Mobigirl919

My senior year of college I took a creative writing class.  I tried to stretch myself a bit and experimented with different voices.  This story is written as the blog of a girl from Arkansas about to go off to college, with a little twist.  I’m still surprisingly proud of it, so here it is unedited:

Mobigirl919

August 17th, 2005

Growing up here in Brookstone, AR, my friends were pretty much built into birth.  We went to the same daycare, preschool, elementary, middle, high school and church for fifteen years.  Sure, there were those who moved into the picture somewhere in the middle and caused a stir, but at best they joined the supporting cast.  Most were just added to the scenery.

Every time a new family moved in, a self-appointed ambassador would show them some good ole’ Southern hospitality.  The tour would be short:  city hall, the ancient library, the high school, usually ending with a trip to the shiny new Sonic where they would be treated to lunch.  Half the town is proud of it, believing that fast-food is the first step to respectability.  The other half sees it as a slippery slope, paving the way for Wal-Mart and the eradication of the Brookstone way of life.  Inevitably, somewhere between the burgers and shakes, conversation will drift to the town freak.

Oh, they’ll delay the obvious to avoid seeming like insensitive jerks.  They’ll talk about my wonderful family or my gorgeous jet black hair or my charming sense of humor about it all.  It’s all just a show so they won’t seem shallow.  Outside of my family and about ten close friends I have one prevailing characteristic, one reason to remember me, one reason to even bring me up in conversation.  They start off with all those positive traits and then they make the transition, a bridge to the reason they were talking about me in the first place.  “and she’s really overcome so much…”  It reminds me of when I’d tell my parents I loved them before handing them a big fat F on my report card.  It’s not like I feel sorry for myself though, I’ve had eighteen years to get used to it.  You know, I really think people are surprised that I’ve made it this long, like I’m retarded or something.  But look, now I’m doing it too, delaying the obvious…

I have Mobius syndrome.  Shocked?  You’ve probably never even heard of it.  There aren’t very many of us.  Most are worse off than me.  A doctor would call it bilateral facial palsy.  If you ask my dad, it’s that my face is so exquisite its only fair to the other girls that I not smile.  But really, what it means is that Anna Gibbs comes in only one flavor: Vanilla.  Happy and Sad and Scared and Excited and Ticked Off all look about the same.  My face is just like wrapping paper for my skull.

All I have are words.  My whole life I’ve tried to show you the smile that is hiding under my lips.  That’s probably the main reason I’m going to be an English major.

My bags are packed and waiting by the door.  They’ve been sitting there for two weeks while I wear the clothes from the back of my now empty closet.  My room is a shell, all my posters in tubes, ready to leave with me tommorow.  This strange breed of terror, excitement, dread, lonliness, and impatience has plagued my sleep.  I’m ready to go.

Goodbye Brookstone.

September 2nd, 2005

So Sue Me

I’ve been catching a lot of flack from everybody back home lately, but what did you expect?  I caved.  Yes, yes I know.  I was the girl who lambasted all of you “bloggers” over the last couple years.  But really, who needs a blog when you’re in high school?  The people who are reading it are the same people you see at school every day, youth group twice a week, and every hour of the weekend.  What isn’t there to know?  You write about how much Bio sucked today, how much fun you had at the homecoming dance with so and so.  Yeah, I know.  I was there.  I saw you.  And all those excruciating “shout-outs” to your “five bestest friends” because we all get that sense of warmth when we see our name on the computer screen.  Brb, ttyl, lol, lylas, a touch of melancholy here, a cry for help here, nobody loves me… blah blah blah.  Basically it’s about getting other people to notice you and give you attention.  It’s all about putting on a face (and that’s something I’m obviously not very good at (pun intended)).

Anyway, I think that’s just about enough for tonight, but before I go to bed I think I should lay down one ground rule for this blog:

NO SMILEY’S.  That includes :-< or any form therein.  Use your own judgment.  I think the reason should be obvious enough.

September 3rd, 2005

I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk last night.  To be honest it’s been a little harder than I expected here.  Don’t get me wrong, this is what I wanted.  I just had to get away.  That place was too small for me, the gossip and the town hall meetings and the football games.  The Southern belles and the cheerleaders and their juicy plastic smiles.  My parents have shown me so much love and cared for me so much, and I felt like I had exceeded my capacity to return their love.  You don’t understand how excruciating it is when your face can’t express how you feel.  Through it all my parents kept loving me.

Honestly, I felt smothered.  I just couldn’t stay home.

NYU seemed like the perfect place for a girl like me.  I’ve been here for almost a month now, and not once has a stranger smiled at me.  No pressure.

But change is tough.  It’s hard to swim when you’re dropped midstream in a ferocious river like New York.  Back home, everybody talked about me.  Here, nobody seems to notice or care.

My roommate is pleasant enough though.  Her name is Michelle and she’s Korean.  She mostly keeps to herself and works on her Physics homework.  It’s inconceivable to me how she can be passionate enough about that nonsense to make it her major, but I haven’t had the courage to ask.  I think she’s still scared of me.  She’s sweet though.  Every time I come home from class, she nods in my direction and starts to smile, quickly morphing to a blank stare, as if she might offend me.  It reminds me of the confused looks on my elementary school teachers when we would sing “The Smile Song”.  I would come home gushing, my eyes incapable of holding back the tears.  I don’t know if Michelle has made any friends here either.  We spend most of the weekends sitting at our desks with our backs to each other, studying or surfing the internet.  Occasionally, I’ll check to see if she is asleep so I can relax.

I miss you all and I really do love you guys, and I hope you already knew that.  The only reason I decided to keep this thing going is that I need a link to the past.  Visits home will be few and far between.

I just read this entry over again, and I’m feeling a little hypocritical.  Maybe we do need a cry for help every once in awhile.

September 11th, 2005

There is a different feel in the atmosphere today.  The apparitions of that day four years ago seem to haunt the faces of every person I pass.  The wounds are still deep and it seems time has only allowed them to fester.  Each person reasons that the time for mourning has passed but each still has mourning within.  I can see it in their eyes.  Their faces are masks.

I feel a kindredship with them.

September 18th, 2005

It’s already butt cold so I had to take the subway into town to buy a scarf.  I wandered around aimlessly in and out of mammoth stores I could barely afford to walk in.  I wasn’t really in any hurry.  I just wanted to take in all the spectacle and glamour of the Big City, including the pizza cart on Broadway, which was only slightly better than the New York style pepperoni at the pizzeria back home.  But it was worth it just for the atmosphere.  I finally settled on a “handwoven” scarf from a street vendor.  I also bought some huge Foakleys because my eyes have been crusting up from all this blustery wind.  They might as well be aviator goggles, but you take what you can get when you’re unable to squint.

Anyway, sorry it’s been so long between posts.  School has kept me pretty busy.  I’d like to say it’s getting better.  At least I have study buddies now, but that’s about it.  We unite in our hatred of the university’s science requirement and labor through our homework, but once we are finished we retreat back to our rooms.

Tomorrow is my birthday and nobody in this entire state knows it, but it seems a little pretentious to tell anyone.  Looks like I’ll be spending tomorrow night like any other.  Alone.

September 19th, 2005

I don’t even know what to say.

When I came back to the dorm room today, mopey as ever, Michelle scurried over to meet me at the door.

“Anna, your parents called the room and said it was your birthday, so I made you this.”  She presented a gorgeous carrot cake, complete with little orange and green frosting carrots.  “Your mom said it’s your favorite.”

I looked past her to see a huge package sitting on my bed.  It must’ve cost a fortune in postage alone.

I was speechless, so I gave her a big hug.  She looked back at me, and I could tell she was trying so hard to contain her smile.

“Don’t worry.  You can smile for both of us, Michelle.”

She exhaled and gave me the biggest, most genuine smile I’d seen since I left home.

“You have no idea how much this means to me”

I was utterly powerless to stop the torrent of tears.

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