so I would be have the opportunity to make many politically incorrect but mildly amusing irish jokes, but, alas, it could not be. Today is my first day of leisure since Tuesday.
I have had a frightening three days of it. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday managed to congeal themselves into something impossible and exciting and depressing and alltogether wholesome goodness. Thursday we had our choir pre-competition concert, and that was pretty neat. I've never heard us sound so good. And it is becoming rather hard to loathe Mr. Carlisle. He still gets on my nerves, but he really does care about us. And Friday proved that.
Friday was complicated. I was peeved that in my cute shoes I was taller than Ryan all day, that is, until drama when I took them off and ran around bare-foot. Actually, I didn't do much running around. I kind of snuck backstage and laid down on the couch with no intent of rehearsing as about six members of the cast were there. So I'm laying there, trying to sleep, when Ryan comes back and just lays down beside me. It was blissful. He has his arms around me and his head pressed against my shoulder, both of us never so comfortable as we are in eachother's arms. Forty minutes of that.
But then I got angry with him. I don't know why I do this. Mostly I get angry with him over things he can't control, things that are inherent in his nature that I would rather not contend with.
We were on the bus to Glen Este High School, where the competition was, and it wasn't that he was ignoring me. I had the window seat (at my own request), so he was on the outside conversing with everybody and I was just sitting there, with his back to me, miserable. And every few minutes he would reach his hand over and squeeze my knee and smile...and turn his back again. What does that mean? Sometimes I feel like what I would have to say isn't as important to him as what someone else would, and the fact that I don't have much to say should be irrelevant. Times like that drive me insane. I don't know what I want him to do. I don't know why I have to be so paranoid.
The trip back was better. I was a bit bummed out about our rating (we got a 2, that's only one away from a one but it's still not a one), but I cheered up quickly enough. Ryan sat by the window, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing my hair. It was also rather funny when all the choir boys in the back of the bus starting taking off their shirts, accompanied by girls chanting their names and waving dollar bills. And, inevitably, their screams turned to "Paco," Angeline in the lead. The girl is veritably stalking him. It's starting to get a bit weird.
But does Ryan get up, heed the call of these bare-chest crazed choir girls? No. He sits there, with his arms around me, shaking his head and grinning. And then he whispers in my ear : "I only strip for you." We laugh.
And I'm happy.
We all went to Steak & Shake afterwards. While I am gone, in search of a pay phone, Lindle, Ryan, and my brother all put on Steak & Shake hats. For those of you who don't know, these hats are paper replicas of soda shop hats in the fifties, a throw back to a decade since past.
This is not all. Ryan maintained minimal dignity in just the hat, but Lindle was a different story alltogether. He wore his cumberbund around his shoulders, and connived a red bow tie from one of the Steak & Shake employees. He stayed like that all night. I'm assuming he didn't give the bow tie back.
That's enough pointless rambling. Hopefully I'll have something valid to say on a later date.
astera at noon-ish