Yesterday was one of the best times I've had in a long time. The best part about it was that it was nothing special, just a day full of friends, really. I have to admit, I woke up feeling a little bit down, even though it was my first day of summer. Usually I'm excited about summer, but in our current situation I'm wondering what's even changed, other than the fact that I don't have something to occupy my time.
The whole, morning, actually, was a little off. I didn't know what to make for breakfast, so I eventually settled on chocolate chip pancakes, but the batter was too runny, and the chocolate chips ended up getting burnt. Also, as I was pouring the batter into the pan, my dog barked the loudest I've ever heard him bark, and I got scared so I spilled the batter and then, angry, yelled "shut up!" at him. This I immediately regretted when he looked back at me over his shoulder, confused.
The day, however, improved from there. I liked to be proactive about my boredom, so realizing that there was no school left, I sat at my computer for a while and began researching some writing jobs, which made me really excited because I think I finally accepted that I want to be a writer.
After that, I called my roommate who I hadn't talked to in a month and we laughed on the phone for a solid hour, discussing the plants we had raised in quarantine and how much we missed all our friends. We talked about how much had changed since freshman year, the first day we hugged outside of room 415. It felt like we were back at our kitchen table, talking about anything we could think of that wasn't the homework we were supposed to be doing at that moment.
Around sunset, my friend and I from home went to watch the sunset, in our separate cars of course, at this lookout place near my house. It's at a museum about Native Americans they use to take us to as second graders. From the top of the hill, you can see small headlights on the highway, passing almost immediately out of sight. That was always my favorite part, how miniature the cars looked.
Jess and I sat on the top of our cars, climbing through the sunroofs into the cool air buzzing with the voices of high schoolers. There was that certain energy I had missed; the feeling of being with a lot of people, of belonging to them, feeling right in their presence, even though you didn't know any of them. Especially because you didn't know any of them. The sunset was orange and blue, and I thought to myself that orange and blue never look good together unless it is in the context of a sunset. The stars began to set, bold against the pale sky as if ushering away the daylight.
When I returned home, I forgot I promised to call my grandma that evening. She answered with her peaceful voice, which never let on that she was excited to hear from you, even though you knew she always was. As I had gotten older, my grandmother had become an important figure in my life, a home away from home in New York. I smiled at the ease with which we chatted, thinking about how shy I was when I was little but how welcome the stories of her neighbors and her "boyfriend" Tom now were. We talked for 40 minutes and hung up, and then I went downstairs to have dinner.
And that was all, really. Friends, a sunset, and my grandma. Somehow that is always more than enough.
