Imagine All the People: Saralyn

[This post is one in a series that gives you a picture of the people I love, the people who put up with me, and the people who refine my character by choosing to be in my life even after I take the last piece of chocolate. You can read the others here and here. (Yeah, it's a long-drawn-out-never-ending-whenever-I-feel-like-it-or-bother-to-remember-it-series.)]

I like to say that Saralyn got lucky because she was assigned the desk next to mine. But really, I'm the lucky one. Saralyn is my opposite. Perhaps that's why I like her and also why she interests me. She's interesting to listen to because she's never going to have the same perspective on something as I am. She's also the calmest, most together, laid back person in my life. Her refusal to allow unpleasant things or situations to ruffle her or undo the rest of her day is pure inspiration. I love having my ever-frequent freak outs in the next desk because she allows me to freak out, and then, she gets busy suggesting extremely reasonable solutions that I could have thought of if, well, I wasn't me.

I like her because she is straight-forward. When she says, "I don't mind. Either is fine with me," or "Whatever you think. I'm up for anything," she actually means it. Our friendship works so well because I'm all decision-making queen and hardly ever "don't care" which place we eat, what place we go, or how we get there. And she so rarely has her own agenda that when she does express a certain wish, I'm glad to oblige her. (Not that she doesn't have her own agenda in general. But I mean inconsequential agenda. Like which coffee shop we're going to or how many other coworkers I share the fresh-baked, still-warm, chocolate banana bread with.) I guess I like her because she helps me to relax by example.

Saralyn has also taught me more about teaching in the last 5 months than I learned from experience in the last year and a half. She is generous; she emails test templates, shares lesson plans, and takes the time to look at others' work. She is helpful; she listens, she thinks, and she takes the time to give solid advice. She is cheerful; she laughs often, she sees the bright side, she takes the time to encourage others to stick to their goals. I can tell she's an amazing teacher without ever having the privilege of sitting in on one of her classes. Also, she can do theoretical math on top of simple math and addition. So it's like having a human calculator with you at all times. This is a benefit when you function under Danielle Math.

I am already mourning the month of August, when I lose yet another Tim Horton's-loving friend to distance and that land of space and ice, although she tells me they do have summer in Canada (and a Prime Minister, not a President. Get it right or pay the price). She will be missed. I am afraid of who will sit in that desk next to mine in a few months. They have a daunting role to fill. Maybe I should start taking applications?

And of course, Saralyn likes my cats, and thinks they're cute, and talks to them in the little voice sometimes. That always helps.

Imagine All the People: Subway BFF

[This post is part of a series, Imagine All the People. These posts aren't sequential or essential to one another. They're just about people who have come into my life and taught me something, or changed the way I saw the world, or simply made me laugh.]

As I was coming home today from school, I saw on the platform a group of middle school, maybe high school, boys. I don't think they are really feeling, thinking people yet.  I think middle school boys are shells pumped full of hormones and misdemeanors waiting to happen. And they were laughing. And it wasn't the laugh where somebody just let out the most excellent fart of the year and almost killed their entire peer group. It was the kind of laugh directed at someone. The kind of laugh that always hurts. And I thought about our capacity for hurting each other. And then I saw him. 

He was standing a few feet away from the laughing boys, their age and their size. But he wasn't wearing their school blazer. He was wearing a heavy blue coat that was a too big and sliding off one shoulder. He had a smile on his face. He was absorbing their laughter. He slouched forward as if their ridicule had smacked him in the chest. But something about his smile wasn't right. There was an emptiness around his eyes that let me know how things were. Perhaps he was just weird.  Or, perhaps he was the boy I sometimes heard talking too loudly to his mother on the phone in the subway car, his mind straggling years behind his adolescent body.  All this in a few seconds. My eyes watered as I made my way down the platform, away from the pain we give each other for no reason at all. 

And I was reminded of someone else. He had been on the subway with me months ago. How could I have forgotten him? I'm not sure how many days he had been on the same train in the afternoon as I was. I'm not sure how many days it took for his courage to grow, if any. But he was carrying a duffel bag and he said, "Excuse me." I looked up from my book with wonder because no one in Korea says Excuse me.

"Yes?"

"I just learned English." He said it like it was done and over. Finished. He learned it and now he's using it. The transaction had taken place. He was wearing a black jacket and his cheeks were round and reminded me of the dinner rolls we sometimes had at Thanksgiving. 

"Oh, well, you're very good at it."

"Thank you. I want to be your friend."

My eyes widened a bit as I tried to take this in and figure out what he meant. "Oh?" was all I could manage.

"Yes, I'd like to be friends and talk."

"Okay, well, I'm a teacher and a private tutor so I don't really think I have time to teach another class." 

"No. I don't want a class. I want to be your friend. Forever."

"Oh, forever!"

"Yes, I want to be your friend forever and talk to you."

What was I supposed to do with this? I had never had anyone ask me to be their friend forever before, not in a genuine way and not with those dark eyes shining at me like that. I had the thought that he could be dangerous, but no. He was sincere. 

"Well, I don't have very much time. I work kind of far from my house and I commute and I have a boyfriend here. So, I'm quite busy." What was I saying? I had NO life outside work and Kenny. None, whatsoever!

"That's okay. I can meet you every time." I knew he meant any time. So I tried to change the subject and imagined meeting him for coffee. What would we talk about?

"What do you do?"

"I work at a bakery. I bake things."

"Oh, that must be nice."

"No. I bake things."

"Oh. Well then..." He just kept looking at me as if changing the subject hadn't worked and he was still waiting for the answer to his question. It was my stop. I had to get off and transfer. He transferred with me, but stayed a few steps behind me. On the next train, he got on  few cars down and smiled at me. I smiled back.

And walking home from the station, I thought, "What was I thinking? Of course I want to be his friend forever!" I looked for him everyday after that. I saw him once. He was carrying his duffel bag and walking quickly. Maybe he had things to bake. 

So many times I cite language as a barrier. And that time it wasn't. And today, on the platform, I wished so very hard that I knew enough Korean to go up to the boy standing alone looking at the group of students mocking him in some way I couldn't understand. I wanted to go up to him, hold his hand, and ask him to be my friend forever. 

Ah, but the things I want to do, and the things I do remain separated. They only write long letters to each other and never seem to meet face to face. 

Imagine All The People: Carmen B

[This is the first post in a series entitled Imagine All the People. I do not claim to do justice to the amazing people in my life with these small images of who they are to me. But because I have been given so much, changed so much, loved so much by these friends, family members, and acquaintances, I want to share them with you. These are the people who have helped to make me who I am.]

She walks with purpose, upper body always slightly tilted toward her destination. She greets the day with bright lipstick and sometimes wears it on her teeth, but never for long. Because she is the kind of woman you tell about the lipstick-on-the-teeth. And you will be rewarded with her full, robust laughter when you do. Carmen is a professor, author, mother, and friend, and while teaching me how to write, also taught me how to live kind and to live wide and to live honest. 

The thing I love the most about being with her is talking good. Yeah, talking good. I thought there might be a better, more elegant way of putting it, but talking good is it. She taught me how to talk good about people. When I remember Carmen, there is a certain atmosphere that my memory plays back. It feels warm and bright. There is a buzzing, words upon words flying out from us and around us and circling the room only to land lightly on our shoulders and our cheeks. Our words turn into bees busy making the sweet honey of conversation, of authentic dialogue. And we talk good about people we know. We talk good about Ben, how intelligent he is, how we're still reeling from his latest poem; we talk good about Bill Rice, how kind he is, how he can write the pants off any Pulitzer Prize winner any day of the week, how much he knows about good music; we talk good about her kids; we talk good about my mom; we talk good about Hildegard of Bingen; we just talk good. And I am filled with a healthy affirmation of humanity. And talking good leaves a rich and delicious taste in my mouth. 

Most of all, Carmen is real. And she thinks I'm much smarter than I am, which is always nice.

 

(You can get to know Carmen for yourself at her website, or through her incredible translations and books.)