Tag: life

On Graduation

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

 

Graduation is coming. And for the first time, I felt myself panic. Where am I going? Do I continue on with my Masters? Did I get the right degree? Will I have a career? These are the common questions that plague the student’s mind right before graduation. These questions are not the reason why I am panicking. Sure I have ruminated over and over about what decisions I need to make in order to have a successful career and that after graduation I will be making some of the most important decisions of my life—and I hate making decisions—but oddly enough I am not bothered by this. I am the type of person that is comfortable with the idea of “whatever happens, happens,” that things will fall in to their right places. This is not the source of my stress. To put it bluntly, I am afraid of losing my closest friends. Whether you are graduating this year, or you know someone who is graduating, it is safe to assume that a lot of things change afterwards, including the people you love moving far away. Facebook is pretty good at helping keeping friendships alive and, if you’re consistent at it, usually phone calls can keep people close as well. You can keep it up for about a year and maybe longer, but in most cases, the friendships fade and you make new ones. This is an on-going cycle. However, this time around, I panicked! I didn’t want to follow the “cycle.”
When I was in high school, I believed that my best friends and I would stay very close. I am an incredibly stubborn person, so you can imagine how adamant I am with my faith. During my senior year, I finally made a small but very close-knit group of friends. I remember that we used to wonder why we were never close before until our last year of school. We graduated and some of us moved away. We stayed close for about a little over a year and then, just like the cycle, we faded away.
The same thing has happened now. This is my senior year in college and I have become extremely close with only a select few. Three of us are all moving out of state, myself included. We used to tease the idea of moving to the same state together, thinking of how much fun that could be, knowing that some of us couldn’t be without each other. And all the while, I keep thinking how familiar this all seems. I hear Rachel say, “I don’t think you and I will ever not be friends…we’ll grow old together.” Smiling at her, I try to be positive, but I am not. I am cynical. I’ve heard it before. And so, I panicked. Because this time I really, really didn’t want the same thing to happen—where people move away and move on. 
So what? So this semester, despite my incredibly busy schedule, I had filled up all my free time, and even not-so free time, to spend with my closest friends, to fill my memory with them and all the happiest moments they bring to life. Because who knows when it’ll be this good again. I realize how dramatic this sounds—believe me, Drama is my middle name—but frankly I can’t help it; it’s in my genes—and the inspirational music in the background is also helping. I have whimmed with the best of friends and plan on continuing to do so until we part our ways. I guess you can say they have been the reason behind my whimming—and the virus commonly known as senioritis has also added to it. So I will hope and enjoy every minute we’re together. I have plenty more whims up my sleeve saved up for summer. And, just like the summer after my high school graduation, this summer will be logged into my memory as one of the greatest! Then August will come…and this chapter will close, but another will open. Things will fall in their right places. Remember to appreciate those closest to you. Work hard, but harder for those you love. Oh yeah, and have fun!
And continue to whim where no whimmer has gone before…

 

Graduation is coming. And for the first time, I felt myself panic. Where am I going? Do I continue on with my Masters? Did I get the right degree? Will I have a career? These are the common questions that plague the student’s mind right before graduation. These questions are not the reason why I am panicking. Sure I have ruminated over and over about what decisions I need to make in order to have a successful career and that after graduation I will be making some of the most important decisions of my life—and I hate making decisions—but oddly enough I am not bothered by this. I am the type of person that is comfortable with the idea of “whatever happens, happens,” that things will fall in to their right places. This is not the source of my stress. To put it bluntly, I am afraid of losing my closest friends. Whether you are graduating this year, or you know

Waiting in the blistering heat to get inside the Stadium.
Waiting in the blistering heat to get inside the Stadium.

 someone who is graduating, it is safe to assume that a lot of things change afterwards, including the people you love moving far away. Facebook is pretty good at helping keeping friendships alive and, if you’re consistent at it, usually phone calls can keep people close as well. You can keep it up for about a year and maybe longer, but in most cases, the friendships fade and you make new ones. This is an on-going cycle. However, this time around, I panicked! I didn’t want to follow the “cycle.”

 

When I was in high school, I believed that my best friends and I would stay very close. I am an incredibly stubborn person, so you can imagine how adamant I am with my faith. During my senior year, I finally made a small but very close-knit group of friends. I remember that we used to wonder why we were never close before until our last year of school. We graduated and some of us moved away. We stayed close for about a little over a year and then, just like the cycle, we faded away.

The same thing has happened now. This is my senior year in college and I have become extremely close with only a select few. Three of us are all moving out of state, myself included. We used to tease the idea of moving to the same state together, thinking of how much fun that could be, knowing that some of us couldn’t be without each other. And all the while, I keep thinking how familiar this all seems. I hear Rachel say, “I don’t think you and I will ever not be friends…we’ll grow old together.” Smiling at her, I try to be positive, but I am not. I am cynical. I’ve heard it before. And so, I panicked. Because this time I really, really didn’t want the same thing to happen—where people move away and move on. 

So what? So this semester, despite my incredibly busy schedule, I had filled up all my free time, and even not-so free time, to spend with my closest friends, to fill my memory with them and all the happiest moments they bring to life. Because who knows when it’ll be this good again. I realize how dramatic this sounds—believe me, Drama is my middle name—but frankly I can’t help it; it’s in my genes—and the inspirational music in the background is also helping. I have whimmed with the best of friends and plan on continuing to do so until we part our ways. I guess you can say they have been the reason behind my whimming—and the virus commonly known as senioritis has also added to it. So I will hope and enjoy every minute we’re together. I have plenty more whims up my sleeve saved up for summer. And, just like the summer after my high school graduation, this summer will be logged into my memory as one of the greatest! Then August will come…and this chapter will close, but another will open. Things will fall in their right places. Remember to appreciate those closest to you. Work hard, but harder for those you love. Oh yeah, and have fun!

And continue to whim where no whimmer has gone before…

 

Rachel and I on the lawn of Sun Devil's Stadium
Rachel and I on the lawn of Sun Devil's Stadium

A Whim in the Sea

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

We still haven't slept yet.
We still haven't slept yet.

 

 

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.
It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 
No problem.
But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.
“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.
The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.
It was closed.
Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.
That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.
Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.
That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 
As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.

It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 

No problem.

But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.

“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.

The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.

It was closed.

Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.

That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.

Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.

That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 

As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

Xanna D Says: “Wake Up! And Whim With Me.”

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 
The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 
Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!
My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.
And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 
We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 

The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 

Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!

My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.

A-capellaly singing
A-capellaly singing

 

And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 

We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.

Fortune Cookie Part 1

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

 

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the wind blowing through her long streak of blond hair, Mandy gazed out towards the sun. The sky was a golden shade tinted with light blue as the sun slowly set below the horizon. There was nothing to expect from this day, nothing to want or need. Work at the office had been the same as always. Her computer had crashed as usual. Her daily routines had remained the same, except this time she was standing across from her car being towed away. Mandy considered herself a very attentive driver, and yet she still managed to find herself distracted enough to run into the car ahead of her. A slight fender-bender that barely dented the silver Audi, but nonetheless smashed the front end of Mandy’s blue 1988 Toyota.
When the accident occurred, Mandy barely reacted. Any emotional outburst would just be another annoyance to add to the situation. In fact, standing as she was, gazing out towards the sun, she realized she didn’t even feel anything. Not a hint of aggravation, not a sigh of frustration. Nothing. Her gaze shifted to the tow truck man, hefty and sweaty compared to her delicate, sweet frame, and she signed the paper on his clip board. Then she signed another paper from the police, the flashing red and blue lights an irritating embarrassment.
As soon as the technical details were done and over with, Mandy was able to get a ride home from a close friend. His name was Sam. He was a little taller than Mandy, a rough 5’10”, and much more roundly built. The two drove in silence, neither wanting to mention the last few hours, and Sam dropped her off at her simple apartment.
“You sure you don’t want some company?” Sam asked before Mandy closed the car door.
“Yeah, I think I need to sit and think a bit,” Mandy said, hoping there was a smile present on her face, though it didn’t feel like there was one. Sam and Mandy had been friends for six years since she started her job at the office. Mandy was a shy girl which Sam was drawn to. From the moment they met, Sam took her under his wing and became the only friend she had in the small town of Ripon, Wisconsin.
“You sure?” The look in his eyes seemed more concerned than they really needed to be.
Mandy nodded sincerely and shut the car door. Sam waited until Mandy was inside her apartment before driving off down the tree-shaded street.
As soon as she was inside, Mandy took the opportunity to throw herself down onto her bed and wait for the tears to come. Having her car totaled was the last thing she needed to happen in her already stretched-to-the-wire life. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to pay for the damages and the ticket she was cited. Mandy wasn’t without car insurance, but she didn’t think it was going to cover all of the expenses. So she waited with her head burrowing into her pillow for the tears to be soaked up. But they didn’t come. Everything felt…dry. There seemed to be nothing to feel for.
Pushing herself up in frustration, Mandy got up and moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before coming to the realization that she hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a month. There was nothing to eat except for some pasta and cereal, neither of which sounded appealing.
Snatching up her phone, Mandy dialed the nearby Chinese delivery and ordered chicken fried rice and chow mein. She figured it was probably better for her to spend money on grocery shopping, but seeing as she didn’t have a car at the moment and she didn’t want to rely on Sam, she figured this was the best decision for the time being.
An hour later, Mandy sat on her tattered couch watching Iron Chef and enjoying her chow mein. She was half way through the show when suddenly the screen flickered and flashed off. That’s when she heard the thunder rumble overhead and the lights go out. Mandy sat there for a second, bowl in hand, staring blankly at her television in the dark. She waited for the electricity to come back and heard another rumble from above.
When the power didn’t come back on, she set her bowl down on top the beat up coffee table and stumbled to the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. After searching for about five minutes, she lit up the darkness with a dull flashlight and started to place a few candles around her living room. Once she lit the candles, Mandy settled herself down on the couch and lazily watched the tiny yellow flame dance. She was amazed with herself and how well she was taking everything today. Normally she would find herself in tears, or tearing up one of her pillows in a fit of rage. But this time, nothing happened. A part of her was thankful and another part was disappointed. It was strange how numb she felt inside, as though there was a great black hole sucking in all that she felt or could feel.
And yet, maybe this was something that had been going on for longer than she thought. Something was eating away at her insides, making her feel less and less. It didn’t make sense to her.
Mandy reached out toward the candle’s flame and brushed her finger through it, feeling a brief hotness from the contact. She did it again, only slower this time, and wondered how long it might take to before she could feel its warmth burn through her. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to try and see what would be the result, curious as she was.
Having an urge to move, Mandy got up to start cleaning away her bowl and Chinese. Before she tossed the delivery bag into the trash, she dumped out the plastic wrapped fortune cookie onto the kitchen counter. She tore open the plastic and broke the cookie in half. Pulling the thin white paper out of the cookie, she leaned towards one of the lit candles and read the piece of paper out loud.
“Use your instincts now.”
The thunder crashing above made Mandy jump in surprise and then looked back down at the fortune. The orange light from the candle made the paper glow gently in the dark.
“Very funny,” she murmured to herself, then threw away the broken pieces of cookie and the fortune along with them.

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the wind blowing through her long streak of blond hair, Mandy gazed out towards the sun. The sky was a golden shade tinted with light blue as the sun slowly set below the horizon. There was nothing to expect from this day, nothing to want or need. Work at the office had been the same as always. Her computer had crashed as usual. Her daily routines had remained the same, except this time she was standing across from her car being towed away. Mandy considered herself a very attentive driver, and yet she still managed to find herself distracted enough to run into the car ahead of her. A slight fender-bender that barely dented the silver Audi, but nonetheless smashed the front end of Mandy’s blue 1988 Toyota.

When the accident occurred, Mandy barely reacted. Any emotional outburst would just be another annoyance to add to the situation. In fact, standing as she was, gazing out towards the sun, she realized she didn’t even feel anything. Not a hint of aggravation, not a sigh of frustration. Nothing. Her gaze shifted to the tow truck man, hefty and sweaty compared to her delicate, sweet frame, and she signed the paper on his clip board. Then she signed another paper from the police, the flashing red and blue lights an irritating embarrassment.

As soon as the technical details were done and over with, Mandy was able to get a ride home from a close friend. His name was Sam. He was a little taller than Mandy, a rough 5’10”, and much more roundly built. The two drove in silence, neither wanting to mention the last few hours, and Sam dropped her off at her simple apartment.

“You sure you don’t want some company?” Sam asked before Mandy closed the car door.

“Yeah, I think I need to sit and think a bit,” Mandy said, hoping there was a smile present on her face, though it didn’t feel like there was one. Sam and Mandy had been friends for six years since she started her job at the office. Mandy was a shy girl which Sam was drawn to. From the moment they met, Sam took her under his wing and became the only friend she had in the small town of Ripon, Wisconsin.

“You sure?” The look in his eyes seemed more concerned than they really needed to be.

Mandy nodded sincerely and shut the car door. Sam waited until Mandy was inside her apartment before driving off down the tree-shaded street.

As soon as she was inside, Mandy took the opportunity to throw herself down onto her bed and wait for the tears to come. Having her car totaled was the last thing she needed to happen in her already stretched-to-the-wire life. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to pay for the damages and the ticket she was cited. Mandy wasn’t without car insurance, but she didn’t think it was going to cover all of the expenses. So she waited with her head burrowing into her pillow for the tears to be soaked up. But they didn’t come. Everything felt…dry. There seemed to be nothing to feel for.

Pushing herself up in frustration, Mandy got up and moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before coming to the realization that she hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a month. There was nothing to eat except for some pasta and cereal, neither of which sounded appealing.

Snatching up her phone, Mandy dialed the nearby Chinese delivery and ordered chicken fried rice and chow mein. She figured it was probably better for her to spend money on grocery shopping, but seeing as she didn’t have a car at the moment and she didn’t want to rely on Sam, she figured this was the best decision for the time being.

An hour later, Mandy sat on her tattered couch watching Iron Chef and enjoying her chow mein. She was half way through the show when suddenly the screen flickered and flashed off. That’s when she heard the thunder rumble overhead and the lights go out. Mandy sat there for a second, bowl in hand, staring blankly at her television in the dark. She waited for the electricity to come back and heard another rumble from above.

When the power didn’t come back on, she set her bowl down on top the beat up coffee table and stumbled to the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. After searching for about five minutes, she lit up the darkness with a dull flashlight and started to place a few candles around her living room. Once she lit the candles, Mandy settled herself down on the couch and lazily watched the tiny yellow flame dance. She was amazed with herself and how well she was taking everything today. Normally she would find herself in tears, or tearing up one of her pillows in a fit of rage. But this time, nothing happened. A part of her was thankful and another part was disappointed. It was strange how numb she felt inside, as though there was a great black hole sucking in all that she felt or could feel.

And yet, maybe this was something that had been going on for longer than she thought. Something was eating away at her insides, making her feel less and less. It didn’t make sense to her.

Mandy reached out toward the candle’s flame and brushed her finger through it, feeling a brief hotness from the contact. She did it again, only slower this time, and wondered how long it might take to before she could feel its warmth burn through her. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to try and see what would be the result, curious as she was.

Having an urge to move, Mandy got up to start cleaning away her bowl and Chinese. Before she tossed the delivery bag into the trash, she dumped out the plastic wrapped fortune cookie onto the kitchen counter. She tore open the plastic and broke the cookie in half. Pulling the thin white paper out of the cookie, she leaned towards one of the lit candles and read the piece of paper out loud.

“Use your instincts now.”

The thunder crashing above made Mandy jump in surprise and then looked back down at the fortune. The orange light from the candle made the paper glow gently in the dark.

“Very funny,” she murmured to herself, then threw away the broken pieces of cookie and the fortune along with them.