Sigh. I should know by Tuesday. I need to stop waiting. I hate confrontation, but I hate waiting.
Lizbeth is a good friend I made during my junior year at Chapman. She had been elected as the new Oxfam president, which made the runner up rather unhappy, which led to a bunch of nonsense that year. We dealt with it, not always in the best fashion, and became good friends. I remember many occasions when I was at her apartment, listening and laughing at the banter between her and her roommate, Nicole, who is wonderful and nurturing and patient. Lizbeth is difficult to make plans with, but it is worth it when we do. Her independent way of thinking, spontaneity, and sense of humor make me feel happy and inspired. Before this day, we had not seen each other for over a year. I met up with her at the BART station on 16th and Mission, we walked around looking for places to eat, finally decided on a wonderful, small Burmese/Chinese restaurant called ‘Yamo’. The place consisted of about six or seven stools at a bar, where you could see the owners preparing the food. We shared tea leaf salad, which was surprisingly delicious, and then each had a bowl of noodles—the greasy garlic taste was divine, and the texture of the tofu was nice and crunchy on the outside. After, we walked over to a dessert place and ordered a latte with a heart made out of foam, iced coffee, chocolate bread, and a nutty chocolate chip cookie. The sky started to clear, people filled the restaurant, and dogs looked up at their owners for a bite. We walked back to Lizbeth’s apartment, I tried to give her advice on what to pack, she stuffed her duffel bag with shirts, pants, dresses, shoes, cardigans, etc. We trudged over to the BART station, ran down the stairs once we heard the train arrive, and made it on. We hugged and she left, on her way to San Diego. As I waited for the train to depart and realized I wasn’t sure whether I had to wait for this train to leave and wait for the next one, I got off and asked a couple of other passengers who I knew were headed to Milbrae. By looking at signs for another platform, I realized I’d need to go over to that one and said so to the two passengers. I started walking, and when I looked back, I saw that they stayed. Yet, when the train arrived to the platform I was now standing on, I saw them, realizing I was correct, start to sprint. Smug, I boarded the train.
I want to be the one who is contacted, the one whose schedule makes the plans, the one who always seems to disappear, the one who is wanted and missed, the one who makes people feel good and loved, I want to be noticed, I want YOU to miss me. Time for some Radiohead.
