Distraction

I had been waiting in the apartment next door for over 20 minutes, and they had yet to return with the beer from my fridge. The can in my hand was completely seeped of any condensation, and the drops sticking to the bottom were warm. My options in this situation were few. Going on about the current state of elementary schools with the sixty-year-old couple on the nearby couch didn't enthrall me, I couldn't flirt with my friend's cousins at a time like this, and my next visit to the pile of deli meats and brownies would be my sixth.

It took about 10 steps to reach my apartment, but when I got there, the front door rejected me. The two girls inside had turned the locked. Through the door I could hear their surprised giggles when I jerked the unwielding doorknob, much like how second graders react when they hear the word "poop." After they unlocked the door, I grabbed a cold beer and noticed the sparkles now covering my weight machine. They had come off as the girl in the black glitter dress messed around with the levers and pulleys on the machine. The other girl, in a black power suit, said they locked the door so I wouldn't see spread eagle as I walked in. Then they had a laugh, the girl in the black glitter dress and the girl in the black power suit.

Black glitter dress. Black power suit. Me in my black suit pants. We were all dressed in black.

We discussed who would be sober enough to drive in an hour. None of the guests next door knew how to get there, so I decided that I would put my beer back in the fridge and lead the line of cars. I would take the others over in an hour. The girl in the black power suit nodded in approval. Then there was no more laughter. It got quiet rather quickly.

For a brief moment, we had distracted ourselves from the real reason we were together. This girl in the black glitter dress, this girl in the black power suit, I had never met them before. But we were an instant united front, bound for reasons that would make us wish we hadn't yet met. We left my apartment to get ready to bury a loved one.

To bury a woman who died too young, too quickly, too soon.

To bury the mother of this girl in the black power suit.



I'm still relatively unsure of myself when going from Point A to Point B in New York, but on this Friday night, I found the bar in uptown Manhattan with no trouble. As the bouncer took a closer look at my Florida ID, a girl screamed from my left, "It's a fake! Don't let that bitch in!" She was merely a drunkard who didn't deserve my attention, but had she not yelled in inebriated impulse, I would have missed the people person people I had come to see, who happened to pick an outdoor table beside the main entrance. I spread my arms out to announce my presence to the group. A pleased beauty streched out toward me and puckered her pillow lips. I gave them a kiss and sat down in the seat she had saved for me.

We had pitcher upon pitcher of Killian's, a beer pong table, front row seats to a drunkard violently dragged against the ground by bouncers, some overall good times. Things got even better when my buddy Hubbard arrived, sat down, and proceeded to talk me up to the girls at our table. I had a ball pretending to be embarrassed, my face saying "Oh, come on now, stop!" while inside I discreetly told myself, "This is what friends are for, and damn she looks impressed!" When it came out that I may soon be working on my Ph.D. in New York, the girl looked pleasantly surprised, and the others nodded in praise. Inside, however, I felt some of the nerves, frustration, and fear I had travelled 3 hours to escape.

I didn't tell any of them that I had one week to solve a problem with my class schedule, an issue that would push my graduation date back a full year if not resolved. All my talk of leaving Pennsylvania in a year, of pursuing a life in the greatest city I've ever known, it would only accentuate my failure of not backing up my boasting if I couldn't get my shit together. The mystery of where I'll be one year from today is exciting and will be worth it if I end up some place meaningful. To be at a standstill, delaying the next step one year, would feel like I wasted a vital year of my twenties.

For a brief moment, I had distracted myself from the reality that I faced the possibility of putting my life on hold for one more year. I tried not to think about what I couldn't deal with for another few days. New York was one of my points of solace, where I could escape from everything I didn't want to face.

The mess in your home doesn't clean itself up while you're away on vacation. I couldn't avoid what faced me in Harrisburg.



The cute Irish girl and her not-as-cute Irish friend were no longer in the lounge by the time we returned to the hotel. They must have gone to bed early, as I noticed they had already changed from their evening wear to booty-hugging sleep wear before Hubbard and I had stepped out for a quick bite. Either way, we would call it a night at the bar in the hotel lounge. We'd shared in enough wild moments over the previous few days; it was time to sit back and chill.

Even though we're friends from high school, Hubbard and I rarely talk about the good old days of our adolescent years. Most of our talks focus around women, the future, the arts, and mocking lead singers who have disgusting tones to their voices (our personal favorite is the guy from New Found Glory). But as we sat 2 amongst empty tables for 4, the memories and archived tales came one after the other. We tested each other with scenarios, and without fail we were able to fill in the details of each memory:

The time when we found a decapitated stuffed puppy dog on my doorstep, along with a note that read, Leave me alone or you'll end up like Rudolph. Amelia, when we knew our friend Amelia was being set up, and after a few hours of sleuthing, we got confessions from the girls who set her up by the next afternoon.

The time when Pudge shed a tear, one single tear, after getting in a fight with Little Hubbard. And we all laughed.

The time when Hubbard said in the middle of a serious conversation, "I like the dick."

(That last one actually happened last weekend, but I had to get that out there! Seriously, who starts a random sentence like that? I like the dick?)

It felt great to laugh about old times with someone also sharing in present times. We were men remembering when we were boys, grasping pints of Guinness in the hands that once held marching band trumpets. Enjoying the simpler things in life in the middle of a ritzy New York City hotel. Not a stressor in sight. At peace with the world.

For a brief moment, he had distracted himself from the depression, anger, and confusion that had plagued the past 6 months of his life and, in turn, our friendship. No matter how far we deviated from the subject, I knew it was inevitable for his breakup to come into the discussion again. Sure enough, there was a brief pause in conversation. I filled the space by sipping on more Guinness. When I put my glass down, he looked over with that glassy gaze and said a simple phrase that contained every emotion we had put on hold.

I miss her, man.



We all have those moments, a time we spend keeping ourselves busy to avoid what we fear to face. Points in time come where our problems seem to have culminated and encompassed our every minute. We look at everyone around us, arms around their wives or reading on an outside bench, and we ask ourselves, "Why can't life be as simple as that?" So we try to take a breather from our everyday pressures, keeping ourselves occupied with an array of activities as to disallow our minds to go anywhere else. This is ulimately a short-term solution. In a sudden moment, your mind will slow and have no choice but to remember the very things you're trying to forget.

Going away from your everyday life and having fun doesn't give you a pass from the responsibilities and hardships of life. You're running in a track circle, and before you know it, you're in the same spot you ran from, and everything left at the starting point is still waiting for you. But at the same time, dealing with the responsiblities and hardships of life doesn't always give you a pass from going out and finding your own enjoyment. Often we get stuck dedicating all our time to the problems in our immediate future. They encompass our every thought to the point where it feels as though nothing else can be done until this problem goes away. Sometimes this is true. Many times it's not. When it is, we have a duty to act as we should, combat our issues in the best way possible. When it's not, sometimes it's necessary to give ourselves a break, a time to enjoy the people, the happenings, the little distractions that make life worthwhile.

Carpe Diem

When the people in my program started receiving Year Progress Reviews from the faculty, I was grotesquely curious about what my letter would say. I had no idea that at the end of the school year, my professors would gather together to discuss me; talk about their perceptions of my performance, attitude, and effort; and eventually hand me their verdict of my being on scholastic stationary. The stories I was hearing were not promising: letters informing you that “your study habits have been brought into question” or “your professors feel that your performance would improve if you let your voice be heard and contributed to class discussions” let you know that faculty took note of all their students’ shortcomings.

Had my professors been looking at me this whole year with hidden suspicions of my weaknesses? Have they been putting a lens to flaws I didn't even know I had? Was my professor offended when I said "shit" in class? I had to know what they thought.

A few days later when I got my letter, I ripped the envelope quickly and scanned through the report.

Dear Anthony... over the past year... exceptional performance... stellar reputation... nice body... yada yada yada...

... and then somewhere near the end:

We would like to see you explore more opportunities with the Applied Psychology Association of Penn State Harrisburg.

So after all that, the thing they’d like me to work on is to go to more student club meetings? They want me to be more social? That’s it? What a fucking joke! I had a brief laugh (and gave myself a brief pat on the back; I can be an arrogant bitch sometimes). In the end, though, I took note of their advice.



My parents bought me a ticket to Florida for me to come down for my birthday. Every day I spent my time with my wonderful family and my aunt and cousins, who had just moved from 15 minutes away to actually into the neighborhood. Back in college I’d return home and catch up with a few of those friends who happened to be in the area. It could be at my house, Starbucks, the pub. Wherever it was, we’d hang out and enjoy the company of the friends we find ourselves relying more and more upon memories to preserve a bond.

Over a game of poker, my cousin asked me if I still had friends in Pensacola. I think it may have been the first time I verbalized something that had hit me a year before: everyone had finally moved on. While not all my friends left Pensacola after high school, over the last five years they’ve found jobs, moved to other cities, gotten married, pursued acting in New York, all the usual evolutions.

Every Thanksgiving after high school, I’d call up some old friends to come over after dinner, hang out, and eat dessert at my house. Last year, the group dwindled to three people. It’s very possible there won’t be anyone to call this year.

Here’s the cliché part where I’m supposed to say that I took for granted that my friends were here and assumed they’d always stay frozen in time while I was off doing my own things. The truth is I always knew that we would all move on slowly but surely. I wasn’t naïve to the fact that one day my family would be the only people at the door to greet me at home. Prepared or not, though, I still felt somber. My metaphorical teenage bedroom had finally become barren of all things except packed boxes of yearbooks and old movie ticket stubs.



If all goes well, I should be going for my doctorate in the fall of 2006 (though that year sounds greatly futuristic, keep in mind that yes, 2006 is only 5 months away). Those loathsome days of requesting letters of recommendation, tweaking my personal statements, and mailing applications to graduate schools are soon returning. Many of my envelopes will be addressed to schools in the New York area. I want to be in New York.

Whether I'm drinking a beer with Jerk in Baltimore or sitting in an acting studio a few blocks from Times Square, I make it very clear during conversation that my latest aspirations take me to New York. It’s odd, but I have more friends and people I genuinely like spending time with in New York City than anywhere else. I have family there and cousins my own age whose company I enjoy. My best friend from high school lives in Queens. I discover more and more of my college friends’ endeavors are taking them to Manhattan. When I go out with the woman I’m currently having the pleasure of getting to know, I pick her up in Harlem. And then we have the countless other relatives scattered across the outskirts of the city, family who are my best link to the past, to my past.

My best friend from college now lives less than 90 minutes away in Maryland. Between all the fun I know I'll have with Jerk and reliving the stories I always end up with while in New York, I’m constantly arranging plans to visit all these people I care about. Luckily I love my car Lorraine, and equipped with my sexy new iPod, I’m always ready to get in my car and head out to wherever God takes me.

I have weekly meetings with a professor of mine with whom I’m working on a research project, a project that could potentially give me one of those extra lines on my resumé that would break a tie with fellow doctoral applicants. He laughed when I told him that I had just returned from a weekend in Baltimore. I spend my time everywhere but Harrisburg, he said. That’s a fairly accurate statement. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I came into our Monday meeting and not been either just returning from a trip or about to leave for somewhere.



Part of my reason for traveling so much this summer is to take advantage of this lighter schedule, to “seize the day” in a way, but another motive lies beneath. What would I do here in Harrisburg? Who do I have here to confide in, to be my complete self around, to get drunk with? I’ve been in Pennsylvania a year now, and the truth is that I can count the number of true friends I have here, people I trust and feel wholly comfortable showing all sides of me to, on one hand.

And I’d still have 3 fingers to spare.

Summer is wrapping up. The friend on my middle finger packs up and returns to school in about a week. The buddy on my pointer finger lives 45 minutes away. My Baltimore and New York friends will be traveling on business, packed with work, back at school. Fall semester will bring papers and studying that will require efforts that seep into the weekends. Soon I will have little practical choice but to keep my butt in park and have extensive stays in Harrisburg.

I’m not willing to sit on my couch in the fall, X-ing out the passing days on the calendar until my next trip to the outside. Like it or not, I need to be in Harrisburg for the next year. And despite what I may say about this city, there's a lot of good here, and there are tons of great people to befriend. I just have to find them.

When it's all said and done, I will have spent 2 years of my life in Harrisburg. That may not seem like a long time, but I have a sagging shoe box full of memories from my 2 years in the dorms of East Hall. At this point in my life, 2 years is an era, about 8.5% of my existence. With the setup of my school and work schedule, the opportunities to fill a scrapbook are few, but they exist. I've got to open myself up to finding them, even if that means going to a stupid student meeting from time to time.