A (Truly) Crooked Smile

It had been quite the summer. But it wasn't over yet; Ben, having decided to switch universities, was going on another college visit. I served as his faithful companion, and, of course, as his GPS. Starting in northeast Georgia, we hopped in the Brave Little Toaster and set out on our adventure.

I miss my baby... :(

When I woke up that morning, I noticed nothing amiss. One of my eyes felt a little heavy, but we started off (relatively) early in the morning. And this was before I started drinking coffee, so you can imagine that I wasn't the most perceptive of individuals at the time. 

Okay, okay, I'm not the most perceptive of individuals at all. But I digress.

The loss of sensation was odd. I don't know exactly when it happened, but eventually, half of my face was numb. As we left Lousiville, I contemplated the situation. 

I can't move half my face. That's weird.

We enter Indiana.

Have I had a stroke? I mean, isn't that what happens when you have a stroke? Can 17 year olds even have strokes? This is really weird. I wonder what my face looks like when I talk. Ugh, I hate this song.

I had to make a decision. I didn't have access to WebMD, but I didn't need the vague symptom checker to tell me something was wrong. 

Okay. Something is wrong.

"B, I'm gonna call Mom. Maybe she'll know what to do." 

I'm not going to guess what my brother said, but I'm sure it was some form of grunt or other sound effect that meant, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." 

"Hey Mom."

"Hi sweetie, how's the trip? Are you guys having fun?"

"Ummm...Mom? I can't move half my face."

"What?"

"I can't move half my face. It doesn't move, Mom." 

I'm proud to say that I remained calm for the duration of the conversation. My mother, however, cannot make the same claim. 

"Okay, okay, well, you're going to your grandmother's house. Call her. Tell her what's going on. Have her take you to the emergency room." Now imagine that spoken with the rapidity of a tongue twister.

"Oh, I should go to the emergency room?" That hadn't occurred to me. Was it that serious?

My mom sighed. "Yes, Alicia. You need to go to the emergency room."

"Okay, I'll do that." 

Now, emergency room trips aren't exactly fun, but if you absolutely have to go, take my grandmother. After raising two boys with a horrifying propensity for injury, she is a pro. 

I got a CAT scan and a MRI to make sure my brain was okay. (Don't worry, there was one there. I checked.) I had to follow a flashlight and my reflexes tested. Meanwhile, my brother cancelled his visit to a certain college in Grand Rapids, Michigan. At some point, our youth pastor called.

"Yeah, I'm in Kalamazoo, with my grandparents. I was supposed to. No, I had to cancel. We had to take Ali to the emergency room. Oh no, she's fine. She just has some sort of weird facial tic."

For a writer, my brother has no dramatic flair.

The doctor came back, looking very important in his white coat, as doctors tend to do. "So, you have Bell's Palsy." My half of a facial expression must have communicated my confusion, because he explained. "That means your facial nerve gets irritated. When it swells, it gets pinched, and that causes it to be paralyzed."

Good. Not a stroke. 

"There's not a lot we can do. We'll give you some antibiotics and some artificial tears. And you need to make sure you tape your eye shut when you sleep to make sure it closes all the way." He scribbled a prescription. "Actually, I've never heard of someone getting it so young before, but that's a good thing. It means you should get the feeling back in a few weeks, with no real side effects."

"Good." I flashed half of my pearly whites and hopped down from the paper covered table. Just a few weeks. Few meant a small number. It was summer, so there was no need to go out in public. No photographic evidence. No one had to know about it beyond its role as a funny story I could tell later. Much, much later. Heck, road trip aside, the timing couldn't have been better!

Wait...when does school start? 

Confusion and Curiosity: The Outsider Syndrome

Being on the inside is fun, I suppose. I have to suppose, because it's a largely unfamiliar territory. Everyone is born into and raised within a specific community. Small town girl, city boy, lonely world. Being a military child is a unique experience these days; deployments, overseas tours, and the globalization of just about everything gives every family their own obstacles.

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

"Hi, my name is Alicia." We shake hands, even though the situation doesn't really call for it; this is orientation week, not a boardroom. We stand kind of awkwardly, because everything about this is awkward. New people, new place, everyone trying to hide the fear that we humans, apparently singular amongst the animal-like kingdom, cannot smell. 

"Nice to meet you, Felicia," I am offered in return. I keep my sigh inward, choosing not to comment on the mistake. My social instincts, on a finely sharpened edge, tell me that an exacerbation of the awkward situation isn't the way to go. I wonder if I should put my name tag in a more prominent place. My forehead, perhaps?

"So where are you from?" 

Maybe she heard the slight twang of the Southeast, imbibed into me by four years of sweet tea and red clay. Maybe it's because I'm not one of them. No height to me. Not blonde enough. I keep my sign inward again. Tact. Diplomacy. I'm trying, I really am.

"Actually, my parents just moved to Germany," I say. I try not to think about dropping Mom off at the airport, B silently accepting my hiccoughing sobs as we drove away. What a neurotic eighteen year old. 

"Wow!" There it is, a spark of curiosity. It's a true emotion, not the dull acceptance of the hundredth introduction. Name. Hometown. Major. Dorm. Okay, that's nice, move along, this is not the student you are looking for. 

"So are they missionaries?"

Valid mistake. Christian school. Far away from most military installations. But I decided to correct this one. Felicia is to Alicia is not as Missionary is to Military. The SAT is too fresh in my mind.

"Actually, my dad's in the Navy." I keep a smile. 

And there it is. Curiosity begins to fade into confusion. She doesn't get it. She has no experiential framework with which to classify me. 

"Oh, that's nice." Move along, pat down the edges of the peeling name tag. I am not the student you're looking for. Because you wouldn't even know where to begin.

A New Series

I've been thinking about beefing up the content on this blog. The inanity is starting to overwhelm the insanity now that I'm no longer gallivanting all about the Continent. I also want to try my hand at other writing styles; as much as I love my fantasy child that is my all-consuming project, I need to pull myself out  of that headspace every once in a while.

The genre of creative non-fiction was tossed around me during the Writer's Retreat last year; I wrote about my overwhelming childhood fear of velociraptors. It was humorous, I suppose, with a tinge of the self-deprecation that colors my self-dialogue. It was new and different, and I want to experiment with the genre again.

So, I'm proposing a new mini-series. My life can be condensed into a series of unconscious facial expressions; bewilderment, confusion, disdain, disbelief, etc. etc. I'm going to play with the creative non-fiction using the basis of the different facial expressions I perceive when I'm introduced to other people. We'll see how it goes.

Down from the Door

The past few weeks have been busy. I thought I was getting the hang of my new schedule, which then proceeded to kick me in the pants and take my lunch money. My stubborn compulsion to not go to bed when I should doesn't help. Self-discipline isn't exactly the most prominent facet of my personality. But I digress.

So it's been a while. However, I've managed to make somewhat good use of my time. You know, work, internship, school, homework, studying, Lord of the Rings marathon...the usual. This yearly tradition of an Extended Edition Extravaganza was compressed into a single weekend and enhanced by the excellent bass system of some accommodating neighbors. We received the first volume decrease request of the semester from our long-sufferring RA. It's a wonderful tradition.

I have also managed to take time to write some letters to my Swedish correspondent, work out on a regular basis, and bake a cake for my roommate's 21st. It was a beautiful cake, though Hallie and I may have an unhealthy fondness for frosting. She says she won the frosting eating contest, but I'm not so sure.

There's really nothing particularly exciting going on in my life right now, and I'm really enjoying my hobbit side. No adventures, just the excitement of living the day-to-day. There are no plans for the weekend, just sleeping, homework, church, and many, many naps. I haven't had a truly lazy weekend in a while, and I'm really looking forward to having one. I need a holiday, a very long holiday. I mean to take a deep breath and enjoy the little things. I intend to experience a cup of tea, a good book, and not wearing shoes. Hey, it's starting to get cold again, so I might even go a little crazy and break out the fuzzy socks!