A
Week I Didn't Want To Leave
“Well
this is shaping up to be a good day,” I mumbled to no one but the sweltering
heat that beat down from the cloudless sky. I plopped down on the front steps of
the small Episcopal Church we
were supposed to be cleaning, pruning and painting. The doors were locked, an
obstacle Gretchen, our fearless leader hadn’t considered when setting up the volunteer gig. Ellen plopped down next to me.
“Oh Yeah, totally glad I came,” she
shouted in the direction of the adults, making a rebellious statement of our
boredom.
We talked for a while, about why we
came on the mission trip and high school and other small talk. When the heat of
the sun got too hot we switched to a small piece of shade provided by a tree in
the front lawn. Gretchen paced back and forth talking on the phone, switching
from walking to sitting to walking again.
As I sat in the limited shade
provided by the single oak tree decorating the yard, I thought about the night
before when the chaperones informed us that we would not be building the house
that we had come up north to the White Earth Indian Reservation to build. The
very thought of plans changing sent anxiety and adrenaline coarsing through my
veins. This trip, for me, was already a giant step out of my comfort zone. The
idea of being stuck up north with ten people I didn’t know, no cellphone or
computer was a huge trigger for the anxiety problems I had been fighting for
the past few years.
Finally
a beat up pick-up truck arrived and a middle-aged Native American man stepped
out silently unlocking the door to the church and walking back to his truck.
Gretchen caught up with him before he drove away, they had words.
We
got to work; first, I picked weeds, talking with Ellen, Gretchen and Dennisia
about what else but boys. I managed to beat around the bush for the most part
excluding names and giving vague details about my last romantic interest.
“So
you guys were just friends?” Asked
Dennisia clearly a little confused by the idea.
“Yeah…friends,”
I said thinking back once again to the last day of school when I watched Ben
walk away from me, down the empty hallway. I shook those thoughts out of my
head. “So what about you, any dramatic love stories to tell?”
After
the weed picking marathon ended I didn't have much to do which was a relief at
first but soon turned into a problem. The painting group didn't need me in the
crowded foyer. Daniel and Kayla were weed whacking together and they didn't look like they wanted company. I really didn't trust myself with the power tools;
I don't think Chris did either. So I wandered around the church yard sipping
water sincerely hoping the rest of the week wouldn't be this boring. For the
most part at home I was pretty good at entertaining myself but I didn't have
books or TV to distract me up here. I had people. I wasn't good at people.
“You
still need something to do?” Asked Gretchen getting off the phone for the first
time in an hour.
“Uh,
yeah”
“Grab
those clippy, sheary things and we’ll work over here on these graves. They need
some work.”
I
grabbed the “things” and followed Gretchen to the small overgrown graveyard
that occupied a corner of the yard.
“So
how do you think the trip is going so far?”
I
shrugged. The truth was I thought the trip kind of sucked so far but saying so
would have been rude and unwarranted.
Gretchen
sighed, “I know this isn't what you expected. We didn't expect it either, but
we are doing our best to fill our days here and make this trip rewarding for
everyone.”
We
clipped and cleared the grass covering the grave sites quiet for a few minutes,
the silence apparent but not really awkward.
“You
know I think you are really the person tying the St. David’s youth together.”
Gretchen said out of the blue.
My
mouth almost dropped open in surprise. Me? No, surely she had the wrong person.
I don’t tie people together; in fact I'm pretty sure I drive people away.
“Thanks,”
I mumbled pretty sure that wasn't the appropriate answer.
“No
really. I mean next year you’ll be one of the older kids, an upperclassman. You’re
brother and all of the other seniors will be gone, and I don’t think any of the
older kids your age have the same commitment as you do. People show up because
you do.”
“Huh,”
I replied once again saying the wrong thing. This was a lot to process. A lot
of deep thought for a summer day. My past summers were for the most part filled
with mindless TV, sandy beaches and a lot, a lot of books.
Once
the hard work was done, lunch was eaten, two bottles of water were drunk each,
we all sat sweating in the sun, unmoving after a hard day.
“Alright,”
said Mary lifting her head from the place it was laying in the grass, “Two truths
and a lie, Colin go!”
“Um…”
Colin mumbled caught off guard at the abruptness of the attack.
“Okay,
okay I’ll go,” I said sitting up and groaning at my sore muscles, “One: when I
was three years old my brother,” I pointed at Daniel for reference, “pushed me
into our coffee table on New Year’s Eve and I had stitches up my nose. Two: I
fell on a nail when I was seven and have had ten stitches on my knee and three:
I have never broken a bone in my body.”
“Two”
“One”
“Three,”
said Daniel finally ruining the game because of course he knew the lie.
“Yeah
three”
“Of
course three”
“Yeah
you got me.”
The game continued and we went around the
circle truthing and lying learning more about each other each turn. Afterwards
packing up all the tools and backpacks and coolers, we headed out, tired and
dirty. After weed picking, lawn mowing, and a lot of painting the entire crew
was very tired but we all jumped at the opportunity to go swimming.
A nice woman who lived in a house
owned by the tribe as a whole had graciously allowed us to swim in the lake
abutting her backyard. We threw on our swimsuits and jumped in the lake and let
the cool water wash away the dirt and soreness of what I’m sure was the hardest
day of work any of us suburban teenagers had ever done.
That night we had our second
reflection service. The lights turned off and once again the candle light
bounced off of faces making everyone seem older and more somber. That night our
service was based on a passage of scripture that spoke about the hungry and
cold and lonely. We went around the circle giving our answers to the question,
“what does this mean?” something different to all of us. So I sat in that
circle with a group of people I had known for the whole of two days, and I told
them what I thought it meant. I told them about my own times of metaphorical hunger and actual lonliness,
of muffled tears when others slept and a parade of doctor’s offices. I told
them about the worst time in my life. How painful and hard and miserable
that time was, finally ending with; “but that’s the thing isn’t it we all have
our hunger and cold and loneliness real or metaphorical everyone in this circle
has something to tell. That’s what makes us human. We all have something that
makes us need someone else.” A sentence that I still remember, that my new
friends that I made that day still reverberate sometimes when the timing is
right.
After the closing prayer Ellen gave
me a surprise hug, a warm start to long friendship. Tears were discreetly wiped
away and everyone stumbled out into the cool night. We re-entered the house and
played cards until way past lights out.
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