In Which I Am Where the Writers Are...
Settled in and still sort of tired the next morning of the beginning of actual workshop, the five of us being me, Loren, Emma, Mia, and Maddie (she's the comedian in the morning while the rest of us drink terrible coffee), headed off to the great unknown that is being pulled apart into different writing classes. Mine was...interesting. In a good way none the less, but interesting!
I mean really, have you ever had a class where to write you are told you have to make yourself be uncomfortable and vulnerable sometimes- and then presided to do weird things throughout the rest of the week like walk through the cemetery, play a piano dressed only in your bathing suit, gut a fish (but I'm so creeped out by fish, guys! An irrational fear, yes. But it is still there), and read your work that you need to be finished by the end of the week out loud to others.
It is a workshop after all.
And in my workshop since I was with none of my newly found, and slightly odd, friends. I met Bethany.
Yes, she quite might be possibly sleeping in the grass under a tree with a good book (Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell) lying on her stomach. We had a lot of free time one day and she was tired. Who could blame her if her nights were anything like mine where all of us were in our room, laptops open until well passed 2 a.m., but more on that later.
Readings where held in the evening, everyone gathered around to listen. Some were good, some were even greater, some didn't even show up. It was all good though until the end when the dorm assignment woman came in to make an announcement.
"Hi guys, I just need to call out some room numbers. If your room number is called, stay for a minute after." She said a few and then, "204..."
As you can guess that way our room. It would have been a little nerve wracking if we didn't know what this was already about. The weird shower we had and the leak. It still amazes me that whoever was last in that dorm room though that no one would notice the huge leak if they just stuck some duct tape over it.
That they must have looked at it with pride and said, "That'll do it!"
And now it was leaking down two floors. So you know what that means? It's time for workshops annual dorm swap. Into a golf cart the many of us went, me with my bare feet hanging out the back as I clung to my flip flops for dear life. If they fell out as the cart twisted around a curve, I was going with them.
Running up the steps though, we only had so much time to shove everything from bedding to clothes back into our once empty bags to be transported across the street to another dorm were there wasn't any duct tapped showers. Maddie ripped off my sheets like wonder woman and we were sprinting across the concrete with heavy arms to move into our new dorm that was just like the first one only everything was backwards. Who could get used to the sink being on the other side of the rooms now?
At that point it didn't matter, flop the stuff back on the beds and we had to get ready. Because we couldn't be late to the party could we?
It was really a sort of dance that incorporated all the camp workshop things going on throughout the week. Meaning, The Business Camp Kids (ie. The Wolf of Wall Street Kids) in their suits, The Choir Camp (High School Musical in Real Life Kids) that we recognized from their harmonies at 7 am in the morning breakfast, and us The Writer's Workshop (which I think we were the hippies that laughed too much). All of us were given buttons with a 'Find Your Match' premise.
Some kid from the Choir Camp stood up on a table and screamed, hands cupped around his mouth, "WHO IS NUMBER 12?!"
Who do you think was number 12? Who. Do. You. Think?
After taking a deep breath I stepped forward to take on the responsibility. I got a free shirt out of the deal though, so all was good. We danced terribly for a little and then walked out, passing the abandoned campus building of 'Printing Services.'
For the rest of the night we sat on the steps outside of our dorm talking and watching the stars if you dared to lie down on the cement. I did.
And I saw my first ever shooting star with my friend Matthew, who earlier watched me from the steps in his purple plaid pretend like I knew how to swing dance by the bike racks, now turning speechless for a moment,
"Did you see that?"
To be continued...