Girls on a Trip

Ordinary things happen outside of the itinerary

Before I tell you this story, I do have to tell you this: that one single person can be many things to anyone. I’d like you to believe this. Otherwise, a story is just, well, a story.

Last week, my friends and I went out of town. It felt so good to be able to laugh that free. We were all girls, so we made sure joy didn’t have to come from a place hard to reach and that we didn’t have to try. There were numerous times where we doubted each other—body still stiff, eyes looking around everywhere for a place to hide, each word that came out of their mouth like a question—But we used our chance wisely like a single throw of a coin. Ordinary things happen outside of the itinerary, but ordinary isn’t really that ordinary, for me at least.

The car rides are always long. On this side of town, you may even wonder if it’s the end of the world if the streets are empty. As empty as it is, there will always be sounds you don’t wish to hear. At this point, all one can do is accept or get mad, but my friends didn’t stop at those two conclusions. She opened up her phone, scrolled, and asked each of us to gather around her. She made us wonder. The first word that came out of her mouth was ‘Let’s,’ and so we listened. We listen with eyes wide open. We made weird faces when the time was right. We made sure our ears made clear pathways to our brains and into our hearts. Funny enough, this became the thing we were excited about even if we stopped midway. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.

One evening, when everyone was upset, we picked out a card. We called up a ride, stopped in the middle of nowhere, and ended up playing truth or dare. The picking led to countless truths spilling onto the table. One confessed about a person she'd been hiding from. One other confessed the joy she couldn’t withhold inside. One danced. One didn’t say anything but listened and made sure everyone got to bed safely. One closed her eyes just to feel this long enough. We wanted to stay here for as long as we wanted and as long as we could, but we allowed ourselves to settle down when it was time to settle down. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.

On our last day, before we reached home for good, we stopped by a small hut. The hut was small enough to fit six people together, standing. There was no air conditioning, no wind, and no reason to be content. But we sat there in line, waiting for the old lady to cook some delicious, peculiar meal. While we gnawed, we exaggerated the things we said, saying that it made her touch her middle chest with both hands. We didn’t feel sorry for it, though. We only know that it was for real; it’s how we felt, and there’s nothing wrong with saying I’ll come back for you again.

Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.

These friends I have lunch with every day, every time the clock strikes twelve. I love them as friends. I love them as co-workers a family.

xoxo,

Val, @PoetryofOfHvaw