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notsopeacefulSeparate, separate, s-e-p-a-r-a-t-e. One day I'll spell it right.
I asked Keith to read over my essays for my college applications. There were six of them - two for each school - so I figured he'd get them back to me in a week or so. Instead he read them right there at the diner. It is surprisingly easy to make a late dinner feel like a trip to the principal's office. (Not that I've been to the principal's office... in the last three days.)
It's not fun to have someone read something of yours while you're sitting there watching, especially not when it's a personal essay. They're not just judging how you write, they're judging you and what you've done. It's why I didn't ask my parents or my teachers to read it. It would have been less nervewracking to have them read it for grammar, but the thought of letting any of them that far into my head was too much. So I let Keith read it - I never feel like he's judging me, at least not like most adults. But most of his job is writing, so that was intimidating, watching every little twitch of his pen and wondering what was wrong.
When he handed the papers back to me, I put them right in my backpack. "You're not going to look at them?" he asked. I said something about how the school week was over and I'd look at them Monday when I was back in school mode, but really I just didn't want to worry about how I'd react with him watching me.
But I went home that night instead of going back to his place. I didn't have a curfew, but it seemed like a good way to get back on my parents' good side after being gone all those days. It was maybe 3:30 when I took the papers out and read over what he wrote. I didn't realize how nervous I was until I got halfway through the third one and was grinning so hard from relief that I was crying.
When I was done, I got out the phone book so I could call him, even though it was 4:15. "Spell 'separate,'" was the first thing he said to me, and we both laughed as I tripped over As and Es. I got in bed while we were talking and fell asleep while he told me about working at his college radio station.
I guess that explains the dreams.
I asked Keith to read over my essays for my college applications. There were six of them - two for each school - so I figured he'd get them back to me in a week or so. Instead he read them right there at the diner. It is surprisingly easy to make a late dinner feel like a trip to the principal's office. (Not that I've been to the principal's office... in the last three days.)
It's not fun to have someone read something of yours while you're sitting there watching, especially not when it's a personal essay. They're not just judging how you write, they're judging you and what you've done. It's why I didn't ask my parents or my teachers to read it. It would have been less nervewracking to have them read it for grammar, but the thought of letting any of them that far into my head was too much. So I let Keith read it - I never feel like he's judging me, at least not like most adults. But most of his job is writing, so that was intimidating, watching every little twitch of his pen and wondering what was wrong.
When he handed the papers back to me, I put them right in my backpack. "You're not going to look at them?" he asked. I said something about how the school week was over and I'd look at them Monday when I was back in school mode, but really I just didn't want to worry about how I'd react with him watching me.
But I went home that night instead of going back to his place. I didn't have a curfew, but it seemed like a good way to get back on my parents' good side after being gone all those days. It was maybe 3:30 when I took the papers out and read over what he wrote. I didn't realize how nervous I was until I got halfway through the third one and was grinning so hard from relief that I was crying.
When I was done, I got out the phone book so I could call him, even though it was 4:15. "Spell 'separate,'" was the first thing he said to me, and we both laughed as I tripped over As and Es. I got in bed while we were talking and fell asleep while he told me about working at his college radio station.
I guess that explains the dreams.
