in medias res

The Waiting Game

(background noise: a slowly ticking clock)

Time for some updates – I’m not sure where we left off. I just spent a week in the cold of Memphis, Tennessee. (My blood keeps getting more stubbornly southern.) I hung out with Mike’s friends (both young and not-young), ate, relaxed, slept, laughed…this is vague, so I’ll give you a few highlights. We went to Graceland with one of Mike’s professors (a writer) and another visiting writer. I took over 100 pictures. If I wasn’t an Elvis fan before I went to Graceland (which I wasn’t), then I definitely am now. I’m a fan of anything kitsch, and it doesn’t get much better than a furry white bed, a turquoise-handled pistol, large porcelain animals, and shag carpet all over the walls and ceiling. And the jungle room looks like the debris from a laquer and wood plant’s explosion. Graceland is smaller than I thought it would be (and I never knew that Elvis had a twin brother that died at birth.) I’m hooked. It’s not really Elvis – it’s the idea of Elvis. It’s other people’s journeys to their velvet mecca. The pilgrim of our interest was a thin, middle-aged blond dressed in black except the sequin red ELVIS across her chest. She cried on the two minute bus ride to Graceland while I played with my audio-tour-on-a-lanyard (and wondered about the sanitation issues of shared earphones).

But Graceland was just one stop of an event-filled week in Memphis. For pre-Valentine’s Day dinner, we went to the swank (read: $$$) Wally Jo’s. (Honestly, I expected gator taters. And I’m taking this moment to officially swear off all restaurants where a request for ketchup is considered to be rude.) I wore my neglected black dress and the chef brought us samples of other dishes. I have never had croutons like that – warm and slightly crusty on the outside, but filled with something warm and very soft on the inside. It was like a flava-party in my mouth. I’m also a sucker for a meal with any grits-esque concoction. I also ate at Gus’s Famous Fried Chicken – I bought the t-shirt – and at a 1950s beauty shop-turned-restaurant. I like the adventure of new places, new tastes, new people, but having a familiar face in the midst of it all.

Speaking of new people – I officially made my presence known in Memphis through two game nights of Apples to Apples. People, this could be the best game I’ve played in a long time. It’s an argument free-for-all where the worst logic, with the right twist, can still win. It’s the game I was born to play. I left half the deck with Mike, and he has been using it with his students. My students loved it. Right now, it’s in a brown paper sack on my desk for use by other TAs. (I also learned Shanghai Rummy, but my performance does not deserve any mention.) I met many people I’d love to play with if my world wasn’t 500 miles away from Memphis. But my stay in Memphis was good on many levels, and leaving was difficult. (Not only was it hard to leave Mike, but the roads were caked with ice.)

I got home late Sunday night and I hadn’t fully unpacked when it was time for me to get on the road for a weekend in Charleston. I missed my family and friends and I needed to get a few things from home. Even though I was already in Charleston, I was still homesick. My little city is growing to be so big, and I fear I’ve missed some of its best years. My friends have exciting changes that I’m not there to see. I forget how much time has passed.

That was last weekend. This weekend, I’m the babysitter. I’m getting paid to play and make sure no one gets hurt. (and to referee a bit.) These kids are brilliant – so smart, I forget their ages until they’re scared to go to bed, or start an argument over who gets to sing with the Ice Princess soundtrack, or remind me that I need to get their blanky. But I suddenly felt very old tonight when we drove by Waterworks – the sometimes-English-dept. hangout. It was like they were my kids and my responsibility and my independent days were over. Then, I woke up and realized my independence returns at 10pm on Sunday. And we went for ice cream.

But this is all a prelude to the waiting game. I feel like a broken record: “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.” I want to teach, but I am deeply conflicted about the next step. I also want to a career with some flexibility so some things, such as my independence, can stay the same. Right now, it’s looking like that might involve a cubicle.

I wanted to figure all of this out before I was lured by the light of an acceptance letter. So far, I have two “no”s and one “yes”. (The “no”s are no source of sorrow; I wouldn’t have really believed it if I had been accepted.) And I’m pleasantly shocked at the school where I made the active waiting list. Every day, the mailbox, my inbox, and my phone messages from unknown numbers are always greeted with a little heart flutter. It’s a big decision, but neither option would be a “wrong” decision. I have to relax and keep a constant internal soundtrack of beach-y music.

More later. Until then, the beat goes on…Next weekend, I’m off to Maryland.

posted by tara @ 11:21 PM