There’s a middle-aged man who lives down the block from me that I’ve watched for the last four years. Every day-even in the cold months- he puts on his bathing suit and goes for a swim in the ocean. Every time I see him, I’m inspired to revaluate my life. Every time I see him, I’m tempted to ask him to take another route-it’s been a pretty self-reflective four years.

I had a very simple New Year’s resolution -find the time to put my feet on the sand- once a day- every day. Since January I’ve done this maybe 8 times. That’s 8 days in 5 months that I’ve walked out my front door and taken the 20 steps to the beach.

I wonder when that man resolved to go for his daily swim. Is he retired? Stress never seems to line his face. His feet don’t carry the hurried steps that accompany most of my peers. In fact, he carries an unfamiliar air. He looks…calm.

I’m not sure why that word terrifies me so much. Maybe it’s all the coffee and Red Bull I pump through my bloodstream daily that has me thinking there could be nothing worse the inevitable crash-that calmness that comes in the form of a racing heart and shaking hands.

In my mind that man has worked his whole life for that walk, and every time he puts his feet in the water he remembers the effort it took to get him there- to his small house and his inexpensive car. He considers all the things he skimped on, just for his routine.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve waited for anything. My entire life I’ve seen something I have wanted and grabbed it. Cute boy across the room-he’s mine before the night is over. Fancy shoes in the boutique window-blind to the price tag I buy them. A new place to explore- I’ll find the funds, take out a loan, do what I have to, to get there tomorrow.

So today, with that middle-aged man in mind- I resolve to WAIT.

I choose NOT to act on impulse anymore. Unless that cute boy approaches me, I’ll wait for next time, and if there’s no next time, I will be content with never knowing him. Unless I’ve won a shopping spree, I’ll leave the sparkly shoes on the shelf. I’ll make my backyard uncharted territory. I’ll look at familiar places with unfamiliar eyes.

Hopefully not acting will help me to act in new ways. The beauty I miss out on every day will become clear. Fingers crossed- I might even lose that hurried step and the lines forming between my brows will cease to increase. I’ll start to carry around that previously dreaded four-letter word. Maybe I’ll become- calm.

FREE HIV TESTING

For some reason whenever I have a homework assignment, anything other than actually doing the homework sounds appealing. ANYTHING. Is there laundry to be done? Well today’s the day to wash it. Is there a long lost friend who deserves a letter via snail mail? Today’s the day to write it. Does the toilet look a little dull? Today’s got to be the day to bleach it. (Finally spring break is here, and I can catch up on some homework-Blog to write?)

So to back track, on a rare day that I actually got to school early-to study for a very important test- I see a bus for FREE HIV TESTING.

“Why the hell not?” I ask myself. I’ve got an hour to kill and only two weeks to wait. I am the only person at 11 a.m. in the line so I am eagerly ushered onto the bus.

“How many people have you slept with?”

“Have you ever shared drugs with somebody?”

“When was the last time you’ve had sex? Vaginal? Anal? Oral?”

“So, why are you here today?”

These answers will remain anonymous except to Dave, my only counsel through the next 20 minutes (note to everyone reading-the results from a test on a bus take a lot less time than anywhere else).

In an attempt to answer the one question from my friends, family, and teachers,

“Josie, why would you ever take that test?”

I decided to do some research, so for all of you wondering the same, here you go:

The Center for Disease Control, CDC, has estimated that there are one million people living with HIV in the United States.

21% (one in five) of people living with HIV are UNAWARE they have HIV.

The highest number of cases in the U.S. is in California, New York, FLORIDA and Texas.

Jacksonville ranks just below Miami for highest number of cases in Florida.

If that information is not enough for you to understand why I decided to take the three steps and 20 minutes out of my way, then maybe this will convince you.

Instead of giving you a name to get your results, they give you a number. The bus had been open for three hours. I was number two.

Twenty minutes later there were only two more girls, numbers 3 and 4. When I glanced at them I couldn’t help myself from asking the same questions I had been asked.

“What are their reasons for being here?”

But don’t I already know the answer? Just to be sure, right? Is there any other reason? How could you not want to know? What if you didn’t know? And why were there no men on this bus?

According to the CDC, males accounted for 3 out of 4 AIDS diagnoses in the U.S.

Why is it that women are always left to pick up the pieces? Are we the only ones who really want to know? Am I being totally biased in asking this?

I have absolutely no answers to any of my questions.

Someone once said to me, “It hurts like hell when you fall, but it hurts even worse not to get back up again.”

With that in mind, the only thing I know with any certainty from my experience is this: Be careful when walking off a giant bus surrounded by peers with the words FREE HIV TESTING written on the side. There is no graceful way to stand up from a face plant that high…so much for anonymity.

I’ve been waiting on this airplane four hours now, only 54 minutes until landing. A window to my right, a ten year old girl to my left, an empty seat between the two of us. I have watched two movies, one tv show and spent a considerable amount of time getting to know this young child who I am afraid, against all my beliefs, should be put on riddlin. Every ten minutes, for the last five hours, she has given me an update on how much time we have left. Headphones on, she waves a picture in front of the small tv screen,

“Four hours and ten minutes left, oh and I made this for you!” she says.

Ten year old girl grabs my sister’s IPOD, which I have borrowed and said sister has guaranteed I will lose it before the trip is over.

“Can I look through your music?”

“I’m sorry what?” I ask, pulling headphones, yet again, down around my neck.

“Can I look through your music?” she repeats.

“Okay sure, you can look, but there is nothing in here you can listen too.”

I know all too well the music my sister and her fiancée have on their IPOD, so I hesitantly watch as she flips through all the artists.

“Circle Jerks! No Use For A Name! Keisha, Oh I know Keisha! Can I listen to this song??”

As the blush from ‘circle jerks’ leaves my face I say “Sure, but we are landing soon, so only this one song and then I have to take it back.”

My headphones are already on her ears before I give her this warning. I have never met a child like her before. She is more hyper then the friends of mine addicted to Adderol yet somehow she has more insight then 75% of the people I know.

Right after our plane almost crashes due to turbulence she lookes at me and asks if I believe in God. Somehow more ashamed facing her then facing a group of Mormans who come to my house asking to preach to me, I quietly say no.

“Oh, well do you go to Church?”

The twang in her voice comes out full force when she asks me this question, the pleading in her eyes intensifies by ten.

“No,” I reply, and shift my eyes to the movie playing silently in front of me.

“Oh well, that’s okay, everyone has their own beliefs.”

Forty-one minutes left, ten year old girl informs me. Almost time to put up my laptop up, and she hands me my IPOD. We wait for our final descent, in silence.

“Thirty five more minutes,” my palms grip the drawing she just handed to me and my mind imagines a world where I have faith in a God I don’t believe in. My ears pop and simultaneously we yawn to pop our ears. The flight attendant walks by me and gestures that I should my put IPOD up, I point to the black screen and say “It’s off.”

This was a lie, I am still listening to this song. For some reason I cannot turn it off, I feel as though I have been waiting to hear this song for over a year. Turning off this song, well it would be like switching off something inside of me I haven’t seen or felt in over a year.

You see, this song, it makes me feel good to hear. It makes me feel good to know that someone else out there knows how it feels, well to be me. But you know what makes me feel even better then any of that, is that I have been waiting a year to say this, and finally it feels right. It is my turn to say this, to scream it in my head as the wheels from the plane drop from below and we hit the runway. This may come as a surprise, it may not fit your little rhyme, but guess what, he was my fuck you.

First Blog

Hey everyone, I hope this time it works!!