Red Light, Green Light

We rarely used the small t.v. mounted on the wall of our bedroom in the apartment, but for the next two months it lulled me to sleep each night. On the bottom of the screen was a red light, and each night I would stare at it until I couldn't any longer. In the mornings, I could never remember falling asleep- which meant I didn't relive that Thursday night.

The drive back to my apartment felt longer than usual- maybe because I was driving carefully scared of black ice or because I knew in an hour I would be returning to the other side of town. It was cold. Very cold. My truck began heating up as I pulled off the highway, one stop-light away from arriving home. I kicked off my snow-covered shoes and flicked on the lights. The apartment was empty which was becoming more and more common. I put my clothes in the dryer and headed upstairs to my room to pack for snowboarding the next day. I remember being exhausted. I didn't want to drive back to the condo that night and sleep on the couch, but I reasoned with myself saying that it would be better to go tonight then to have to wake up even earlier the next morning. I turned on the small t.v. in our room and stumbled upon a John Mayer concert on VH1. He was playing songs from his new album, Battle Studies, which I had recently fallen in love with. Knowing how much it would mean to my roommate, I went out into the loft and recorded it for her. I curled up at the foot of my bed to rest- I knew if I got under the covers I would never leave. John Mayer was slowly putting me to sleep when my phone vibrated- unleashing chaos I would have never phathomed.

"Is Corey okay?"

An old friend from high school had text me. Confused I read the message once more.

I asked her what Corey she was talking about thinking maybe she had text the wrong person. She called- probably after deciding texting wasn't the best way to break the news.

"It's all over Facebook, Amanda. Things like rest in peace, Corey Shaw."

Frantically I fumbled for my laptop, but I was too impatient to wait for it to start. I told her I had to go and quickly hung up. I knew there must have been a mistake. I called my friend who would know what was going on. She didn't answer. I called again and still no answer. I logged into Facebook and began scrolling down barely making out the words on the screen. I called another friend- no answer. Panic grabbed hold of me. The third friend answered- her voice was shaky and hesitant, undoubtedly unsure of what to say yet knowing she would be the one to have to tell me. My voice cracked as I tried to speak, and my eyes swelled with tears.

"Tell me what happened" was all I could manage.

Detail after detail, the story unraveled as I cried bitterly on my knees in shock- how he was found, what he had done earlier that day, who he had been with, how things had been hard for him lately. Every horrific detail engraved in my mind. I hung up shattered, and when the harsh reality quickly set in, I wept. I called my roommate and left a voicemail crying and begging for her to return my call. I called my old youth pastor, the one who knew the same teenage Corey that I did. He didn't answer twice. When he called back, I answered the phone screaming at him.

"You said you'd always answer! You said you'd always be there! Why didn't you answer?!" By the last line, I was balling.

His voice told me how much grief his soul was carrying. He said he was at an altar praying.

Crying I asked, "Is he in Hell?"- completely terrified of the answer I could receive.

"Murder is taking someone's life and suicide is taking one's own life, so does that mean he's in Hell?"

This night had reduced my faith to the theology of getting into Heaven meant following all the rules and Hell meant breaking them and not asking for forgiveness.

"We aren't going to talk about this tonight."

Desperately, I was searching for some kind of comfort. Someone to pick up the pieces that had suddenly been scattered across the floor of my loft. My throat dried- the way it does when you're going to throw up- I crawled on my hands and knees across the carpeted loft to my bathroom. I stuck my head in the toilet and watched my tears fall, each making ripples across the water. I sat down on the cold tile and made another call. This time she answered. I hadn't talked to her in years, but that night we cried together.

I heard my front door close and movement in the kitchen. Relieved to no longer be alone, I call out.

"Danae?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come up and sit with me?"

She held me at the top of the stairs while I called my mom. By this time it was late, and I knew by my mom's voice that I had woken her up. We decided I would drive home in the morning once I had calmed down. I should have been at the condo by now, so I called my cousin and told her what happened. She convinced me to come stay the night with them anyways.

Calls and texts began flooding my phone from people I hadn't heard from since high school. Finally I composed myself to drive, grabbed my stuff, and headed to the other side of town. The door of the condo opened to Wendy and Nikki ready to embrace me, and I let myself fall into the comfort of their arms. Ryan and Dusty were playing Apples-to-Apples at the table, and eventually talked me into playing until bed. I laid on the couch that night staring at the ceiling stunned.

The next week or so proved to be restless. Nights were the worse. It became impossible for me to sleep because I was afraid of the images that would come to mind when I closed my eyes. I took medicine. I exercised. Joy would stay the night so I wouldn't be alone and would read the Old Testament to me before bed. Mostly I prayed for sleep- begged even. I thought God wasn't listening.

Almost two years later, everything is new. I'm in a new city, new school, new job, new friends... I'm curled up in Sara's bed crying while she holds me in silence. My fingers are tucked into the collar of my shirt pulling it away so it can't touch my neck- a discomfort I can no longer handle. It's been at least an hour laying in the dark. Her heartbeat pounding in my ear is slowing my breathing. I glance up at the ceiling, and my gaze falls upon the green light of the smoke alarm. Entranced, I'm able drift off to sleep- pushing away the memories of that Thursday night.

Beneath the Surface

He sits down in front of the keyboard on stage, and his words of goodness and love begin flowing through the speakers. I look around and question if coming was a good idea. The Rec Room is filled with students and staff- all intently listening to him. The band begins playing a familiar tune, and the room is suddenly filled with the unison of voices. I quickly realize how out of place I am. I stare blankly at the words on the screen, but no words leave my mouth. I begin to sweat and feel my chest tightening. My eyes scan the room frantically searching for an exit, and I conclude I have two options. The door in front of me means I must walk toward the stage in front of everyone before slipping out into the cool night air. The other is behind me around the corner- sadly it is blocked by a multitude of people with arms held high singing. Everything in me says to run, to get out of there as fast as I can, but I don't. Instead I'm only able to inch my way backwards. By this point, I can see the Spirit moving among the room. I watch as an outsider as those around me sing so passionately- something I can no longer wrap my mind around. The song changes and the pressure increases. Overwhelmed, I force myself to leave.

Swimming is a part of life- how can it not be when you are from Arizona, growing up on a river, and the pool business runs in the family. By far, my favorite has always been swimming in the ocean. You must willing submit control when entering the ocean. The tides can drag you into its vastness. You are at the mercy of sea creatures. You cannot tell a wave not to crash. You are powerless- and that intrigues me.

The sun was beating down making the water refreshing as I continued to stray further from the shore diving under wave after wave. Before long, I was unable to touch the ocean floor. I glanced back to the beach making sure I was directly in front of our chairs and towels- a technique I learned as a kid. When the tides would begin to pull me, I'd swim to shore, run along the beach to where our stuff was, and then head back into the water. If they were strong, I would run past our stuff to give myself more time to get pulled before having to swim back in.

I was preoccupied with handstands and flips when the first wave of the set came by surprise. I inhaled and dove down to the floor digging my toes in the sand determined to hold my ground. I felt the wave roll across my back and pass over me. It was as if I had gone undetected. I pushed myself to the surface and instantly felt the warm air against my face. I opened my eyes only to find another wave about to crash. Before I had time to catch my breath, it fell, pulling me down with it. The wave threw my body against the floor and violently tossed me in all directions. I no longer knew which way to swim. I felt my chest tighten informing me that I would soon need another breath of air. Although I knew in a few moments the sea would settle and I would surface, panic began creeping into my thoughts. This must be what drowning feels like.

Three nights later, goodness and love are echoing through the speakers again- this time from a man with a guitar. I'm cynical as I hear his words. I can feel the bass beating in my bones as the drummer begins to play. I'm again out of place. Overwhelmed and embarrassed, I begin taking small steps backwards until my calves are pressed against my chair leaving me with no where to go. Hot tears are slowly trickling down my cheeks when Sara's arm brushes against mine bringing me back into the reality that I'm not alone. The urge to run is tugging at me, but I stay- uncomfortably immersed in the community I have chosen to be apart of and know is best for me. We are dismissed, and I walk home in silence once again emotionally exhausted.

The sea will soon settle, and I will surface- I just have to hold my breath a little longer.

Ready for Take Off

The engine is roaring as my seat begins to shake. I close my eyes and lean back trying to get control of my mind. Once we begin to ascend, I put in headphones in hopes of escaping into my memories for awhile. Images and videos quickly start streaming through my head. As I look out the window, I try imagining the British couple sitting next to me quietly reading or Kristin fast asleep on my lap. Warm tears begin softly rolling down my cheeks before reaching 10,000 feet, and for the next hour I quietly cry in my empty row. I can’t pretend. My heart knows that we’ll be landing too soon, that I’ll be back to where I started- no closer than I was landing in Vegas five months ago.

I’ve always had a fascination with planes. When I was in high school, I got into a ritual of sneaking out my bedroom window at night only to lay in the rocks and watch the stars. As each plane passed, I would imagine the people on it and their stories- where they were going, who they were leaving behind, their goodbyes and hellos. Planes are simply immersed in goodbyes and hellos. They are inevitable.

Occasionally I would pray for the people on the planes and their journeys- for the child going to see her father for the first time in years, the businessman who would be away from his family, the couple going to announce their engagement, the girl trying to start over in a new city. The stories went on and on in my mind. All of them had something in common- distance and nearness, separations and reunions.

My love for planes has only increased over the past five months. I’ve become captivated by them- their essence of uncertainty, adventure, escape. From the ground, I’ve watched them fantasizing that I’m one of the many stories some young girl is praying for- that in eight hours I’ll be landing in London only to board another plane.

The fasten seatbelt light turns on, and we begin our descent. We turn to the left allowing me to clearly see city lights for miles. I imagine them as stars lighting up the ground. The flight attendant begins going through our landing procedure and ends with “Welcome to Las Vegas." Back to reality.