*twitch* FAMILY BONDING TIME *twitch*: Part II

Pre-post: my Twilight parody. This is what I do with my time, god help me.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5153526/1/Twilight_The_Twinkie

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, on the family front: things are going much better than I expected. Stepsis and I had some wonderful bonding time (which was made slightly more and less memorable by copious vodka, I say in the interest of being very open with you all). No fights b/w parents, no crying younger siblings. In fact, we had a game of Articulate! last night (British board game, BUY IT) that was possibly one of the most hilarious periods in the last few months of my life. My sister asked me why George Orwell was married to Tom Cruise; that kind of hilarious.

But my god, the most amazing things have happened to me in the last few days, and they've happened when I've been totally alone. Okay, here's the cabin on the Vineyard: very small, surrounded by a unkempt lawn and collapsed wooden fence and with a path leading backwards to the road nearby. There is also a path leading forwards, and this leads to the Landing. The Landing is where we and all the other "renters" keep our boats and canoes, which we use to paddle around on Chilmark Pond, which is literally right there thirty second away from the cabin. The pond is bordered by our strip of land and other summer houses on one side, and by a ridge of sandy dune on the opposite side. If you take a second to listen, you can hear the surf perfectly, thrumming and rushing just out of sight over the sand.

At the Landing, there is a little walkway of wooden planks that extends maybe fifteen, twenty feet into the water. At the end of this walkway is a platform, about 4 feet x 5 feet, and this has been my favorite spot for a couple years now. It's the perfect size for me to sit, lie, or stand on, and from it you have a practically panoramic view of the pond, the surrounding land, and the sky. It's far enough removed from the cabin and other houses that you can't hear another voice if they don't scream, and my family has learned not to bother me there. It's like being removed from time and space, sitting in my own little dome over the water.

I don't quite know how to describe how it is to sit at the Landing, my feet dangling in the pond and the grey clouds overhead drifting very slowly across the sky. When there's a strong wind, the water is ruffled and cooler than normal, and you can hear the trees and bushes behind you whispering. It's been thickly overcast here ever since we came, which makes everything slightly dull and dark in color. But when the sun comes out and the sky is blue, it's easy to sit for hours and just watch the light play over the surface of water. There are little jetties going down the shore on either side of ours, and on one that's about fifty feet away, there are usually at least twenty cormorants sitting on it: sleek black water birds the size of a skinny duck, that stay so still you have to watch for a few minutes before one of them flutters their wings and proves they're not statues. The birds in the trees never shut up, and the mockingbirds copy all of them over and over until you feel like they're doing a little bird symphony, with the catbirds squeaking out the lower parts and the sparrows calling in the sopranos. The osprey nest that's been there since before I was born usually has very loud, insistent babies in it, and they chitter and cheep the entire day. The mom osprey is around a lot: she sort of glides across the pond until there's a sudden flash and she dives, spray leaping in the air as some really, really unlucky fish bites the dust.

Going out there during the day is so insanely peaceful. The sounds of cars and planes just blend into the surf and birds and the wind and my own breathing. I read through The Color Purple there; seriously, I read the whole book in a few hours, lying on the Landing with my feet in the water and the book over my head. Then again, I also just sat and listened. And watched. And didn't think about anything except what I was seeing and hearing. It's been more than a year since I did that.

The first night we were here, I did what I've never done before: at around midnight, I got out of bed, put on a sweatshirt, grabbed a candle and my faithfully stuffed wombat, Wombat (what? I wasn't going to go out into the dark ALONE), and headed out. Let me tell you, Chilmark in the middle of the night is not very well-lit; it is, in fact, pitch black, and with the night wind my candle didn't survive for long. I went down the path to the Landing, which, by the way, looks like the road to Narnia or something in daylight, but looks and feels like Satan's Hallway at night. I finally got to the Landing and sat there, clutching Wombat and realizing just how alone it is possible to feel. When the sky overhead is solid black because the clouds have wiped out the stars, and the only light is a faint glow from a town on the horizon, and the water around you is silky-smooth and silent, and the only sounds in the air are the angry surf, the clanking of a dingy against the dock, and your own heart pounding against a worn, comforting stuffed animal...that's when you can honestly believe that there is no one else on this earth. That you and you alone are waking and thinking at this moment, and something is happening that no one else will ever see. The blackness is not threatening, it is encompassing, and soon you'll blend into it and become as quiet and serene as the reeds that cast spindly reflections on the water.

The night after this, I went out again, only this time with Stepsis--and alcohol, and the influence thereof (yes, I know, I know, I'm a horrible person and a shame to the family, but seriously, we were two teenagers stuck in a house with our loved ones in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere; IT WAS EITHER THIS OR GO COW-TIPPING). It was spookier then, and not as surreal. But I went out again the next day, and for the first time, I really appreciated how lucky I was. A handful of human beings get a place like that: a place to be alone with their own thoughts, a place where peace is not gained, it is inlaid. My head also wandered into the realm of "my god I am such a privileged American I have no right to whine about anything ever Jesus Christ this world is fucked up and I am a selfish bitch who will never change anything I'm useless and horrible", but that's not so uncommon for me anyway. Also, I might be a spoiled, apathetic, privileged American teen, but I am still human, and making myself miserable and never enjoying anything won't help others in pain, it will only make one more person unhappy.

But one thing I almost never reveal to anyone, but screw it, a blog is a blog is a blog, I don't care if y'all know: I prayed. I'm not a religious person, but I have my beliefs, and right then I prayed to whoever the hell is up there to preserve places like the Landing. The world isn't beyond redemption yet, it can still be saved, but there's a lot of work and pain and struggle to go through before any of the hurts people have caused can heal; if places like that, places of pure peace and calm, can continue to exist, I will have hope for this screwed-up planet. If the cormorants still sit in rows of jetties, and the surf still hums over the dune, and the water still soaks my feet and washes everything bad away for a moment of happiness, then there's still a chance for everything else. In places like Iran and Rwanda and Sudan and Uganda and Afghanistan, where every day people die and hurt and go through hell and wake up to do it again the next day--if they can survive the way they have for millenia, if they can have places like that where all the bad stuff is gone for seconds in time, then I think they can have hope too. Human beings aren't built to hate themselves, and they aren't built to suffer without thought. Even in the worst of places, people still have fun and fall in love and think about things. And when you sit under the sky and over the water and in the middle of the world, it feels like the time and place to ask for help. For yourself and for all the people who you want to help but can't.

I won't rant for much more, but there's a lot to get out. Last night, I went to bed at about 1:30 a.m. and woke up at 4:00, scrunched up in the sheets and shaking from a nightmare. Instead of going to sleep, I packed up Wombat and a pillow and went down to the Landing. There was no sunrise because of the clouds, but it was still incredible: that early, the light is just dim enough to drain all the color out of...well, everything. It's even stiller than it is at midnight, and not only do you feel like the only human being in existence, you feel like that's okay. It wouldn't be lonely to live in a twilight world forever, with the sleeping gulls on rocks and even the surf quieting down in the distance. Of course, the goddamn bugs took away from the experience a little, but most of the bites have gone down now, so whatever. I also saw a...a...a beaver/otter/Loch Ness Monster this morning, slithering across the pond, bobbing closer and closer to me until it reared up and I could see the outline of its slender neck and twitchy little ears and fuzzy muzzle; it stayed there for a few seconds, then dived and resurfaced a ways away. Well, it looked into my soul or something, so I didn't mind that it immediately ran (swam) like the wind. I communed with nature. Fun.

Yes, I do tend to blather, why do you ask? Other news: I have seen approximately two and a half dead skunks on this big Island road, and let me tell you, it was literally two and a half. Pieces of dead skunk are...just not fun. For anyone. Ever. EVER. Also, we have our own little visitor skunk who keeps loping across the yard...in the daytime, which means he might have rabies. Great; all the cute cuddly little creatures around me either bolt when they see me or have horrible brain-eating infectious diseases. Just my luck.

Doing a LOT of reading, which is nice: I am actually being an idiot and rereading Twilight so that I can complete my Internet parody (link at the top). I seriously am going to bite the bullet and do this; it'll be excruciating, but I will do it in the name of ART! (Actually, I might not be able to; pray for me, guys.) In Oak Bluffs, I defeated the Empire and saved the Rebel Alliance on a video game, then went and bought at the hippie store: a Bob Marley t-shirt I love madly, a new bag I love madly, and a hat I love madly. God, I am such a possession-slut: I love on a whim. Seriously, they are awesome.

Hmmm...not much else. I've made sure to walk at least 2 miles each day since we've been here (usually more; 5 1/2 miles is mostly what I do) because MV is just that gorgeous and it's a nice way to learn how to dodge cars without turning around (because MV, while abundant in much that is awesome, is sadly lacking in footpaths). I think I might become a local legend: Crazy Artsy Road-Walking Girl. If you whistle quietly and play some Broadway show tunes, she'll show up soon enough, wearing her floppy hat and flip-flops.

Okay, if you've read to the end of this post, you deserve a big hug and a cookie. Hopefully, you will supply these things to yourselves because I currently cannot. Tune in soon for some (hopefully shorter) observations on life in MV. I'll be here until Sunday, guys. Namárië.

(Yes, I am a Tolkien geek. WHAT.)