And then he just walked away. I felt broken. Not just my heart – but all the tiny pieces that I’d collected over the years to make me into who I was – they were gone – shattered – blown. I was empty. And cold. I wrapped my arms around myself to try and hold the pieces together, but they were sliding down, down through the bottom of my feet. I was melting away. I bit my lip. And closed my eyes. And when I opened them again he was gone. Gone. Completely gone. And the rain came down and washed away all my pieces.

I have discovered peach ice cream.
Beautiful.
Like cool brooks, poplars, and warm breezes.
Shorts and bare feet.
Wide front porches and crickets humming sweet -
at dusk.

I’d been laying at the Foxwood pool with Keira all afternoon. We hadn’t really been talking – both in our own little worlds. That’s the thing about friendship – the being – not the doing or the saying. I’d been thinking about a conversation with Kate, about relationships, and had decided that it was completely useless. I should just move on with my life. If someone wanted to tag along they’d be more than welcome. If not… well, I’d probably be better off. It got cloudy, so we headed back over to Keira’s, made dinner, and then Keer took off to a ward activity, leaving me alone in her house to finish my dinner and an episode of Seinfeld. She’d made me promise to lock the door when I left – I decided that I should probably head over to my own ward’s function, even though I really wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. I stood up re-wrapped my towel around my waist, grabbed my purse and cell phone, and headed out the front door. It wasn’t until the door was safely locked and shut behind me that I realized I didn’t have my keys. Hmmm. That stinks. But no big deal. I hadn’t seen them with my things, and I couldn’t remember clicking my key ring open and shut as I walked up the stairs (a thing I’m prone to do), so I’d probably left them back at the pool. I walked over. Nothing promising on first glance, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there – could be under something. I had a good look, but didn’t come up with anything. Well. Now what? I gave Keira a call, but got her voicemail. I left her an upbeat message about my predicament, and headed back over to her house. Hopefully she’d get it soon, and come and rescue me.

As I crossed the street back toward Keira’s, I saw a familiar stride. It had been awhile since I’d last seen him – a month at least. I wasn’t even sure what his name was, but he’d always been one of my favorite people to run into. So easy going – hilarious – and left me thinking. I realized I looked awful. A day in the sun and chlorinated water has never really left anything worth falling in love with. So I did what I always did when I ran into him – gave him a big bright smile.
“How are you? You’re very tan. How’s your job in the desert?”

“Pretty good. Yeah. I’m loving it.”

And suddenly I’m feeling happy. This is delightful and unexpected.

I explain that I left my keys inside the house, and he offers help to get them out. I accept – a girl clad in towel and swimsuit can’t be that effective on her own.

He hopped up onto a cinderblock and tried the kitchen window – it proved to be a dead end. So did the ones in the living room. I wasn’t worried. I was sure we’d find a way in. I’d never been unsuccessful before. We went around to the back of the house, climbed up on a garbage can, then onto the rickety old shed. Here was another useless window. It was the kind with a hand crank to open it – and if only it had been cranked open a little more, then I would have been able to pop out the screen. I tried fruitlessly to tug it open further.

I sighed. Gave my friend a thankful shrug, and turned to get off the roof. Maybe I’d just wait for Keira after all.

“Hey what about that window?”

I followed his view. He was pointing to Keira’s bedroom window. It was about 13 feet off the ground, but yes, it looked like it was open far enough for me to push out the screen. This could be good. Very good.

“All we need is a ladder.”

“Do you have one?”

Of course I didn’t have one, if I had one, I wouldn’t say we needed one. But I had an idea.

“Follow me.”

We jumped off the shed, off the garbage can, and he followed me down the street to a Moving Truck parked lazily against the curb. The truck’s large loading ramp was stashed on the bit of grass between the road and the sidewalk.

I stood beside it and announced, with a sweep of the arms, “We’ll use this.”

“What? Just take it?”

He looked surprised, but I was sure I had him. There was a glint in his eye, and he seemed the adventurous type.

“Sure. No one’s using it right now.”

I stooped to pick up my end. He grabbed the other.

We shuffled our way back up the street, over the road, and into Keira’s backyard. Man, that thing was heavy. It bugged me that he seemed to carry it so easily. I’ve never really gotten used to the idea of boys being stronger than me. He lifted his end up toward the window ledge, and I started to scoot my end along the dirt – grunting with the effort.

After a minute he called, “Hey, why don’t we switch?”

I was grateful for the suggestion. But it proved to be a bad idea. The ramp was entirely too heavy. As I stood, arms stretched above my head, I started slowly sinking toward the earth.

“Um?” - it came out sort of like a whimper.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Sorry. Here.”

He came running round. We switched places again.

Finally the ramp was in place. A too-steep path to Keira’s window, and – more importantly – my keys. I started up the ramp. It had little ridges that I dug my toes into to keep me from sliding back down. I perched precariously at the top, pushed hard on the screen and popped it out. Yes. Step one complete. I then grabbed the crank and started to twist the window open, so I could climb in. Problem. The ramp was placed directly in front of the window, and was now impeding my progress. I couldn’t get the window open far enough, because the blasted ramp was in the way. Great. I yelled the details down to my partner in crime who suggested we move the ramp. Or maybe I could just (more grunting)… Voila! My body was now perfectly jammed into the opening.

“I’m stuck.”

He called back in laughter, “Well hey, can you get your other leg up onto the window ledge, and off the ramp? – then I can move it.”

A little awkward, but seemingly do-able. I took a swing at it, and swung my knee straight through the bedroom window.

Super.

He moved the ramp. I wriggled through the window onto the glass covered bed below, and hurried to the front door to let him in. We searched hi and low. No keys. Not even in the couch cushions. I was a mess. My knee was bleeding, my keys weren’t in the house, it had all been a waste. My only hope was that the neighbors hadn't called the cops to report suspicious activity.

I am moving back to the Glenwood. It seems that I like the idea of torturing myself with Freshman Submersion. Kate Pieper will be my roommate. We will paint our room, we will eat free food, we will swim in the pool, and we will laugh hard at silly little things.

Someone made reference to me as a cherry-flavored lifesaver today.

I didn't like that.

Cherry? - That's the flavor of cough medicine! Children hide under their beds at the thought of cherry. One out of eight cherry lifesavers is thrown away - and no one has ever been heard saying, "Yes! Cherry. My favorite." - It just doesn't happen. Cherry is NOT a good flavor. People don't like cherry...

So what flavor am I? Well, at first I thought I'd want to be something more exotic - like pineapple. But who am I kidding? I'm not exotic. I don't even really want to be exotic. I'm more 'everyday' than 'once in a life time'. I think I'd have to be something more earthy, more real - something you don't get sick of...

Well, I've finally become an adult. And I have to admit, I'm not altogether sure that I like it. I mean really - how fun is it to get up everyday and go to work? I feel like that's all I do now - work. And I have all this wonderful money... but what's the use, because I haven't the time to spend an ounce of it - I spend all my time earning it. Is this what I've been looking forward to all my life?

Lar and I went to a Halloween party - as a National Geographic Journalist and Photographer. We looked cute. No one really appreciates how wonderful we are. We were sitting on a couch in a corner, carrying out our somewhat reclusive life style, when someone shouted from the kitchen, "Who wants to challenge Paul in an apple-bobbing contest?" I couldn't believe it - I was standing with my hand in the air calling, "I'll do it!" The next thing you know I had passed my coat, goves, and notepad to laura - and was kneeling face to face - across a giant rubbermaid of water - from Paul Thatcher. I looked down at the tub, all the apples were bobbing up and down in some kind of mock innocence - I was appauled. What had gotten into me? Was I really going to stick my head in the tank? I pushed half of the apples over to Paul's side, put my arm across the tub as a divider, looked Paul in the eye, and said (pointing for affect), "That's your side, and this is mine - don't even think about crossing that line. Paul asked if there was a rule that said we had to go all the way to the bottom. I thought, "I sure hope not - I straightened my hair today." The ref started to count down, "5...4..." My mind was reeling. I can't lose. If Paul is going all the way to the bottom, then I'll have to too - only I'll have to be faster - but my hair. "...3." "Wait!" Everyone stops and looks. I don't have anything to say. Both hands are over my heart as I sheepishly state, "I'm a little nervous - that's all." The ref starts again, "3...2...ONE." The next thing you know I'm at the bottom of the rubbermaid with a juicy, red apple between my teeth. Victory. I pull my head out, my hair's plastered across my forehead, and I'm wet down to my knees - and there's Paul - completely dry - already taking a bite out of his prize apple. I had lunged into the tub, created some kind of self-destructive tsunami, and come out looking like a drowned rat - for what? Second place? I maintain that Paul Thatcher is a cheater.