My Buddy!

My friend managed a weary grin up at me, bent over her shovel. Her normally neat blond hair was waving in the hot air, and her pale skin had been tinted red with sun. She had dirt up to her elbows, and her tiny fingers clung stubbornly to the shovel handle. "I'm so sore," she muttered, not complainingly, but in her usual matter-of-fact tone. I gave a breathless laugh back, "You and me both!" Both of us heaved another shovelful of dirt to the side, our arms screaming in pain. We grimaced, but our synchronization simply gave round to another moment of laughter. She was older than me, but much smaller, and the two of us got along well. Maybe it was because we shared the same name, Abby. She paused again, adjusting the neck of her shirt. The frilly collar was stained with dirt, giving it a strange look. She groaned as mud from her gloves scraped against her sunburn, but once again, her actions did not come from complaining, but with good humor. Her dark eyebrows snapped together in a joking wince and she grinned sheepishly. She threw another pile of soil away, accidentally-on-purpose tossing it down one of leaders' shoes. He leaped away as she glared impishly at him; he had been doing the same thing to us moments before.

Digging in Guatemala

I jammed my shovel into the hard-packed clay and heaved a pile of dirt to the side, straining my already burning muscles. The sun beat down on me from above, piercing through my multiple layers of sunscreen. The smell of baking dirt wafted in the air, bringing with it the taste of dry dust. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth, like it was too big. I rubbed my forearm across my forehead in an attempt to push my hair out of my eyes, leaving a streak of dirt like a brand on my face. The blisters on my hands throbbed as the mud-hardened fingers of my gloves rubbed against them. It seemed to take an extreme amount of effort to close my fingers around the wooden handle of my shovel. Scraping sounds echoed around me as my friends threw more piles of dirt into buckets. They too were covered in dirt and sweat. I took a deep breath, determined to keep going like they were. Another shovelful of dirt slid away from my shovel. The sun was now directly above us, and the palm fronds and bamboo bushes were unfortunately too far away to provide any shade. I blinked more dirt and sunlight out of my eyes and made an attempt to lift the exceeding heavy bucket of dirt at my feet, nearly falling to the side as its weight caught my wobbling legs off guard.

Swim Meet

I had a swim meet tonight, which is why I am writing this past midnight. Swim meets always kind of freak me out. The shock of the cold water as you dive in always stuns me, no matter how much I attempt to convince myself that I am prepared. Also, I have this reoccuring fear that I will miss one of my events because I read the schedule wrong. That is why I check, recheck, recheck, and recheck the schedule throughout the night. I have not missed an event yet. I am pretty sure I know where the fear comes from, though. Before I joined the high school swim team, I was briefly a part of a swim club. I went with the club to a meet in Thunder Bay, Canada. While there, I, thinking I knew the schedule correctly, went sightseeing with my family on a day that I thought I did not swim. Turns out I was wrong. I had been supposed to swim in a relay. I figured that out when we returned and my friend informed me that they had searched and searched for me. Obviously, I never showed up, so someone had to swim for me. How embarrassing! I don't want something like that to happen again. So maybe that is the reason for my constant anxiety.

NHS Ceremony

Tonight was the induction for the newest members to join NHS. I remember my own induction ceremony quite clearly. I was very nervous I would slip or fall on the stage. I sort of shuffled out into the spotlight, blinking at its harsh glare. I carefully shook hands with each one of the people lined up on the stage. The scent of smoke from the five candles resting in the center of the stage swept around me, and tendrils of it could be seen snaking through the glow of the lights. I then grabbed a candle and pledge and we all came up onto the stage to recite the NHS pledge together. Our candles had been made of wax, so as time went on, it began to melt like cheese in an oven. Liquid wax slowly spread down the edges of the candle in a waterfall, dripping mercilessly onto my fingers. I gulped back my exclamation of pain, refraining from the urge to snuff out the candle instantly. Not wanting to embarrass myself on stage, I merely continued to hold the candle gingerly and finish the pledge. After we were finished, and the candles had been put away, I carefully scraped some of the remaining wax from my fingers, wishing that the candles had been electric. This year, they were! I'm glad none of the new members got burning wax all over their hands- that is always a plus.

Night Driving

Driving around at night always freaks me out a bit. My hands get a tad tighter on the wheel, and my knuckles turn more white. I double check to make sure the headlights are on, gazing into the reassuring glow in front of the car. As I drive, I constantly throw sideways glances at the grass and trees on other side of the road, worried that an unsuspecting deer will dive into the path of my car. I also am concerned about stop signs. Even with their shining edges, I still am afraid I will zip past one without even noticing. All of these things are just minor worries, though. The main reason I dislike driving at night would be the fact that I get lost...a lot. Getting lost a night is twice as worse as getting lost in the daytime. Signs are harder to read. Settings that may have been familiar earlier suddenly look different as they are shrouded by the night. My worst driving moment was getting lost by Minneapolis and having to pull into the dark parking lot of some warehouse to get my bearings. Of course, it was hard to get my bearings when I was spooked by the lack of street lamps or any sort of light near the warehouse. I got home eventually and never told anyone about my moment of panic. I guess I was too embarrassed. Now, though, I realize that getting lost will probably just be a fact of life for me, so I had better get used to it.

This trimester, I am taking an independent study art class. Today, I finished my first pastel drawing. After scrubbing and scrubbing the chalk pastel off my fingers, leaving them spotted and tingling, I pulled my artwork to the ventilation room to put a finishing spray on. The room is covered in clay, as I soon discovered after backing into a machine. Clay dust clung to my jeans like mud. Frowning, I wiped it off, sending a bitter tasting cloud of dust into my face. I taped up my drawing and paused. How did the vent turn on? Everyone was supposed to turn it on while spraying their artwork, in order to avoid inhaling the fumes. The switch was on, but the familiar teeth-grinding roar of the vent was not. The ring of the bell sang through the open doorway. I had to go. Figuring a quick spray probably wouldn't do me too much harm, I grabbed a can of finisher and positioned it to spray. When I pressed the button, steam-like substance shot out at the picture...and me. Apparently, the bottle was broken. A weird, sticky liquid dripped onto my fingers and solidified there, giving my hands an odd sheen. I shoved the bottle away on onto the shelf, hoping at least some of the chemicals had reached my drawing. I hurried outside and took in a quick gulp of air. Hopefully those chemicals had not been too dangerous, because I definitely got a whiff of them. Well, I'm not dead, so I guess they weren't.

Stress Attack

Today I experienced one of those overwhelming bouts of stress. Stress is almost as bad as a wild animal. It smothers you and snatches away whatever trace of a breath you have in your lungs. Your throat becomes dry as cotton and your mouth tastes oddly metallic as you try, and fail, to swallow. Your fingers clench your pile of books until the knuckles stand out starkly in your skin. Your eyes open wide, probably making you look comical, but at the moment, you really do not care. Your fight or flight response kicks in. Do you make a run for the door? Or put up the most desperate argument of your life? Neither, apparently. Your body has entered a mode of complete shut-down. Frozen as solid as an icicle, you sit rigidly in your seat. Your mind can hardly function, as it seems to have gone beyond its capacity. Is your heart even still beating? Are you still inhaling and exhaling? You have to remind your body to begin the breathing process once again, but in your state of panic, you overcompensate, making yourself hyperventilate. You hear breathless gulps that match your own all around you. Your classmates gaze in horror at the teacher, who remains oblivious. Yes, you just were told you have a test tomorrow, and you are completely, utterly unprepared. It is going to be long night.