Stop. That. Train.

Day 15

Either I walk slower than I think or the streets have secretly gotten longer. This morning was a heart attack and a half. Here, the Spanish colloquialism is fitting, “Fatal fatal fatal!”

It’s 7:30am and I shoot up out of bed. I decide in a daze that I can’t smell that bad, skip the shower. It’s too cold in my piso anyways, why add needless suffering to my day? Somehow when one is in a rush, they move slower. I dropped my contacts in the sink. I spilled my water bottle. I put my shirt on inside out. And then I left my cell phone on my bed. 7:52 the maelstrom that is Katie is flying down the stairs all the while thinking…15 minutes that’s all I need. Easily make the 8:10 train.

Fast forward. 8:07 Am. I’m about to cross the last street and I see the time on a clock. I dodge traffic and haul it down the tunnel, forget grabbing the free daily newspaper. 8:08 Am. I’m at the ticket machine. To save money I’ve started to use only my credit card. First card is rejected. Gahhhhhhhhh. Mortal crisis. 2nd card is rejected. WHAAAAAAaat? 3rd card is rejected. GAHHHHHh. I’ve only got 2.50 euro in my picket. Not nearly enough for a 4.40 ticket. I think I’ll just by a 1 way ticket. Yes, but fool, no, how are you going to get home? Meanwhile the train makes anxious beeping sounds. I frantically try my 1st card again, it works. Looking like a disheveled clothesline ripped from 1 wall, with my backpack swinging precariously from my elbow, my jacket flaying off my shoulder, my scarf caught in the wild back pack swinging from my elbow, my 3 cards in my left hand like a fan and my beloved 2 way ticket in my right. To hell with decorum, I’ve already started yelling at the deaf train, “No no no don’t go!!” I must have run down stairs because somehow I didn’t fall on my face. The doors of the train close on my nose. So like any American I start pounding on the doors, ferociously pressing the dormant “abrir” button (open button) “NO NONOONO don’t go don’t go” echoes through the tunnel. The conductor obviously woke up on the right side of the bed because he opened the doors for me. I collapse inside, breathing like a bull having just escaped from the ring, sweating like a kid caught without their homework, pulsing with more adrenaline than a Gatorade commercial. I have already jumped over the thought “hallelujah I made the train. I will make it to work on time. I will not be fired. I will not be kicked out of Spain. PHEW! Thank you God, Baby Jesus, Buddha, Allah, etc etc” I’m only thinking bathroom. Now. How I managed to not pee in my pants that whole time, I’ll never know. (J, this is most like attributed to the fact I was not born with a bladder the size of a kiwi seed, as you were. You would not have made it to the ticket kiosk. My body has adapted to the traveling life, my organs have created more space for my bladder, a pancreas is useless, as are the appendix. Remove them and you shall endure. Or suffer the pains of natural selection, weakling.)

I know you must be asking, wasn’t it just yesterday that Katie claimed to be an early riser, and loved to greet the day? What baloney? In my defense I have an excuse.

But let me begin with high school.

Those of you who knew me back in my younger years can attest to the fact that I most assuredly wasn’t the most popular girl in school. I admit it. It’s okay; I’ve reconciled my dorky past. I thought it was cool to have the braces/glasses duo. I’ve come along way, but still a rose by any other name is still a rose, eh? So some how, the least popular girl managed to become room mates with the most popular guy in Spain. Granted, he’s got 1 year of experience living in Malaga already, but the boy knows how to make a social network like nobody’s business. After I let it slip that I was looking for a place to dance salsa he said he’d take me to a place where he knew they gave lessons. It just so happened to be Sunday night at 11:30pm. And that was if they started early. So I said to hell with sleep, I need to dance. Off we went to Sala Gold, at the early hour of 11pm. Spain has a different circadian rhythm…I’ll never adjust. Fighting back yawns with waves of excitement we moseyed on in. it seemed like he knew everyone. The guy handing out flyers outside, the guy at the door, the guy at the bar, some of the people there to dance. It made me realize how grateful I was to have a friend with me. My clamshell tendency would have kicked into high gear and I would have scurried home, overwhelmed. But with Chris and our other friend, Ron (another English teacher), we checked out the place before the lessons got going.

When the lessons did get going, it was just like all the ‘salsa’ lessons across Europe. Young conservative girls want to learn to break out of their shells and dance something sexy. Guys just want to impress their girlfriend, or get a girl friend. So really, the lessons are more of a Madonna-esque / crunk dance sequence. Lots of hips, lots of shaking, lots of arm movement. Nothing quite like I practice. So I follow with modest interest, not really impressed with the teachers (who are actually very good dancers). I’m eager to leave before awkward beginner dancing happens, so the three of us head for the door. It’s 1am and I’m passed out. Little did I know in 6.5 hours I’d be racing for the door.

It’s the week before Halloween, so we’ve started a pretty comprehensive Halloween program. The kids are all made to practice the phrase “trick or treat’ for the party we’ll be having on Friday. I give a little PowerPoint on Halloween in the USA to all my classes and it’s funny to see what I’ve stopped questioning because I’m caught in the ebb and flow of American culture. The kids didn’t know you could wear anything, they only thought you were allowed to wear scary costumes. They all couldn’t stop laughing at how odd Frankenstein looked. I guess a man with green skin and bolts on his head is a bit out of the ordinary. The concept of jack-o-lantern seemed to escape them completely. Why carve a huge pumpkin? Why are your pumpkins huge? Why a face? I think pumpkins are beautiful, not scary. Fine fine fine. And so we muddle through a discussion of what they’ll dress up as, and they tell me how they throw eggs at doors of people who don’t give them candy. (A subtle hint to not be stingy with them, eh?) We laugh and pronounce ‘superstitious’ again and again. Then Debbie Downer speaks up and says her mom does not allow her to dress up because they do not believe in supersitions or ghosts. So I have to talk about how important it is that we are all respectful of different beliefs, and that it is everyone’s choice to participate or not. We should not judge or say mean things about other people ok? (When all I want to do is tell her and every other parent who doesn’t let their kids read harry potter is its FANTASY! For fun! They are using their imagination. Don’t make childhood so heavy.)

Parting note, I just finished Slaugherhouse-5, a real page turner by Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. if you’ve never flipped through it before, I urge you to throw in your backpack/purse/briefcase/man purse/fanny pack and dig into it. The humor of the psychologically unstable is tragically comical. It rings with a snappy witticism, talking about the tougher things in life, somehow able to get into them under the veil of satire. And it’s especially timely for the USA when we have so many soldiers coming home from Afghanistan, Iraq and other Middle Eastern fronts; PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is the latent disease of the veterans. I’m inspired by Aunt P’s work to help them (Keep it up!!! You are helping so many people!) and I hope that maybe by reading this book we can all better understand the great work that still needs to be done to help war vets (and while we tackle the effects of war, we should also slide back to consider the cause…power and violence). And consider what we let the government shield us from. As the book will tell you, Dresden was by far a worse bombing than EITHER Hiroshima or Nagasaki. But the Dresden bombing has never earned a spot in any of the history books I read in school. Now I ask myself, why?

Spontaneous thematic turn at the end there. “So it goes.”

May you always have peace in your soul and love in your heart.