Essay:Untitled (EB Saldana)

Nothing can stay around forever. Even now, I can see that things are changing- minor ones, it happens every year, yes, this is true. But this time is different.
The leaves are quietly beginning to fall. Nothing extreme, that will come later.
The rotting, sickening apples litter the ground. I hate picking them up. I always end up like them- smelling awful.
The temperatures are slowly, subtly beginning to drop.
Summer is over, my last year at my middle school begins. I'm one of the 'big kids' now. It's amazing the change in how younger ones look at me, how they seem so awed of the giants that roam the hallways. Or rather, that's how it is for the other kids, my childhood friends. For me, it's a bit different.
The end of summer, for me, means the end of something a whole lot bigger than perhaps, the view of other kids. It's the end of a magical time in which I am truly alive. I sat in near silence today (The never-ending sound of cartoons from the blaring television never ceases to amaze me.), and pondered this summer and all the things that happened, mostly towards the end.
I spent most of my summer looking forward to-okay, it was more like being obsessed with- CTY, my 'nerd camp', my summer love, my home. I could truly be myself if I wanted to- people there would love me, regardless of any changes I might've gone through. The feeling of being loved, of being accepted, of so many people gathered into one place and getting along and just…being together is so amazing, so wonderful, you have to experience it to believe it.
CTY is love. No one cared if Beans decided to dye her hair into a rainbow of colors- in fact, she received many compliments for it. No one cared that Jeff was forced to walk around in a skirt for a shirt- in fact, he received many compliments for it. Everyone is so open and loving, no matter who it is, everyone is swept away by the feeling of being loved and accepted and themselves entirely; we are more than a assembly of 'smart kids', or 'nerds', or a community, or perhaps more accurately, eccentrics gathered together. An unbreakable bond is formed between us all, and though we may lose touch, these people are in our memories forever.
We are a family. We have our own culture, much of which involves our widespread taste in music, dancing, art, diction, interests, and basically anything that defines who we are. This culture we create is a mix of everything. We enjoy standing out and being accepted for it at CTY, whereas at home, we are singled out as 'the Weird Kid'.
Perhaps one of the defining moments of CTY is the climax, the last day. This last day, a group of devoted CTYers gather together and proudly reflect upon their experiences here, drink to love, life, and being Forever Young. This is the Passionfruit, appropriately named- fruit juice is drunk, and the stories woven and told to the other members of our 'family' are indeed, filled with passion. Later, sobbing, we leave CTY- the end of our comforting world for a year, until the glorious day (and glorious it is indeed!) we can return to our friends, our classes, the exquisite days of our lives in which we truly come to life.
Unfortunately, all things come to an end. There are those who are part of this family who can never return. Those who remain lament their loss, and those who leave are missed sorely. Age and time catch up to us, and I shiver to think of the day I have lost my opportunity to come back to camp. These are sometimes the Nomores, other times, the Nevermores, and in all times, Forevermores. Their lives go on, and they live their lives as the wonderful people we knew and loved at camp. Approximately four weeks ago, an unknowing Nevermore, a 14-year-old Squirell, stood at Passionfruit and proclaimed his undying love for CTY. He received much applause; perhaps he was not as well known as some of the people at camp, but was well-liked because of his amazing poetry recitation, and also for his general kindness to any and all people who he met.
His name was Phillip Gunn.
I met Phil at Talent Show tryouts- he recited Edgar Allen Poe's "The Conqueror Worm". I was singing. Phil made it- I didn't. Although I was feeling very introverted that day, Phil was very kind and invited me to play cards. This was normal behavior, and while I turned him down, he was very nice to me. His Talent Show poetry was quite wonderful- he was a great speaker and put a lot of emotion into his recitation. Phil and I met up several times during the rest of the session, and while we weren't the best of friends, he is not quite the kind of person one easily forgets. After Passionfruit on our last day, he signed my yearbook, gave me a huge hug, and cheerfully told me that he couldn't wait to see me next year.
Little did I know, that was the last time I would ever, and will ever, see Phil again. About two weeks after our goodbye, I got an instant message from my friend, Trevor. Trevor claimed that Phil was dead. I yelled at Trevor, and told him to stop kidding around. I signed off for awhile and became very nervous about not knowing for sure. In retrospect, I clearly recall a jolt of fear as Trevor told me what had happened- Phil had died on the operating table during heart surgery. I asked him for proof, and he couldn't give it. Trevor gave me Phil's number, and my heart pounding, I dialed it. A woman picked up, and I asked for Phil. She confirmed what I'd heard from Trevor- Phil hadn't survived his surgery. My voice cracked as I talked to her; tears began streaming down my face, uncontrollably. I got off the phone as quickly as I could, sat down at the computer, told all my friends about Phil, then signed off. Oh, the thoughts running through my mind-
He's not coming back. I'll never see him again. I'll never see him again. It's not possible- he HAS to be. "I can't wait to see you next year." "…The Conqueror Worm." He's not coming back…
Tears were running down my face, I was sobbing and coughing and shaking with sadness. I didn't blame God for his death, or the doctors, or anyone. It just made me a bit dizzy. I sat outside. I cried some more. I went upstairs and talked to my mom. Then sank down to the floor of my room and cried some more. I went to bed and cried a bit more. I calmed down, and was finally able to center my thoughts. I talked to him. I talked to the heavens, with my face turned upward, where I knew he was watching me, nodding and smiling. He couldn't have responded, but I know he could hear me.
That was about two weeks ago. Since then, I believe I spent about nights where I HAVEN'T cried. It messed me up. SO badly. But you know, I do accept it. I'm not denying that it happened. It did. I can't change it. But I can learn from it.
I don't want to not get to know a person before I lose them. I am grateful for the time I spent with Phil ('phil' is the Greek base word for 'love'; did you know what?). I wish I had gotten to know him better, though.
Things change. This is fact, and while it seems the majority is for the worse, some is for the better. Phil dying is a change. Phil dying was not for the better. My acceptance of Phil dying, and learning from it, though, has put me through a series of changes in the past two weeks, in which I ended up changing, in my opinion, for the better. I still cry for him. It still bothers me. Time distorts things, and slows down the moments you want to pass by quickly, and quickens the moments you want to savor. Time distorts love and truth and, in time, us. Time distorts love in that, when we love someone, time makes a short time with them seem longer, and a long time with them wonderful. Time distorts truth, in that, over time, my experience with Phil dying won't bother me as much anymore. All I have left of him is fond memories, a scribbled note in my yearbook, and a new perspective on the world around.
Time distorts us. I can't tell you how- sometimes we need to figure things out ourselves. In all honesty, I have found that happiness is clinging to your friends and pulling yourself away. Happiness is being sad sometimes. I want to live life.
I'm not quite sure what all this means. But I know that, as the leaves fall and it gets cooler and my summer ends, things change. Huge changes and small changes; huge decisions and small decisions; huge feelings and small feelings; whatever comes my way, I intend to take it, to live it, and though I may want to, I won't try to change it.

Written by EB Saldana
September 3, 2005
LAN05.2-ETYM