072802During my freshman year of college, weekends with Cory were a given. It�d usually involve him walking to my dorm Friday afternoon and spending the night (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). My room wasn�t that exciting, so I always ended up asking the inevitable "so�what do you want to do?" question. Since we were both poor college kids, the answer to that was eating take-out Chipotle tacos while watching DVDs on my 12" TV. Sure, we�d try to spice it up by taking a bus ride and making conversation with the driver. Or tromping through enormous snow banks for pie. Or literally running to Ben & Jerry�s before it closed for an overpriced scoop of One Sweet Whirled. Whatever the case, we made it work. We�ve developed a new routine this summer. I stay in almost every night. I work until 5:30, followed by dinner with my family, and a couple �Sex and the City� episodes with my mom. I go online at 10:00 and look at fashion websites until midnight, when I turn on my TV�s sleep timer and hit the sack. Cory lives up at camp. He�s taking care of campers, playing his guitar by the campfire, and making memories that will last a lifetime. If there�s a dance, he�s the DJ. If a camper isn�t feeling well, he�s the unofficial nurse. Towards the end of the week, the campers get to vote for their favorite counselor. He�s always one of the top picks. That�s my summer. I�m here (stretches left arm out) and Cory�s here (stretches right arm out). I won�t sugar-coat it; it has been hard. We only get to talk twice a week on the phone, and those conversations don�t last more than ten minutes. We try to see each other on the weekends, but I�ll be busy doing this and he�s busy with that. I speak nothing but the truth when I say I can�t wait until he�s back. I long for the days when we�re only an IM away. Never again will I take that time for granted. So I guess this summer has been good for me. Through all the lonely nights and tearful goodbyes, I�ve grown. And you know what? Francis Davidson was right. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. 070702I couldn't believe I was actually nervous. Turning the corner, I came upon a multitude of horses, saddled and tied to hitching posts as far as the eye could see. My hands began to shake. What was I so nervous about? I had ridden a horse many times. I was practically an expert. I could teach the damn class. In fact, I had just ridden one...wait...six, maybe seven...gulp...years ago. My lungs turned to heavy punching bags within my chest. I sat down at a nearby picnic table to meditate, chant - anything! Not more than ten seconds after my blue jean capris hit the bench, my name was being called. "Mally, over here," a very old, very cowboy-hat-and-boots man hollered at me. I felt like I was being summoned to the death chamber. "This here's your horse, Pocahontas." I looked at the horse, and she looked right back at me. I thought I caught a smirk crossing her bridled mouth. She was a horse, yet she could smell my fear. Putting my Adidas running shoe in the stirrup, I counted a mental 1,2,3 and hoisted myself up, plopping onto the saddle. I immediately noticed how far from the ground I was. "The farther to watch you fall," I heard as I turned my attention back to my horse, just in enough time to see her snap her head back and pretend to eat some grass. Either I was hallucinating, or Pocahontas was playing mind games with me. I really hoped it wasn't the latter. Knowing it'd either be me or the horse, I tightened my grasp on the reins. In doing so, I noticed I wasn't that nervous anymore. My anxiety had morphed into confidence. I felt high and mighty upon my noble steed. Nothing could rain on my parade. And with that thought, I quietly untied my rain poncho and stuck it in my saddle bag.
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