I was absolutely not excited. It was Thursday night. I was not packed or ready to go. I was finally not going to meet Lisa, Robin, Maria, or Tonya. After all the not planning, all the arrangements I had never made, it was time to miss my first TTP. Imaging how excited I wasn't. I don't think I missed a wink of sleep all week. The time had finally arrived for me to not meet Nora.
I didn't arrive on Friday. I have no idea about the breathtaking view surrounding the Hilltop House. I still can't describe how it felt not seeing all the brats together for the first time. When Saturday arrived I could barely sit still. I paced. I sat and drummed my fingers. I bit my nails. The anxiety level was sky high. Nora was signing books for brats and broads and I was missing it.
I could envision myself there all so clearly. A bookstore crammed to the rafters with women just like me. Twenty or so or my absolute favorite Nora books wedged between my arms and my chin. My Visa in meltdown from the shirts, mugs, and other treasures I just could not live without. What a blast I would be having right now if only I'd made the trip east. I was really starting to question my need for that college diploma. With the tuition from one quarter alone I could have been there.
I decided moping was getting me nowhere. I needed action. I would drop out of school and make sure I had enough money to make the trip next year. Yes! Finally! I had a plan. Somewhere to focus my energy. I even practiced the skills I would need for my new vocation. I stood in front of my mirror in a hair net and sensible shoes repeating "Would you like fries with that?" It was like a spiritual calling. I would never miss another gathering of the brats in Maryland. Never again would I sit at home eating Frosted Flakes while my fellow brats swilled champagne and talked to Nora.
I left the house on Sunday afternoon, my mission clear. Find a fast food or dare to dream and get myself a shopping cart and practice saying "Hi! Welcome to Wal-Mart." A job involving a shopping cart would serve two purposes. Employment and getting my belongings from my parents house once they learned of my decision and threw me out. I would be sailing down easy street. Everything I owned in my shopping cart and my eye on a culvert style hacienda. I would stroll down the street whistling the theme song from the old Mary Tyler Moore show. Flinging my hat made from newspaper into the air without a care in the world.
Look for me next year Nora. I'll be the brat rather pale and anemic from plasma donations, sporting the new scar on her abdomen from kidney donations. Ignore the tin cup in my hand. You've given my enough already.
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