Wednesday 9/13

Today the Colonel told us that we, as a group, seem kind of stressed when we’re doing our poetry journals. He thinks we may be trying too hard to create “poetry” (and he made those little air-quotation-marks with his fingers). This, he said, is probably why some of us are not producing any actual WORDS. He wasn’t talking about ME—that’s for sure. I am having a blab-fest. But I don’t want to bring that to anyone’s attention, or else I could be called upon to read from my journal. BBijn;fljhfasrhilha!!! (That was me expressing the spaz attack I had in my mind just thinking about having to read this out loud.)

I find myself actually looking forward to this class, just to write in this thing. (Well, okay, I mainly look forward to it so I can be in the same room with Giulio, but there’s no rule about telling the truth in this journal.) It feels almost like a therapy session, only without a psychologist bugging you. Perhaps I will actually start keeping a real journal.

Again, I am scaring myself with thoughts such as these. Brady is the journal keeper of the two us, not me.

Or should that be ‘I’?

Did I really just ask myself a grammar question?

HELP!! Who AM I??!!

Well, I’ll sort that out later. Back to the Colonel . . .

He told us that we should not feel “constrained” by trying to make our poetry “fit into a structure” as we write it. That to become good writers we need to “release the words and let them flap about on the winds of our creativity.” He says the best writing comes from free writing about anything that inspires, and that later we can edit the writing down to its most “vital essence.” And that, he says, will result in good poetry.

Then, to emphasize this new approach to things, he picked up his purple marker and revised his “POETRY JOURNAL RULES” to: JUST WRITE!

(Which means I have, all along, been doing what he wants us to do. What a letdown. I hope this realization doesn’t result in writer’s block.)

So, today we are supposed to write our what-we-want-to entry, and then he will give us a minute at the end to vitalize the essence, or whatever it is he said. I will now let my words flap freely in my creativity. (That sounds weird.) Go, little words, fly away!

I went to Brady’s game yesterday, as planned. And I went on and on and on and on to Giulio about what an amazing player Brady is, and how she’s WAY stronger than most of those boys on her team, and that she slides head-first into bases and has no regard for how much sweat or spit or blood she’s smeared with by the end of the game.

“That’s so COOL,” he said.

Which was not the response I was hoping for. But I didn’t let it bother me. I figured that—hey—it wouldn’t possibly seem so COOL when he actually saw her like that. I mean, I’ve seen it, and even though I’m her best friend, it’s caused me to gag.

“Delia, I hope you will tell me what is going on, since this is only my second baseball game ever to watch,” he said to me.

(Oh, I LOVE the way he says “Delia.” I need to make a podcast of that so I can play it for myself all day long.)

“You can count on me,” I said, giving his leg a little pat.

Which made me feel guilty, touching him like that, even though people touch each other like that all the time and it doesn’t mean anything. And it DIDN’T mean anything, even though once I did it, it FELT like it meant something.

So . . . I immediately switched the focus back to Brady and her incredible hitting abilities. I told him to sit back and brace himself for the power-hitting, super-slugging, out-of-the-park, lights-out Brady. It may have seemed over-the-top (born of post-leg-pat guilt), but it’s not really an exaggeration. At least that had always been the case . . .

. . . but that night—OPENING NIGHT—Brady did not get ONE hit the entire game. She struck out every time she got up to bat. Well, except one time, when she hit the ball, and I cheered and cheered for my bestest buddy, even though it wasn’t hit very hard, because I thought it was important to be supportive. Then I realized that no one else was cheering.

“I think it was a double play,” Giulio whispered in my ear. (And with that whisper—sweet, soft, Italian-guy air molecules flapped freely into my ear.) “The ball was scooped up by the, eh, second baseman, and with the force on, he tagged the base and then threw it to the first baseman,” he said.

“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked.

He nodded, smiling at me. But with the kind of smile you might give a hedgehog with wobbly hedgehog syndrome. (Saw a picture of that once on the Internet. Think: PATHETIC.)

“Are you sure this is only the second game you’ve ever watched?” I asked.

“It’s not hard rules to get an understanding for,” he said.

(Good-looking, Italian, AND brilliant. Too good to be true.)

(Except that he’s not mine, so it’s too bad to be true.)

(Or is that too good to be untrue?)

(I don’t know WHAT I’m talking about.)

Even though Brady never got on base, she was still pretty much caked with the disgusting, orange-brown dirt that covers the baseball field. She plays shortstop, which requires her to spend much of the game throwing herself face-first into the ground. I’ve always wondered what in the world Brady could possibly get out of that sort of activity. But then, seeing how much Giulio seemed to LIKE this grossness of Brady-the-baseball-slob, I started to think . . .

and think . . .

and THINK!

That just felt SO Dr. Seuss! Which is appropriate, since Dr. Seuss was a poet, and this is a poetry class! Hey! I think I will write about what it was I got to THINKING there at the baseball game, and I’ll do it in a Seuss-ish style:

Since Giulio’s not into qualities lady-like,

I will work at becoming more Brady-like!

I refuse to roll in puddles of mud,

Or cover myself in gross, smelly crud,

But maybe his fancy I can tickle

By being a person more athlet-ical!

Isn’t that brilliant? (I mean the idea, but the rhymes are pretty creative, too, huh?) I will become more like Brady by becoming more athletic! Of course, saying “more athletic” implies that I have some level of athleticism, which gives the wrong impression. I am completely NOT athletic and have always been quite proud of that, actually. I mean, who wants to do all that sweating, anyway? It’s gross. But if embracing sweat will help me achieve my goals in life, then I will give it a try. Since I am a focused, goal-oriented person.

I will start by joining a sports team.

If only I had the slightest idea how to do that. Maybe Shakita can help me. Zhe seems to be sort of in-the-know about after-school kinds of things. Be right back . . .

Okay, I have gotten the 411 from Shakita. I whispered to zher: I NEED TO JOIN A SPORTS TEAM, STAT! HOW DOES A PERSON GET THAT DONE AROUND HERE? And zhe turned and gave me a very strange look and started to say something, but the Colonel pointed at us, and went SHHH!

So zhe scribbled a note on a piece of paper and held it up instead. It said: OH, NO. HE DID NOT SHUSH US.

I took the same note and scribbled under that: HE DID, ACTUALLY. SPORTS TEAMS?

Zhe took the note and scribbled under that: CLUBS, DELIA, CLUBS. THAT’S WHERE IT’S AT. BUT THEY’VE BEEN TALKING UP SPORTS ON THE MORNING ANNOUNCEMENTS EVERY DAY THIS WEEK, IF YOU’RE SET ON HONING SKILLS OF BRUTALITY AND OVER-COMPETITIVE BEHAVIOR.

Yes!

I don’t mean “Yes!” I want to be brutal or over-competitive—I mean “Yes!” I remember, hearing those morning announcements. It’s tryouts week, apparently. How utterly convenient! Let’s see if I can remember what sports are going on . . .

• FIELD HOCKEY (I do like those little plaid skirts and hair ribbons, but I tried this in PE and had some control issues with the stick.)

• CHEERLEADING (When did that become a sport? Anyway, I can’t even watch someone do the splits, much less actually TRY it.)

• CROSS COUNTRY (This apparently involves— get this—RUNNING MANY MILES PER DAY. Enough said.)

There were some others, too. Golf, maybe? Football?

Hm. I have a recollection of SOMEone saying SOMEthing about football the other day . . .

(Dreamy transition here, to a table with me, Giulio, and Brady hanging out at the frozen custard place.)

GIULIO: So, you do cross country running and baseball at the same time, Brady?

BRADY: I run with the high school team to cross-train. Baseball is my main thing, and since it’s not a fall sport, I have to play in a city league right now. Are you going out for a sport, Giulio?

GIULIO: I am comfortable with only one sport, so I will try out for that. It is football . . .

(Dreamy transition back to English classroom and me at my desk, writing.)

. . . football . . . football . . . football . . .

That’s it! I will play football!

Well, not PLAY. Ha-ha-ha! But (because my memory skills are obviously fabulicious today) I have just recalled that the sports teams are all looking for managers. Maybe I can be a team manager for football! I don’t know what a team manager DOES, but I should be okay with it, as long as it doesn’t involve physical strength. Or organizational skills. Or math. Anyway, Giulio obviously knows what the game is all about, so maybe he can help me. Yes! I shall need help! And when he realizes that Brady is WAY too busy for him, with all her training and cross-training, I will just be THERE.

Shakita has passed me another note. It says: FREE COFFEE IN THE STUDENT LOUNGE AFTER SCHOOL. WANNA COME?

CAN’T. (I wrote back.) TRYING OUT FOR FOOTBALL.

Then zhe wrote: VERY FUNNY. BUT, REALLY, DO YOU WANT TO COME?

The Colonel is telling us to finish up our entries and do our little vitalizing of the essence thing. Hmmm . . . how to summarize and shrinkify what I have written today . . . and get to the important essenation . . . I’ll try this:

I patted Giulio on the leg,

and then he whispered in my ear

about 1st base and 2nd base.

So I wrote a poem in the style of Seuss,

and now I’m joining the football team.

That wasn’t so hard. I’m getting to be quite the poetess!