*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 3/8
Journal #4 of the England Trip
(Covering day 6 of the trip. A.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Today we went on a walking tour of Canterbury, an incredible city. Is it a city? Or a village? Or maybe it’s a hamlet? Anyway, whatever Canterbury is, I like it. Our tour guide was an old woman who told us she was born in Canterbury and had lived there her whole life and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. In fact, she said she plans to haunt the place after she dies (LOL).
She was married once, she said, in another lifetime when she was very young, but her husband died when he fell off a scaffolding as he was refurbishing one of the churches in their neighborhood. If anyone gets to go to heaven, she said, it must be her husband, Bubbles, (that’s so cute) because he died in the service of the Lord even though he spent his weekends at the pub. Some things you do make the Lord turn a blind eye to some other things, she told us. She’s a relativist, she said, and while I am still trying to figure out exactly what that means, I know I want to be a relativist, too.
Ms. Harrison, I am going to write about the stuff we saw in Canterbury, but I have to write about this woman first because she is what I will most remember about my visit to Canterbury and probably what I will most remember about my whole trip to England, along with some other small details that I won’t write about here.
Justine (that was our guide’s name in case you don’t remember) started out our walking tour by giving each of us a piece of candy because she said young people can pay attention better if they have something to do with their mouths other than talk. Also, a little something sweet never hurt anybody. Her mother named her Justine eighty years ago on the day she was born, and she liked the name just fine until she read Frankenstein and that was the name of the innocent young girl who was falsely accused and hanged for killing the young Frankenstein boy. It took her some time to come to terms with her name after that, but she came to realize there was a lot about life that you just had to come to terms with, and she hoped we would learn that lesson sooner rather than later.
Which brought us to the entrance of the Canterbury Cathedral and Justine’s lecture about how, whether we liked it or not, we had to come to terms with the Starbucks that was situated right at the entrance. Christianity was established in Canterbury in the year six hundred she said, and Starbucks was established in two thousand, and those were just two facts we would have to come to terms with. The Cathedral and the Coffeehouse (she said both should be capitalized) were places of worship to two similar and yet different gods. She didn’t elaborate and I will have to think about that more, but I am sure she is right.
Justine is the most wrinkled woman I have ever seen. And I have to tell you this, Ms. Harrison: I really thought she was beautiful. I can’t believe I thought that, but I did. Usually, when I think of old people I get kind of sad. I think how awful it must be to be so old. But I had a real epiphany as I listened to and watched Justine. Sometimes it is awful to be young, so where was I getting the idea that it was so much worse to be old?
After the tour of the Cathedral, you gave us free time for lunch. Everyone paired off and went their separate ways, and I was left standing at the front of the Cathedral thinking it was fine, that I would have lunch by myself in this beautiful place. But then, Justine asked if I wanted to have lunch with her. I did. I said yes. I was both surprised and happy with myself for that decision.
Instead of going to a restaurant, Justine took me back to her flat (that’s what she called her little apartment), and she served us authentic shepherd’s pie she had made herself. I really liked it because it tasted so good and was served in these small antique-looking ceramic pie pans. I had never eaten anything so cute!
Her home, which was on the second floor above a repair shop, looked just like something out of a storybook: everything was old and creaky and a little dusty. There was not one thing (not even a fork or knife) that looked like it came from Ikea or Target or Restoration Hardware. She didn’t really have a color scheme or design of any kind; it was very eclectic. She had old books stacked on every shelf and piled in every corner. Pieces of yellowed paper with wise quotes hung on her refrigerator by magnets. Pictures and paintings in old frames covered all her walls. I could have spent weeks there asking her about all the pictures and the quotes, but if I had done that I really would have missed the bus again! I just asked her about one picture. It hung to the left of the window that looked out onto the street and right above her dining table, which seated two. It was an old black-and-white photo of a man in a suit and tie with perfectly trimmed hair. He had very kind eyes. “Is that your husband?” I asked.
“It was.”
And then she told me all about Bubbles. About how he wouldn’t serve in the army even though I guess he was supposed to. How he said he would only put on a uniform that made him truly be of service to humanity, which is why he worked in restoration. Justine said she was so proud of what Bubbles did for a living. He spent a lot of time restoring the tile work in the old buildings in Canterbury. It was very tedious, specific work meant only for artists who had a sense of history and who cared about future generations in a very real sense. “Little things, little things, are much more important than big things. Big things hit you in the face with their bigness and obscure the little, more important things that really define a life and provide it with delicacy.” I’ve quoted her here because I remember, verbatim what she said because it sounded so real and so true. I wished I understood it the same way her face showed that she did.
I must have looked a little confused so she said politicians and movie stars and bank accounts were big things that got in the way of living. And when I said to her that, well, you need a bank account to survive, she said I was dead wrong. She said it just like that—dead wrong. Then she pulled out a glass milk bottle that had lots of cash shoved in it. “This is my bank account and it works just fine, thank you very much.” I wanted to ask her a million questions about how she lived like that and didn’t she feel like she was missing out or wasn’t she worried someone would break in and steal her money. She didn’t get to travel or buy new things, but I kind of knew the answer she would have given. Her small life made her happy. Her special life was all she needed.
Ms. Harrison, Justine never had one bit of plastic surgery her whole life. I didn’t ask her that, but I just know it’s true. I mean, if you’re a woman who keeps all your money in a glass milk bottle, then you don’t have the resources or the inclination for plastic surgery. She was eighty years old with so many wrinkles, even on places that I didn’t know you could get wrinkles, like on her forearms. Each one fascinated me. She reminded me so much of the lead actress in Harold and Maude. Have you seen that movie? If you haven’t you really should. You’d like it. Anyway, Justine had that same spirit of acceptance, that same adorableness that Ruth Gordon possessed. We are wrong if we think old people are freaky and pathetic. Well, I guess some of them can be. Just like some young people can be freaky and pathetic.
At the end of lunch, before we walked back to meet the group, Justine wrote down her address and said we could be pen pals. She said she had been wanting to write letters to someone in another country and thought I would do just fine, thank you very much.
After my lunch with Justine, we saw the Christopher Marlowe theatre, and we learned about how Canterbury got a new archbishop in 2003. When I read the Canterbury Tales again at some point in my life, I will have a whole new set of pictures in my head about the setting of those stories.
For my room at home, I was able to find a snow globe featuring the Canterbury Cathedral and some postcards of cobblestone alleys. When I look at them in the future, they’ll remind me of Justine.
I guess for you, the most dramatic part of the day was when James came back from lunch with a giant tattoo of the British flag on his left pectoral. Well, maybe even more dramatic was when we got back to the hotel, and it was clear from his fever that the tattoo was infected. Looked like maybe you had a fever, too, because you were boiling mad. LOL. Hope it’s not too soon to joke about this.
Teacher comments: What a rich experience with history and humanity you had. Thanks for sharing!
*PRIVATE TRIP INFO* 3/8
Journal #4: The real story
I am happy to report that tonight I don’t really need a private journal because my day was so wonderful, and I already wrote all the details to Ms. Harrison. I had nothing to hide. Awesome.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 3/9
Journal #5 of the England Trip
(Covering the last day of the trip. Another A. I am on a roll.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Well, this was our last day in England. We started with a visit to the Tate Modern Museum. I am so happy you included that museum on our tour, Ms. Harrison. Thank you. I lost myself in the photography exhibit section, unbelievably, but Keira personally invited me to check it out with her, and I did. I saw how some photographs make a positive statement.
My favorite piece was pictures of a woman who chronicled her journey of losing ten pounds. She took a picture of herself naked every day from her starting point of 140 pounds to her ending point of 130 pounds. If you looked at each picture in succession you didn’t notice much change. But if you stepped back and looked at the first picture and then the last, you could see how different she looked.
Our lives are like that. We all probably change a little every day and we don’t really notice the changes. But if we look at ourselves today and think back to a year ago, we might be surprised by what we find. It’s hard to bring change into our lives, I think, and so that’s why it doesn’t really happen radically most of the time. Although, wait, sometimes things do change radically without our choice. I guess what I am talking about is conscious change. That kind of change I think takes time like the diet woman showed through her photographs.
Anyway, that’s just one example of what is so cool about the Tate. Also, that exhibit made me want to go on a diet (but not photograph myself along the way. LOL).
After the Tate, we did the Southwark Riverside Walk, and I got to have a good conversation with a classmate. (You’re probably surprised, but it’s true and maybe now I won’t have to see Marv anymore because I am learning to socialize.)
Then we got a tour of the Globe Theatre before we all rode the London Eye and got a spectacular view of the city where I took a moment to realize how small we really are in the scheme of things. And that reminded me of what Justine had said about the beauty of small things, that it’s just fine that we have small lives; those are probably better.
Teacher comments: Nice summation of a beautiful trip.
*PRIVATE TRIP INFO* 3/9
Journal #5: The real story
(A very satisfying journal to write.)
I am still just amazed any time something good happens to me. But today was one of those days, and I will just admit that as I sit here and type this journal, I am still amazed. When we did the Southwark Riverside Walk I was walking at a slower pace than everyone else because I was soaking in every image I could before we left. I really do love London. Someday, perhaps, I can live there.
Anyway, I wasn’t paying attention, and I tripped and fell right over Jacob. He fell, too. Everyone laughed but kept on walking and there we were, Jacob and I, on the ground. I expected him to say something like “Hey, watch out” or “What the hell are you doing?”, but he didn’t. Instead, I said something stupid. I said this: “You should have just drank the toilet water!” I don’t know where the words came from. They just came out. All my complicated feelings for him came out in the line, “You should have just drank the toilet water!” And then I did something even worse. I started to cry. Luckily, the rest of the group kept walking, and miraculously, Jacob didn’t walk away.
“What?” he said. I was some other being in that moment, someone who actually, I guess, had something to say.
“You should have drank the toilet water in that hotel room in Canada instead of doing what you did.” And then he looked at me while I cried for a little while longer.
When he spoke, his words appeared like a typed message across the clear tablet of my mind. I can see them now. He said, “Look, Danielle, why would I have drank the toilet water? Why would I do that? That would have been totally disgusting. It didn’t even occur to me to drink that instead of touching you. I thought I was being as gentle as I possibly could, and I just touched you. There wasn’t anything disgusting to me about that. I’m really sorry it pissed that guy off, but I thought he knew I didn’t mean anything bad. I really, really didn’t. I’m sorry, Danielle.”
And then I tried really hard to speak again, but the me that had something to say just left. This was all I could get out: “I just . . . I just . . . it’s just.” And then Jacob saved me from myself right there.
“I don’t know why you don’t give yourself any credit. You are what you are, Danielle, and it’s fine. It’s cool. I mean no one in this class can wear hats like you do. It’s cool.”
I don’t know, maybe in this case writing it down makes it lose some of its impact. I don’t know if I can fully explain even to myself in words just how much better that all made me feel. But it did. I forgave him for feeling me up. I forgave myself for thinking he was trying to humiliate me. I don’t know, I just stopped being angry about it, and even though it seems like just a small little thing . . . it felt like a big, awesome thing.
*AUNT JOYCE E-MAIL* 3/11
First E-mail (#1) from Aunt Joyce after England trip
Sweet Danielle,
I have to hear everything about your trip! I am very interested in who you are after that experience. We’ll talk soon.
Your Forever Aunt Joyce
P.S. As for your question about whether or not I’ve been kissed passionately in a picturesque setting, the answer is yes. However, before you get too jealous or excited, I want to point out that it was with Claude that guy I met in Paris who was sexy and affectionate but who, I subsequently learned, was only that way from taking Ecstasy. So, see, not all fantasies are as great as you imagine.
*JUSTINE LETTER* 3/12
Letter #1 to Justine that I write when I get back to California
Dear Justine,
It’s Danielle. Remember me? I am the redheaded girl that you had over to your house for lunch when you gave my class a tour of Canterbury. My lunch with you was one of my favorite parts of the whole trip. I really want to thank you for that. I’m not sure I properly thanked you when I was with you because I was just so awestruck by you, your home, and your life.
I remember everything you told me over lunch, and there was one thing that really stuck with me. You told me that Bubbles didn’t join the army like he was supposed to, and that reminded me of a book I read, and I guess I just want to tell you about it. Maybe you’ll want to read the book because I noticed you had a lot of books around your place. The book is called The Things They Carried, and it’s by Tim O’Brien, who was a soldier in the Vietnam War. He struggled with his decision to go to Vietnam and he even thought about going to Canada, which many people would have considered cowardly at the time.
Tim O’Brien wrote in his book that “I survived, but it’s not a happy ending. I was a coward. I went to war.” (Sometimes I remember certain things perfectly and forever. Like those words, which I know were on page 61.) When you were talking about Bubbles, it made me think of that line because Bubbles did something that some people would call cowardly and other people would call brave. One decision, two totally different perspectives. Very baffling.
Well, I hope you are doing well in Canterbury and enjoying the tours you are giving. I also hope you don’t have to give too many tours to wild high school kids like us (LOL—that means laugh out loud).
Sincerely,
Danielle
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #1 from Marv to me after the school trip
Danielle,
How was your trip and your spring break? How are you doing? Anything you’d like to discuss after that experience?
Marv
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #1 from me to Marv after school trip written during lunch
(I get brave)
Marv,
Have you ever been felt up by a boy you really liked on a dare? Have you ever known such pure humiliation and objectification? Pretend this question is for literary purposes only. How you respond will tell me a lot about you and determine whether or not I will ever trust you again. No pressure.
Danielle
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #2 from Marv to me after the trip
Danielle,
I have not experienced that particular brand of shame, but that does not mean I have avoided shame altogether. When I was in high school, I was deeply (and I mean deeply) in love with a woman who was quite a bit older than me and who cast a certain spell over me. She was, in every way, a goddess. In my mind, she still is. One day, I saw fit to tell her just how transfixed I was in her presence. I’ll spare you all the details, but she literally laughed in my face. She was sure I was telling her these things on a childish dare. She threw a lamp at me and told me never to speak to her again. I didn’t. Every time I was around her, I looked at the ground. To this day, I wince when I think about the incident. Frankly, it was difficult for me to write to you about it.
Marv
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #2 from me to Marv after the trip
Marv,
Then you understand that Love is one cruel bitch.
Danielle
*MARV MISSIVE*
Letter #3 from Marv to me
Danielle,
Yes, Danielle, indeed I do.
Marv
*MENTAL HEALTH MISSIVE* 3/19
Letter #2 for the Commitment Hearing Committee regarding my social skills class
Dear Commitment Hearing Committee (who I am sure I am appearing before because of the social skills class I was forced to attend by my therapist and parents. Please refer to first letter to you for more details regarding this travesty.)
I had a week of what I would characterize as “semifun” with my peers in England, and then I had a spring break where I rested and felt just shy of normal most of the time and where I completely forgot about the fact that I would have to attend a social skills class when I returned. Charles, Megan, Andy, and Iggie will, I’m sure, be committed to some maximum-security facility before I will, so perhaps the committee has met them already. They are a quartet of social mismanagement, and I just hate being named in any group with them.
Megan’s mom comes to the class with her and sits until her daughter “gets acclimated.” Megan wears very big sweaters and hides beneath them. If I had her body I would live forever in a nudist colony.
Andy and Charles ride the bus together to get here and show up covered in grease; they work on cars all day. They both have long hair that they let hang in front of their faces. I think so maybe Lisa can’t see them. I gotta admire that move, I guess.
I can’t make any sense out of Iggie whose chair was yet again littered with all the paper creatures he folds and rips and talks to during the two-hour nightmare that is this class. It is possible, however, that he is a savant and these paper thingies may be brilliant works of art.
Daniel is an island all to himself, and I don’t think he’ll end up committed like the rest of us, so I didn’t mention his name at the beginning of this missive. I’m not even sure why he needs to be here.
Today, Lisa made us discuss the differences between what we wish our lives were like and what they are currently like. I was irritated at the assumption that all of us wished our lives were different. (I’m sure we all do, but still, I hate that this woman, who I don’t know, is so acutely aware of that pain in all of us.) I didn’t say anything to her about my irritation but Daniel did. He said the question was “arrogant, pointed, and judgmental,” that all of us had to “lay bare certain vulnerabilities that we, as a group, were not ready to do,” and if Lisa had been doing this line of work for any substantive length of time, she would know that and he resented being an early case in her career. Honestly, Daniel rocks.
Lisa listened to Daniel but didn’t change her line of questioning. She sat perfectly up in her too bright suit and continued, “Sooo, who would like to start . . . Danielle?”
I forced this response: “Everybody’s life is a series of what is versus what we wish it was, isn’t it? Is there anybody who has everything just the way they like it?”
But then she reminded me that we were taking this moment in time to talk about my particular life and so could I please be specific about mine.
Sigh and continue.
“I want to be twenty pounds lighter.”
And then a whole lot of language came out of Lisa. Language about how that was a brave statement, how that is something that can be accomplished, goals can be set, and changes can be made incrementally . . . blah, blah, blah, blah, blah . . . I heard some of it but stopped listening until Daniel said, “Yeah, she can do all that and maybe feel better and be more social, but then there will be something after that. Like she won’t like her hair color, which I really dig, by the way, or she’ll want a whole new wardrobe. I mean the other response you could have given her was that she could consider that she’s fine just the way she is, that everyone comes to this planet in a different package, and the one she has is pretty okay. That’s what I would have said if I was wearing the russet suit and carrying the master’s degree.”
And then there was this whole exchange between Daniel and Lisa about how Daniel always chooses to be contrary and how that creates conflict in relationships and he may want to consider that there are other ways of looking at things than his way, and Daniel told her she should try swallowing some of the medicine she was doling out. It’s really obvious that Lisa can’t stand Daniel. I think Daniel may actually like Lisa in a strange way because she brings out this side of him that he enjoys. I don’t know, that’s just my opinion. At one point, I turned and gave Daniel a smile as a way of thanking him for taking up my cause. He gave me a supportive nod.
After that, I kind of drifted off into another world so I didn’t have to be in this one, in a church basement that smelled of old cigarettes and burned coffee, feeling lost among people who I know in my heart are brethren.
*#1 AUNT JOYCE JOURNAL* 3/24
My talk with her
Aunt Joyce came over to see me and talk to me about the trip. My whole family had dinner in the dining room where Joyce commented on Mom’s cheery choice of yellow walls and the vase of red spring flowers she keeps on the table. Mom has style just like Aunt Joyce. After dinner, Aunt Joyce and I went up into my room so we could pull out the vintage clothes from the back of the closet and try stuff on.
I mainly just put on different hats while I talked about Justine, but Joyce was having fun stepping in and out of dresses.
Finally, she said, “Lady, give me the teenage dirt.”
I gave her this very wide-eyed look and she read my mind.
“What happened? . . . Did you kiss someone?”
“How did you know? OMIGOD.”
“Perimenopausal women have killer instincts. Spill it.”
“Well, it wasn’t all that. It was pretty much like The Romantic Era’s lyric ‘Your kiss is cold, my mind is numb.’ Yeah, it ended up being exactly that but, whatever, at least I can say I’ve been kissed.”
“Ah, life will never be the same.”
“Well, it got worse from there. The guy I kissed took off when Jacob, the boy I’m in love with, felt me up. Jacob didn’t want to feel me up; he had to or else he’d have to drink toilet water. So, there it is, my sex life in a nutshell.”
Aunt Joyce laughed and got a few more details out of me and then said, “You know what, my sex life boils down to similar tales but with adult players. You’re gonna be fine, kid. Just fine. Give it a little time for the bruises to heal. Oh, I almost forgot. Come with me to my car. I found two old parasols for us. Let’s get them and walk about in the garden.”
More than anyone I know, Aunt Joyce takes things that I think are unmitigated disasters and shrinks them down to manageable size.
*MENTAL HEALTH MISSIVE* 3/26
Letter #3 for the Commitment Hearing Committee (So they know my fall into total mental illness was the result of extenuating circumstances set loose by adults who were supposed to be helping me.)
Dear CHC,
Just to be clear, I am writing this letter during my social skills class. I have been allowed to bring my journal in here because Lisa has no idea what she’s doing and thinks each of us should be allowed “to find pure expression in any context.” (Whatever that means.) Along with my journal, I brought four of my hats, just in case I need them. Lisa keeps talking about how spring has sprung and it is a time of rebirth and renewal or whatever, and I just want to keep writing to keep myself distracted so I miss most of what she’s saying.
Charles has brought his guitar, and I have to say that it is so distracting to have him accent people’s talking with riffs. He’s not very good. Megan makes beaded necklaces; Andy rubs his hands obsessively on his pants. (What kind of expression is that? Shouldn’t she give him a stress ball or something? That’s what Ms. Harrison would do.) Iggie, nothing new, is making origami animals, and Daniel is drawing huge penises and deformed vaginas in a sketch pad. It’s very disturbing but I can’t stop looking. He keeps looking over at me and smiling so I know he knows that I know what he’s doing.
A moment ago, I stopped writing when I heard Lisa say that we were going to go around the room and share any dreams we’ve had lately. She’s going to “interpret” these dreams to see if anything hidden in our subconscious is revealing something important to us. Oh, I can’t wait for my turn. I am, right now, counting the tiles on the floor.
So Daniel’s dream was hilarious, and I don’t for a second think it is one he really had. Lisa is so dim because she gave it all kinds of attention. Daniel said he was wandering in the desert for forty days and forty nights (he’s not a Jew), and all he came across were giant, tall, prickly cacti that he couldn’t touch. He was starving and he knew the cacti had “juicy meat with gooey centers,” but he couldn’t touch them because of the stickers. In between the cacti in the sand were these oblong holes he kept jumping over because dangerous, biting snakes that squirted red venom were hidden inside. When he woke up, he realized he had a wet dream. (OMG.) Lisa turned all shades of embarrassed. She didn’t ask him one question about penises and vaginas, which is totally what I would have done! Shit, it’s my turn soon. I have to stop writing so I can fabricate a dream here.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 3/27
Essay #13: Reflecting on the School Trip
(What I bravely turn in despite the fact that I know this is not the essay that Ms. Harrison is looking for. My winning grade streak is over. D.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4